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daechwitatamic · 11 months

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1. Asterism || KSJ

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: Amalthea (Masterpost) - Part 1: Asterism

Rating: NSFW - minors go away i mean it Genre: best friend's older brother!au, angst smut fluff trifecta Pairing: Seokjin x female reader Beta team: @yoongiphoria, @here2bbtstrash, @kookstempo

Summary: You can count on two things in life. One: that your lifelong best friend Minji will always be there for you, in your corner, your brightest star. Two: that you'll never be free from her older brother Seokjin's orbit - the gravitational pull is just too strong.

Warnings: language, drinking, angst, kissing, fingering, explicit protected s*x WC: 9.5k

Part 1: Asterism Asterism: (noun) a recognizable pattern of stars that does not make up the full constellation

Things start when your mother texts you asking for a favor.

To be more historically accurate, things started when you were a child. But for the sake of brevity, for a tighter focus on the now, it starts with this text -

[5:41 PM] Mom: can you do me a big favor?

When you send her back “sure”, she calls you, which you expected all along. You’re surprised she texted first at all, instead of going straight to the phone call. She’s a creature of habit, your mother.

“I cooked a few dishes and stuck them in the fridge,” she tells you. Pacing across your own kitchen, a fifteen minute drive from her place, you squint as you pass through the one exact spot where the afternoon sunlight assaults you from the window every day around this time. You’ve lived here for years - you’ve just been too lazy to put curtains up in this room. Your mother continues, her voice coming through your phone so loudly that you can hold it like it’s on speaker (although it’s not) and still hear her loud and clear. “You’ll see them, they’re in the tupperware with blue lids? Can you bring them over to the Kims’?”

“What?” you say - not because you didn’t understand the directions, but because you didn’t understand the why. She starts to repeat herself but you cut her off, clarifying, “Why are you making food for the Kims?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” she asks. “Or at least Minji? Mr. Kim had his knee replacement today.”

You call Minji from the car, but she doesn’t answer. You’ve been best friends since kindergarten; her dad’s house is just across the street from the one you’d grown up in, where your parents still live. You kids have all grown up, and away - you, Minji, and her two brothers - but Mr. Kim still lives in that same house, the light blue one that you can see from your childhood bedroom window.

You still live close, and Minji’s just a few towns over. Her brothers moved far - requiring planes and trains to get back. You see Minji at least monthly, if not more often - usually you meet for brunch at a place between your houses. Sometimes, though, you meet back home home - for holidays, usually. The last time you were at her dad’s house with her was for the winter holidays two years ago; you’d rung in the New Year on her back deck.

You try not to think about that night.

You let yourself into your parents’ empty house with the code and head straight for the kitchen. As promised, there’s a small stack of blue-lidded containers, and you load them into a reusable grocery bag you steal from the cabinet beneath the sink. You lock the house back up and head across the street on foot.

Once upon a time - for most of your life, really - you would have just let yourself in. You and Minji grew up in each other’s homes. This was your second home, her dad your second father. It had been like that your whole life. But once you and Minji went away to college, things changed - just slightly. Part of it’s just becoming an adult. You don’t barge in anymore, you knock.

You expect Minji, or maybe one of her aunts if they’ve come to help, to answer the door. Instead, it swings open to reveal her older brother, Seokjin - full lips frowning slightly, strong brow furrowed as he tries to piece together why you’re standing on his father’s doorstep holding a grocery bag.

The moment stretches, stills. It can go one of two ways - you can let it be awkward, or you can be sure that it isn’t.

“Hi,” you say, hoping it sounds breezy. “My mom cooked some dishes for you.”

Seokjin takes a minute step backwards, lips parting to speak, but then you hear your name squealed from over his shoulder and you brace yourself for impact.

Jin acts fast, grabbing the bag of food from you and flattening himself against his open front door as Minji launches herself past him to hug you, laughing.

“I called you on my way over!” you scold her, smiling, hugging her tightly back.

“Sorry!” she says, still holding you, still laughing. Jin’s still holding your food, just to the side of you, watching this display with a blank face. “I was helping my dad lay down. I left my phone in the kitchen, I think? You should see his knee, it’s disgusting. Is that food?”

She releases you and turns, heading through the house towards their roomy kitchen. You know you’re expected to follow. You reach to take the food back from Jin, shooting him a thankful smile. Your fingers brush as you take the bag, and you drop your gaze, hurrying to follow the sound of Minji’s voice as it floats through the house. Seokjin stands in place as you leave, and you hope he doesn’t see you shudder against goosebumps as you hurry away.

He’s had that effect on you since you were fourteen years old.

But that’s ancient history.

There’s a lot you want to ask him, starting with how long he’ll be in town, ending with… well. Not now.

In the kitchen, Minji is trying to make room in the fridge for everything your mom sent over. You sit at the table, watching her absently, answering whenever her chatter pauses to ask you something.

Jin joins you two wordlessly. He reaches over Minji’s head and then turns and holds out a beer bottle, offering it to you.

“Ooh, yes please,” you say, taking it from him. Minji looks up to see what you’re talking about and then nudges Jin’s shin - which is next to her head - to indicate that she wants one too. He sits across the table from you and sets a beer for Minji at the seat to his right. When she’s done in the fridge, she sits heavily next to her brother and they both look at you as they drink.

“So,” you say, because you have to say something about now, have to keep yourself from getting swept up in twenty-something years of memories that this house holds for you. “How’d the surgery go?”

“Great!” Minji beams. “The surgeons said it was exactly as expected. He’ll start physical therapy next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” you tell her genuinely. Mr. Kim was always important to you. You turn your attention to Jin, who’s downed half of his beer already. “Are you staying long?”

He nods, swallows, then answers. “A few weeks, probably,” he tells you. “I got approval to work remotely through the end of the month. Hopefully by then he’ll be back to a point where he doesn’t need someone here 24/7, and Minji can just pop in on him…”

He trails off, his eyes going over your shoulder, watching a few birds hop from the bird feeder to the deck railing. The deck railing where you’d hung wet bathing suits to dry on never-ending summer afternoons, where you’d placed soda cans with rivulets of condensation running down their sides, where you’d leaned with Minji as you talked about boys and school and boys again, where you’d buried your hands in Seokjin’s hair as he’d - nope.

Not going there. Not unless you want to drown.

“Do you want to eat dinner with us?” Minji asks, throwing you a life preserver by dragging you back to the present.

“Ah,” you say, letting your regretful tone do the answering for you. “I’d like to, but… I should get home.”

I should get out of this house, you think. I should get away from your brother.

She grins at you slyly. “Got that man to feed?”

You laugh in surprise. Seokjin is suddenly very interested in the label on the beer he’s almost finished.

“No,” you say. “He’s out of the picture.”

Minji narrows her eyes at you, assessing. “We don’t seem sad,” she observes finally.

You shake your head. “We aren’t sad,” you confirm. Jin gets up wordlessly and opens the fridge again, reaching for a second beer. His shoulders take up almost the whole space. You try not to notice, try not to think about the muscles of those shoulders rippling under your fingertips - enough. Enough, now.

You stand, needing the escape, needing to get away, draining the rest of your beer in one long drag that would make your college-self proud.

“Listen,” you say to the room at large, to both of them, after placing the empty bottle back on the table, “call me if you need help, okay? My place isn’t far. I can pop over if you need an extra pair of hands, or a break, or some errands handled. Okay?”

Seokjin’s still hiding in the refrigerator, taking a million years to choose between two of the same beer. Minji, oblivious, takes your hand gratefully.

“Thank you,” she says warmly, giving you a squeeze.

You start to head back towards the front door, Minji still clutching your hand.

“Bye, Seokjin,” you say over your shoulder.

He glances up at you around the open refrigerator door.

“See you,” he says. There’s something hollow in his voice.

You get it, though.

The last time the three of you were here together, two years ago, he’d welcomed in the New Year buried inside you against the back of their house, gasping your name against the inky dark of the frigid December night.

You’ve never told a soul, and you don’t think he has, either.

You’ve never talked about it at all.

You and Minji spent New Year's Eve out at bars and clubs together almost every year. The year you were twenty-six, though, something had changed. Suddenly, the idea of vying for bar space, in heels, for overpriced drinks and sleazy dudes seemed abysmal.

“We could stay in,” Minji had suggested. “Pretend we’re sixteen, sneaking booze into dad’s basement again? Seokjin is back in town for the week because he dumped that shitty girlfriend of his for the sixth time, might be kind of fun to all hang out.”

You’d pretended to dislike the idea, grimacing a little as you thought it over. Your brain snagged on dumped his shitty girlfriend.

“Come on,” she’d said cajolingly. “We can put on 90’s music and play card games, like we used to.”

You knew the whole time that you’d go; all you needed to know was that Seokjin would be there. Since he’d left for college, he only came home twice a year - Christmas holidays, and over summer breaks. Since he'd moved far, even those weren't promised.

Minji ended up with a small crowd - a few that you were friends with in high school, but most of them you thought were friends of her brothers.

You’d spent most of the night trying to avoid staring at Jin - or at least avoid getting caught staring. It had been about two years since you’d seen him last - four years since he moved away. He was twenty-eight to your twenty-six that year, and you weren’t sure if it was the way he was aging or if it was the tequila, but he seemed - somehow - even more handsome than you remembered.

It had gotten more and more difficult as the night went on to focus - on conversations, on card games, on how to balance as you walked; your brain wanted to spend its energy cataloging the quirk of his full lips when you said something funny, his windshield-wiper laugh when Minji dropped a whole tray of lemon slices she’d spent twenty minutes cutting, the strip of bare skin his shirt revealed when he bent down to help her pick them up. It was like your brain was trying to soak up every little detail of him that it could after so many years of distance, of him being somebody you used to be close to.

Eventually, you’d retreated to the back deck, alone, just minutes before midnight. Outside, the noise of the party fell away, and you took in deep gulps of cold air, your hands gripping the splintery wood of the railing.

When the door opened behind you, you expected Minji. Instead, Seokjin stood there, staring at you like he’d asked you a question and was waiting for an answer.

Maybe, in his own way, he had. Maybe it had been all the quick glances he’d given you that night. Maybe it had been the way he’d stuck close, listening when you talked, smiling wryly when you cracked jokes. Maybe it had been the way his eyes had followed you from room to room, the way his fingers had tightened around his glass when you bent down to grab one of the wayward lemon slices.

You’d stared back at him, unsure what the right move was. This was Minji’s brother, and you’d promised her almost fifteen years ago to never get tangled up with her family. This was Minji’s brother, who had bought you girls beer before you were old enough, who had once driven to pick you up from the mall on a rainy day when your date had gone badly. This was Minji’s brother who’d once held your hand in the backseat of your dad’s car as you sobbed over a broken wrist, who’d often let you sit and watch him play video games even after he’d told Minji to bug off and leave him alone.

This was Seokjin, who was staring at you so intently that for a moment you weren’t sure if he hadn’t asked you something.

“Seokjin?”

His eyes met yours.

“Explain to me how you got even more beautiful?” he’d murmured, and your heart had leapt into your throat.

“I - what?”

He was close enough to touch. You’d dreamed of this for so long - pathetically long, really. You’d never dreamed that he’d want you.

He stepped closer, and you did touch him - one hand acted without permission, coming up and resting lightly on his chest, over his heart. It had thumped beneath your tentative fingers.

Your fingers had curled in the material of the thick hoodie he’d been wearing, had pulled him just closer.

And then his mouth was on yours, searing, and your hands were in his hair, and that deck railing was pressing into your lower back as he pinned you against it, and one of his hands was creeping beneath the hem of your shirt, and you could feel him hardening against your lower stomach, and -

And through the window, you could see the party carrying on.

You broke the kiss, pushed gently on his forearm to extract his sneaky hand from inside your shirt.

“They can see us,” you’d gasped, and he’d followed your gaze somewhat dumbly, like it hadn’t occurred to him that everyone else existed in the same place as the two of you.

Then he’d taken your hand, pulling you down the deck steps, away from the glow of light from the house’s windows, down into the darkness, where witnesses would have to work a little harder to see what was going on.

He’d pressed you against the wall of the house, beneath the deck, and as you’d tipped your head back to allow him access to nip and soothe lines up and down your neck you’d thought of all the summer nights you’d spent in this exact spot. This is where the keg usually goes, you’d thought absently as that sneaky hand returned to the bare skin of your belly beneath your sweater.

You hadn’t felt even remotely cold, despite the threat of snow in the air.

You’d kissed until your lips hurt and you wanted it to hurt just a little more, your hands starting to toy with the waistband of his jeans as his thumb rubbed determined circles around your puckered nipple beneath the fabric of your bra.

“Tell me what you want,” he’d said, the words mumbled against your lips. He’d pulled back just enough, just enough to watch your face as you told him -

“Anything. Everything. All of it… all of you.”

His hand had traveled up the back of your thigh, beneath your skirt, fingers pushing the cotton of your panties aside before stroking through your center. You’d moaned, low, aware that anyone could come out onto the deck above you without warning. His breath had hitched in response, and his hand had left your pussy long enough to tug you to him again, pressing you against his hips for just a second before returning. This time he didn’t toy with you, pressing his index finger into your messy heat, followed quickly by a second digit.

You’d mouthed his name against his jaw, trying to keep yourself upright as he pressed you against the brick of the house, as he pumped his fingers leisurely, fingertips rubbing circles against your front wall until he found the place that made you gasp and buck against his hand. He’d laughed, asked, “Yeah?” in a cocky voice you’d never heard on him before. It’d made you, impossibly, wetter.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you’d whispered, half delirious, and he’d laughed again, like he knew already.

There had been a flash of foil between his teeth, the sound of his zipper echoing across the frozen backyard, and then he was pushing inside you, fingers still wet from you now gripping your hip to keep you in place.

You’d groaned in unison as he slowly bottomed out. The brick had bit at your back, the winter air had bit at your face, and Seokjin had bit at your lower lip as he pounded into you steadily.

It had been hurried. It had been hushed.

Your name on his lips when he came took the air from your lungs.

You’d wanted this, wanted him, in silence for as long as you could remember. Before you had words to put to it, before you were old enough to understand why your stomach hurt when he left the room.

It had hurt, after. The scrapes from the brick wall. Your sore hamstrings. Your chapped, cracking lips.

His silence.

You’d both missed the countdown. Happy New Year.

You don’t know what you had expected after seeing Seokjin at his dad’s house unexpectedly. Apparently, some foolish part of your subconscious thought he’d reach out to you, because you find yourself disappointed when he doesn’t.

Stupid, you think. I don’t know what you were thinking. Aside from that one slip on New Year’s Eve two years ago, you’d done a stellar job at orbiting Seokjin in silence, keeping your feelings under control and out of sight, never pushing yourself into his path but never letting him stray so far as to forget you, either. Nothing’s changed.

You tell yourself this for two days, until Minji’s name lights up your phone as you’re packing up from work on Thursday evening, your stomach growling and your feet aching to get out of their heels.

“Yeeees?” you answer her as you power down your laptop and cast your gaze around your cubicle for anything else that needs to come home with you.

“Are you still at work?” she asks, sounding a little breathless, a little irritated.

“Packing up right now,” you tell her, rising and pulling your bag onto your shoulder. You give Dale, your cubicle-mate, a silent wave goodbye and head for the elevators. “What’s up?”

“I tried your mom first, but your parents are apparently out to dinner tonight,” she says. “Is there any way you can swing by my dad’s? I think Seokjin is having a hard time with dad, and I’m stuck here at least another two hours -.”

“No problem,” you tell her, cutting off her explanation. It isn’t needed. “I’ll head there now. Tell him I’ll be like…” You glance at your watch for the time, “...twenty-five minutes, tops, if traffic is bad.”

“You’re a saint,” she breathes in relief. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you. I’ll get there as soon as I can. I promise I’ll hurry. Did I tell you that deal with Mr. Lee fell through? I have been non-stop -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell her, meaning it. “I’m happy to help. I’ll be there soon. See you later, okay?”

You grew up on a dead end. You never tell people that, now. You always fancy it up if it’s brought up in conversation - you call it a cul-de-sac, though it isn’t according to the yellow sign that marks where you turn left to reach your parents’ house.

Every inch of this street is steeped in memories for you - memories of growing up with Minji and Seokjin, running wild through these streets whenever the weather allowed it, learning to ride a bike, having snowball fights and water balloon fights and - once - even a foodfight. Thinking of your childhood with those two, you think mostly of chaos and laughter.

You miss it, a little, and that’s only a little bit nostalgia talking. Maybe the lack of chaos is nice, but the lack of laughter kind of sucks.

It takes Seokjin forever to answer the door when you knock. When he does, it’s evident immediately why Minji had called for backup.

He’s sick as a dog; his nose is red, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy and sleepy.

“Minji sent me,” you explain. “She said you need help with your dad.”

“I don’t,” he protests, just a little whiny. “We’re fine. Why’d she call you? I told her we were fine.”

This clear untruth is punctuated by a fit of coughing. You purse your lips and raise an eyebrow, waiting.

He shakes his head, recovering. “It’s just a cold,” he says, doubling down. “I’m sorry you drove all the way here, but I don’t need help. I was just about to help Dad get showered - I need to get back up there, he’s waiting.”

He starts to turn to go, but you reach out, catching his sleeve. He turns, brows furrowing in frustration, but you cut him off.

“Jin,” you say seriously, “come on. I came here to help. What needs to be done? Do you want me to start heating up dinner while he showers?”

He sags back against the wall behind him, raising one hand to rub wearily over his brow, his eyes, down over his mouth. You let his sleeve slip between your fingers and you wait as his resolve cracks.

He sighs heavily, eyeing the ceiling. “Could you strip his bed and put on clean blankets? So when he’s done showering, I can put him back in a clean bed?”

“Absolutely,” you say, relieved that he’s delegated a task. He leads you upstairs silently. Your feet remember the way to Mr. Kim’s bedroom. You weren’t often allowed to play in there as kids, but you have to pass it to get to Minji’s room; you think you could walk the path in your sleep.

Halfway up the stairs, you pause, stopping by one of the dozens of framed photos on the wall. You smile, putting your finger on the glass.

At the top of the stairs Seokjin pauses, turns to see why you stopped. Something on his face softens when he sees.

“Yeah,” he says. “That one’s still up.”

You give him a small smile. The photo your finger rests on is a group shot with blue water meeting blue sky as the backdrop.

Mr. Kim stands in the middle, beaming, one arm around Minji and the other around Seokjin. Minji’s little brother Jungkook - only a year behind you girls in school - sits on the ground at Seokjin’s feet, grinning with a scrunched nose. You’re behind Minji, peeking around her shoulders, your eyes closed as you laugh. You’re all kids in the picture - Seokjin, as the oldest, is probably around ten.

You’d been shy to be included in the picture, but Mr. Kim had told you that you were one of his kids in spirit if nothing else. You’d all been at the lake that day. Seokjin had been the one who made you and Jungkook laugh as the camera snapped. You remember it like it was yesterday. After the picture had been taken, you girls and Seokjin had dug a hole in the sand and buried Jungkook up to his neck. You’d splashed in the water, squealing over the slimy rocks that lined the lake’s floor. Later, you’d all eaten thick slices of watermelon, the juice dripping on your bare legs as the summer sun set over the horizon, the four of you sitting in a row on the picnic table bench like a matched set. You’d chased fireflies until Mr. Kim called your names, ready to pack you all into the car to return home, smelling like sunscreen and lakewater.

It was one of your favorite memories, that whole day.

You strip the blankets and sheets from Mr. Kim’s bed and toss them in the hamper. You collect a clean set from the linen closet in the hallway without needing to be told where they are. You spent as much time in this house as your own growing up. In the ensuite, you can hear the shower running, the low murmur of both men’s voices as they chat. You make the bed, fluffing the comforter, and then take the hamper down to the basement, where you dump them into the washer and get it started.

When you head back upstairs, Seokjin is in the living room, slumped sideways on the couch, eyes closed. You’re not sure if he’s awake, if he knows you’re standing behind him. He has that hand pressed to his brow again, and you know a headache when you see it.

You pad quietly up the stairs and into the hallway bathroom, where Mr. Kim used to keep all the over-the-counter stuff - bandaids, pain-killers, lozenges, even tampons back when Minji still lived here.

Heading back downstairs, you grab a glass of water from the kitchen and find Seokjin exactly where you left him, pressing his face pitifully into the arm of the couch.

You nudge him gently, and hold out your offerings - fever reducer and the water.

He grumbles as he takes them, pushing himself to a more upright position so he can drink from the glass without spilling.

When he sets the glass down, he looks over at you somewhat warily. “How have you been?” he asks, and there’s something resigned in his voice. Something defeated. You wonder what battle he’s lost, to make him sound like that. You feel - have always felt - that so much of what goes on in Jin’s mind is kept behind the curtain. For someone so loud, he’s the most private person you know.

“I’ve been fine,” you shrug. “Normal.”

He looks sideways at you for a long moment. “Is that a lie?” he asks finally, voice low.

“No,” you say, trying to keep your voice light. It isn’t, right? You’ve been fine. What happened between you was two entire years ago, the lid closing tightly on a lifetime of maybes. You’d had your moment together and it hadn’t led to anything. What choice did you have, but to accept it and move on? So, there you have it. You’ve been fine.

You make the decision, right there, not to bring it up - what happened two years ago. His lips on yours, his body under your hands, the way your legs had trembled as they’d struggled to hold you up. Better to let it stay dead. If Seokjin had wanted to talk about it, he’s had two years and four months to do so. If he wants to pretend he didn’t fuck his sister’s best friend and then ghost her completely, who are you to mess with the plan?

You need something sweet; you’re far too bitter.

But honestly, you can’t even hate him for it. He hadn’t promised you a thing, so logically there’s no reason to feel like a toy played with and discarded - even if you’re left wishing he had never picked you up to play with at all.

You look him over, taking in the sheen of sweat on his brow, the haze you can still see in his eyes. “You look like shit,” you tell him.

He lets out a single puff of a laugh, his eyes closed. “Now I know you’re lying,” he says, lips quirking into a smile.

“You look like you have the flu,” you say flatly, ignoring his nonsense.

“It’s just a cold,” he says.

You lapse into silence. He keeps his eyes closed, that hand still resting on his head. Finally, you say, “How about you? How’ve you been?”

He shrugs. “Been fine. Working. You know.”

A tiny smile tugs on your lips. “What are we playing these days?”

The smile creeps sideways across his face and he opens his eyes to actually look at you, sending you a conspiratory smirk. “Now you’re asking the right questions,” he says, and starts to tell you about a console game he got last week.

You head to the basement when it’s time and move the sheets you were washing into the dryer. You pause in the doorway when you return upstairs, looking Seokjin over from afar. He looks better than he had when you’d arrived - eyes less glassy, cheeks less pink.

“I think your fever’s down,” you say, as you return to where you’d been sitting before.

“I feel better than I did,” he agrees. He looks at you appraisingly, like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. And, considering the fever, maybe he is. “So Minji said you live pretty close?”

You nod. “Not far. That apartment complex over behind the plaza with the grocery store? You remember, the one that we used to go trick-or-treating at?”

“Wow,” he says, giving an appreciative whistle. “Those are swanky.”

“I’m swanky these days,” you joke, smiling.

Just then, there’s a soft beep from outside - someone locking their car.

“That’s Minji,” Seokjin observes, and you find yourself standing, feet carrying you towards the kitchen.

“Do you need anything to drink?” you call over your shoulder. Jin is watching your sudden departure, clearly bemused. You busy yourself in their fridge, even though you don’t have a real reason to. You just didn’t want Minji to enter the house and find you and Jin having domestic hours on the living room couch.

The front door opens, and Minji calls your name through the house.

“I’m in here!” you call back, and head for the doorway of the kitchen.

Minji hurries to you, setting her bags down on the kitchen floor and flopping dramatically onto the doorjamb.

“I am so sorry,” she says. “Thank you so much for coming over.”

“Your brother’s sick,” you tell her flatly. “He had a pretty high fever when I got here.”

Her eyes widen, and she turns to look over her shoulder at Seokjin, who gives her a cheery thumbs up.

“He says he’s fine,” you inform her, “but he’s got about two more hours before the fever-reducer wears off and then he’s gonna be useless again.”

“Thank you for the warning,” she tells you, while Seokjin squawks from the living room, “I am not, and have never been, useless!”

You give Minji a quick hug goodbye and head for the front door.

You meet Seokjin’s eyes as you pass through the living room. They’re sharp, now that the fever’s receded, locked on you and looking.

“Feel better,” you tell him. “Make sure you hydrate.”

“Hey,” he says, making himself comfortable against the couch cushions, “thanks.” Then, an afterthought - “Seriously. Thank you.”

You give him a tight smile and slip out the front door.

Going home doesn’t stop you from worrying, even though you know Minji is home and capable of taking care of everything. But at work the next day, your eyes keep darting to your phone screen, as if you’re expecting updates on how Jin is feeling, if everything is okay at the house.

No one texts you.

You can’t ask Minji. She’s too fucking smart. If you so much as said, “Hey, is your brother feeling better?” she’d be all over it.

You try your mom instead, texting her, “How’s Mr. Kim doing? Any updates?”

She answers, “Haven’t heard anything!”

You groan, tapping the corner of your phone on your desk in frustration. You try to focus on work for a little bit, but it’s truly a lost cause. With a defeated sigh, you open your phone and thumb through your contacts.

Kim Seokjin.

You’ve had his number in your phone since you got it - your mom was the one who programmed it in for you when you were fourteen, citing Jin as someone you could call if you had an emergency. As if by being two years your senior, he qualified as a helpful adult.

You haven’t used his number in over five years - not since you were still in college, probably.

Actually, you realize, you remember the last time - though there were definitely parts of the night you didn’t remember.

It was your senior year, the first weekend of December, and you and Minji were drinking in some girl’s dorm. You’d never even met this girl before, but there you were, perched on her desk with a bottle of flavored vodka in hand, watching her LEDs change color along the ceiling.

You and Minji were both wasted, even though it was relatively early - not even midnight yet. You leaned against each other, holding the other up, both of you giggling and tapping around on your phones as the conversation flowed around you.

That’s what had happened - you’d noticed it was about to be midnight, the clock about to change from 11:59. And despite being so drunk that Minji was mostly propping you up, so drunk that you had to close one eye to read the letters of this girl’s alarm clock, so drunk that you’d be throwing up in just minutes - a little part of you brain informed you that midnight meant it was officially December 4th.

You’d texted Seokjin happy birthday at exactly midnight, one eye closed to make sure you were typing actual words. He was hundreds of miles away, had graduated and moved out already, and you hadn’t talked since the day the Kims had loaded all of his shit into a rented moving van, about five months ago.

And he’d answered - “thank you! what are you doing up??”

To which you’d replied, “getting baja blasted with your sister” and he’d replied, “i do not want to know, thank you!!”

And then Minji had looked at you drunkenly and narrowed her eyes. “Who are you texting with that smile?”

The floor had swooped below your feet, and you’d run for the bathroom. Minji had forgotten about interrogating you, and you and Seokjin had never texted again.

Now, at your job, you stare at his name on your phone screen, wracked with indecision.

“This is ridiculous,” you finally sigh. Behind you, Dale glances over his shoulder to determine if you’re talking to him or yourself. Ignoring Dale, you tap Seokjin’s name and type, “how are you feeling today?”

You don’t even have time to feel nervous about it - his response is almost instantaneous. He sends you a picture of a gaming screen, where he’s clearly playing a shooter POV. He follows it up with the sunglasses emoji. You laugh out loud, trying to keep your chuckles quiet to avoid calling attention to your cubicle.

“What a nerd,” you mutter affectionately. You type back, “you must be fine then 🙄”.

Seokjin’s played video games his whole life; it’s one thing you do know about him. How many hours of your childhood had been spent with him, Jungkook, and Minji crowded around the tv in their basement, fighting over whose turn it was to play?Usually Seokjin got to play the first controller (since he was older, stronger, and technically the console belonged to him), which left you and Minji and Jungkook to fight it out over the second one.

But you remember other times, too - especially as you got older - when you’d just sit in silence and watch him play. By the time you were a teenager - fourteen to Jin’s sixteen - Minji was over wanting to join him. She’d argue for use of the tv, and when she lost she’d flounce upstairs to her room to sulk about it. Sometimes you’d join her - usually, you’d join her. But sometimes you’d cast a glance at Seokjin, see if you were welcome. He’d always play it the same - look at you sideways, give you a tiny nod, pat the couch behind him like an invitation. (Seokjin played video games from the floor, letting the base of the couch prop him up. He said he focused better that way.)

You’d sit, quiet, watching him work the controls, listening to him whine and groan and complain and shout his way through each map. And you’d feel special, because he let you stay after he’d told Minji to fuck off, because he didn’t mind your presence, because sometimes he’d ask if you wanted him to teach you how, even though you always said no thanks.

You text your mom and ask what she’s making for dinner.

“Why?” she sends back. “Are you asking me to feed you?”

“Maybe,” you send back.

You join your parents for dinner, “just because”. It’s not that uncommon for you to join them for a meal now and then, considering how close you live. You go because you love your parents and you want a home-cooked meal - definitely not because you know it puts you back in proximity to Jin.

Your mom glances up at you from across the table approximately every four-tenths of a second through the entire meal, until finally you slap your palm on the table and snap, “What?”

She purses her lips, amused. “Nothing,” she says, feigning innocence. “We just don’t usually see you on Friday nights.”

“Jagi,” your dad warns, his voice full of affection. Like he knows it’s a lost cause but he thinks he should try to rein her in for your sake.

“I’m just saying!” she says, still all innocence, eyes wide. “I’m not complaining! It’s nice to have you here.”

You grumble a response, aggravated that she seems to be onto you. To escape their scrutiny, you rise and move to bag up the full garbage, tying the top of the bag and heading out to the trash cans at the end of the driveway.

You pause there after hefting the bag up and into the bin, taking a second to breathe. It’s a nice night - the sun has mostly set, the sky deep and dark above you but still clinging to shades of pink down near the horizon. It’s warm, too, for April.

You’re standing there, arms crossed, watching the sky inch closer and closer to darkness, when you hear a door shut across the street. Your eyes follow the sound immediately, and you see a man’s silhouette do the same thing you were doing - make its way down the driveway, a trash bag in hand.

Romantic, you think wryly. A garbage date. You stay rooted to the spot, watching as Jin - just an outline, a shadow - tosses the bag into the bin and brushes off his hands. Then, he stops still, seeming to notice you.

You hold your breath, not sure how this will go, and then he starts to lope over, and you exhale in a whoosh.

“Hi,” he says simply, as he gets close enough that you can finally see his face through the dark.

“Hi,” you say around a tiny smile. “You seem better today.”

He scoffs. “I told you it was just a cold. I just needed to sleep it off.”

“I’m glad,” you tell him softly. Maybe it’s dangerous, maybe it’s stupid - to be soft with him. To act like you didn’t already get your answer from him, years ago. To pretend your affection for him is still as pure and untainted as it was when you were a teenager.

But it feels safer, out here, away from his dad’s house. In there, the memories of that New Year’s Eve are too fresh, too strong - they cling to the air, slide down the walls. The heating unit sighs to life and you hear your own sighs as Seokjin’s fingers danced along your bare skin. The refrigerator grumbles and you hear the grumble of pleasure that originated low in Seokjin’s throat as he felt you squeeze around his fingers. Someone’s footsteps crunch gravel outside, and you hear the crunch of gravel as Seokjin made his way back to the front of the house in the dark, leaving you hidden in shadows, clutching the bricks and gasping for breath.

It’s better out here. In the fresh air, away from that house, the memories are looser, less focused - bike races, raucous laughter, chalk drawings, bouncing beams of light from flashlight tag.

“Thank you for the help yesterday,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck like he does when he’s embarrassed. “I know I kind of gave you a hard time.”

“You didn’t,” you say, letting him off the hook. You’ll always let him off the hook, for everything. You always have. “How’s your dad?”

He glances back at the house over his shoulder, like he needs to verify this answer before giving it. “Not so good today,” he admits. “He’s in a lot more pain, starting to get frustrated needing so much help.”

“Hmm,” you deadpan. “A Kim man who gets frustrated at needing help. Interesting.”

Seokjin laughs, full from his belly. “Shut up,” he says, but there’s no ire in it. “Can I help it if I’m a chip off the ol’ block?”

“We’re supposed to learn from our parents’ mistakes,” you tell him, like a reminder. “Not continue them.”

Just then, a car turns around the corner, the headlights casting you in blinding white light before throwing you back into shadow. You both turn to look - since it’s a dead end, traffic doesn’t just pass through here.

You recognize the car - it’s Minji’s. She parks and pops out, calling hello to you, ignoring her brother. He makes a face at you like, what am I, chopped liver?

“I have your mom’s tupperwares, do you want to take them?” she asks, pressing the lock button on her key fob and making the car behind her beep once, loudly.

“Sure,” you say, following her into the house. A glance over your shoulder tells you that Seokjin is following, too, a few feet behind you, his hands in his pockets.

Inside, Mr. Kim is sitting sideways on the couch, his leg propped up on a small stack of pillows, a bag of ice over his knee. He perks up when he sees you, lowering his phone away from his face and pushing his spectacles further up his nose.

“How are you, sweetheart?” he asks. “I’d come hug you, but -.” He gestures at his leg.

“I’m doing fine,” you assure him. “I heard you had a rough day today.”

Mr. Kim shoots a dark look at his son, who looks innocently at the ceiling. “Just a little pain today,” Mr. Kim demures.

Seokjin glances at his phone. “We might want to get you upstairs soon,” he tells his father. “You know you’ll be asleep in about fifteen minutes, so unless you want to spend the night on the couch…”

You watch, feeling awkward and unable to help, as Seokjin helps his dad swivel and stand, an arm over Seokjin’s shoulders. They make their way slowly and laboriously up the stairs, and you feel a little anxious watching.

“Are they okay?” you ask Minji as she returns from the kitchen, pushing your mother’s empty tupperware back into your hands.

“They’re fine,” she says easily. “It takes a while but they’ve got it down to a science. Hey, listen, do you want to go grab a drink? It’s Friday, and I’ve had a hell of a week, and what I would really like to do is Uber into town and drink like college-Minji.”

You laugh at this. “I’m not sure I’m prepared for the return of college-Minji.”

“Pleaaaaaaaase?” she begs, blinking her lashes at you. “We haven’t gone out together in ages.”

“Alright, alright,” you laugh. “Let me go tell my parents goodbye and drive home and change. Text me the details and I’ll meet you there.”

“Yessss!” she cries, dancing in place a little. You feel a swell of affection for her; you love Minji with your whole heart. You’ve been through a lot together. You’ve been through a lot separately, but always side by side.

There have been many times through your life where you felt like you were clutching Minji’s hand through the fire.

You still remember clearly the way she’d bounded up to your locker, back when you were thirteen, squealing and excited because the most popular girl in your year had asked her for her number, had invited her over.

You still remember clearly Minji sobbing on your bed weeks later when it came to light that the girl - who wouldn’t be the last to try - was just trying to get an “in” with Minji’s hot older brother.

“You know I would never, right?” you’d promised her. Stupid, at fourteen, not clarifying that you mean never use you to get to him. Stupid, because then you were sixteen and then eighteen and then twenty-one and then twenty-six and you weren’t sure what you had actually promised - had Minji heard it as I would never get involved with him?

“I know,” she’d sobbed, reaching one hand blindly to clutch at yours. “I know you wouldn’t.”

And now you’re twenty-eight and the secrets you’ve kept keep piling up - each day you loved him, another pebble atop the pile. The slightest shake could topple the tower, and you’d be absolutely buried.

You could never let Minji know you loved him. Not when you were fifteen and he was untouchable. Not when you were twenty, and he was the best part of coming home. Not when you were twenty-six, pressed between him and the deck railing.

Not now, after two years of existing outside his orbit again.

The bar she picks is small, but quiet - quiet enough that you can actually carry on a conversation from opposite sides of a wooden booth, which is exactly what you do.

What you hadn’t banked on was that Seokjin would join her, sitting on her side of the booth, complaining loudly that he’s not going to come out with you two ever again, he’s never been such a third wheel in his life.

“You could have stayed home with dad,” Minji says, giving him a swift elbow to the ribs. “Don’t be such a complainer. You jumped in on my plans.”

“Can we please talk about something besides your hot coworker, then?” he begs. “Anything, anything else.”

“We could talk about my hot coworkers,” you offer, even though you have none. But this - teaming up with Minji to push Seokjin’s buttons - is a song and dance you know by heart, something you’ve done since practically infancy.

He narrows his eyes at you. “Believe it or not, that’s not better,” he deadpans.

You laugh, knocking back the rest of your drink and sliding out of the booth to go get another, leaving the Kim siblings to bicker in your absence.

You don’t expect Seokjin to follow; you don’t expect him to press up behind you as you stand at the bar, waiting for the bartender’s attention.

But he does, his body heavy and warm against yours. The blood rushes to your pussy so fast it almost makes you mad. All he’s doing is standing in close proximity, can your body get it together?

“What are you doing?” you murmur, trying not to meet his eyes in the mirrored wall behind the bar.

“Minji wants shots,” he answers easily. Like his body isn’t pressed against yours, like he isn’t causing your heart to hammer against your ribs.

“You’re too close,” you manage to say, because it’s the best option you can think of. Better than she’ll see us. Better than you still aren’t close enough. Better than don’t do this if you’re just going to leave again.

He does catch your eyes in the mirror, then. He must read something honest on your face, because he shifts sideways, leaving you cold. The bartender comes by, takes both your orders. You take your drink back to the table. Seokjin follows with a tray of bad decisions poured into tiny glasses.

Even though he gave you the reprieve when you asked for it, it’s clear he’s got a mission to ruin you. You’re sure of it, more and more sure as the night wears on. Sure of it when you reach for the same shot glass, your fingers brushing, his lingering. Sure of it when his eyes on your face make you so warm that Minji accuses you of having a drunk flush. Sure of it when his foot hooks around your ankle beneath the table, slides up and down your calf, slow and tantalizing, inches from Minji’s stilettoed feet. Sure of it when this causes your breath to hitch and his fingers tighten around his glass and his gaze goes to the opposite wall, anywhere but towards you.

You’re drunk, but it’s Seokjin that’s sending you spinning.

You’ve made this mistake before, you remind yourself sternly. Nothing good can come of it.

You excuse yourself and head for the bathroom, a marked up door at the end of a narrow, poorly lit hallway. You grip the sides of the sink and breathe deep, closing your eyes. The room sways and you press your forehead to the mirror, trying to ground yourself.

“You cannot fuck him again,” you whisper to yourself, eyes still closed. “It wouldn’t mean anything even if you did.”

The alcohol catches up to you as you whisper these words; the truth of them slam you harder than normal. You blink away tears, taking a few shuddering breaths.

“Time to go home,” you tell yourself firmly, turning off the water and wiping quickly under your eyes in case any makeup ran.

This is what it means to be in Seokjin’s orbit, now: to crash into each other, to fight with yourself - fight with the truth that he doesn’t want you, and then run away scared until he’s too far away to hurt you again. Spin idly along until the next time your circles cross paths. Do it again.

He’s in the hallway when you emerge, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. You have to pass him to get back to the table. He pushes off the wall when he sees you coming, stumbles a little. A tiny, sensible part of your brain whispers that he might be drunker than you are as you sidle into his personal bubble.

“What are you doing, Seokjin?” you ask him for the second time that night.

His eyes comb your face. You don’t know what answer he’s looking for, what question he’s secretly asked you in his mind.

“You tell me,” he retorts, which doesn’t make a lot of sense, but speaking somehow brought him looming closer and you’re drowning in the smell of him, the warmth of him, the desire to feel his body hard against yours again, to feel him split you open again, to have his mouth hot on your skin again -

You close your eyes, sag a little. His hands come to your elbows quickly, holding you up. “You’re confusing me,” you whisper, and then look up at him through your lashes.

There’s something aching on his face, and then he whispers back, “I’m sorry. Y/N, I’m so sorry - I never meant -.”

The click-clack of high heels approach and round the corner. You and Seokjin leap apart like you’re burned, your arms tingling where his fingers had been.

It’s not Minji. The stranger murmurs an apology and brushes past you both, towards the bathroom.

Spooked, startled out of the moment, you turn to head back to the bar, back to Minji.

Seokjin grabs your arm, pulls you back. You teeter back a step, then look at him expectantly as you regain your balance.

Seriously, so seriously, he tells you, “I swear, I never wanted to hurt you.” Then he releases your arm with a tiny push, guiding you back out of the dirty hallway and into the light.

You Uber home alone. You brush your teeth, remove your makeup. You change into pajamas, drink a glass of water.

You wake up to your phone buzzing incessantly next to your head.

[10:14 AM] Jin 😎: oh [10:14 AM] Jin 😎: my god [10:14 AM] Jin 😎: i think i am dead? [10:15 AM] Jin 😎: are you dead too? are we ghosts? [10:15 AM] Jin 😎: can ghosts throw up??? 🤔

You giggle despite your own headache.

[10:15 AM] You: whats wrong old man, you can’t hang anymore?? [10:16 AM] Jin 😎: WOW [10:16 AM] You: 😇

You check all your other socials, answer a few emails, and then finally drag yourself out of bed and head for a hot shower. As you stand beneath the hot water, you think about your first hangover, when you were sixteen.

You’d woken up next to Minji on her basement floor, a hoodie balled up beneath your head like a pillow. You’d closed your eyes again, hoping the splitting pain in your head and the roiling adrenaline in your stomach were a bad dream.

They were not.

You spent most of the next hour in the basement’s tiny bathroom, curled up on the floor next to your porcelain jail. When you felt like you could stand, you rinsed your mouth and pulled the pillow-hoodie onto your body, taking comfort in the way it swam on you, the hemline brushing your thighs just below your cutoffs.

You’d made your way upstairs, hoping to sneak past Mr. Kim and your own parents and make it unscathed to your own bed. You wanted nothing but to sleep for the next fourteen hours. Or years.

You got busted at the top of the stairs. Luckily, it was Seokjin bustling around the kitchen, not his father.

He had taken one look at you and started laughing, low in his belly. “Too much fun?”

“Shut up,” you’d whined, literally covering your ears against the noise. “Or I will throw up again, I promise.”

Jin had smiled at you, open and easy. “Sit down, kid,” he’d said kindly, jerking his head towards the kitchen table. “I have an age-old remedy.”

And actually? It had worked.

After drying your hair and throwing on some jeans and a t-shirt, you scavenge your kitchen. You have most of what you need, and you toss it all into a tote bag and hunt for your keys. You finally find them on the floor next to the kitchen counter - chances are you’d tossed them at the counter last night and missed - and head out.

Your parents are home when you let yourself in. They both stare at you, baffled, then exchange a sly, knowing look.

“You’re back, I see,” your mom says, something sneaky in her tone.

“Do you have any bean paste?” you answer. “I’m going to go make Minji hangover soup.”

Only one word was a lie.

This makes your mom laugh, and she rummages in her cabinets and helps you complete the list of ingredients you need.

The Kims’ front door is locked, so you make your way around the side of the house and fish the key out of its hiding spot, letting yourself in the side door that leads to the kitchen.

The house is still and quiet, and you try not to clang any pots and pans as you get to work. When you finish, over an hour later, you set up the table - a bowl of hangover soup, and a mug of steaming hot coffee, black.

You text Seokjin, “come to the kitchen”, and set your phone back down, turning to start on the dishes.

You’re informed of his presence by his laugh. You turn, hands red under the hot water and covered in suds, to see him sitting down at the spot you’d set up. He looks up at you, amazed, an uncertain smile playing across his face.

“It’s an age-old remedy,” you tell him seriously.

“You are…” he trails off with a quiet laugh and reaches for the coffee.

You’d love to know the end of that sentence.

When you finish the dishes - save for the pot with the remaining soup, still on the stove for when Minji wakes up - you pour your own mug of coffee and sit across from Jin, watching as he finishes his soup. He closes his eyes and sighs happily, then sets down his spoon reverently.

“Thank you,” he says, like a prayer, but also like a joke. “That was so needed.”

“Consider it payback,” you tell him.

It feels different, sitting across the kitchen table. Different than sitting across that booth at the bar. Less charged. Like it wasn’t something physical burning between you, like you’d thought, but the need for catharsis, for apology. Even if you don’t know what he’s sorry for, even if you still don’t know what exactly happened with him two years ago.

He’s thinking about it too, apparently. He says your name quietly, and you look up to meet his eyes. You can read the apology all over his face. The house is still still and quiet, no one awake but you and Jin. Like no one exists but you and Jin.

You’ve felt that way before.

Sitting beside him in the basement. In the passenger seat of his car, driving through a rainstorm. In his backyard, in the dark, your breath visible in the air as it leaves your mouth in desperate puffs.

“I kind of wanted to talk,” he admits, and your stomach twists. Maybe you should have had some of the soup. “About -?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say quickly, already standing, already moving to gather up the tote bag you’d used to carry ingredients. You shrug back into your jacket, ignoring Jin’s wide-eyed look of surprise. “I should get going,” you say, still not looking at him. You go back to the kitchen door you’d entered through, picking up the key so you can return it to its hiding place outside. You pause on the threshold, turning, eyeing the stovetop thoughtfully.

“Tell Minji you made the soup,” you instruct, and then you close the door behind you.

Next ->

Thank you so so much for reading - i hope you like this one as much as I do! Please don't feel shy about letting me know what you think!

Part 2: Retrograde will post next Friday, June 2nd. Hope to see you there!

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nevadancitizen · 4 days

Text

-> FASCINATION WITH THE ORDINARY

synopsis: your world is vastly different from the nevada native to madness combat. after the main three + 2bdamned get transported to your world, they each find things that fascinate them.

word count: 2.5k

characters: hank, deimos, sanford, 2bdamned, player! reader

trigger warnings: ehh slight yandere/obsession but could also be read as super heavy pining if you're not into that lol

notes: madness combat fandom arise. madness combat fandom come back to me (also set in @/saltymongoose 's self-aware au)

For the sake of consistency, let’s imagine that the Player lives in a big, lonely, woodsy and plain-sy plot of land. There’s little to no outside human interaction, and lots of animals wandering through the area with a river running through it. For the wildlife, I’m basing it on the American South because I’ve lived here my entire life and know how they act.

SUNSETS & SUNRISES

2BDamned would be the most entranced, since he has the most memories from before the fall and before Hank killed the sun. He’s an early riser by nature (since his body has conditioned him so he’s mostly overworked and under-rested, as unhealthy as it is), so he leans more towards the beauty of a sunrise, towards the light that starts to paint the dark sky with hazy orange shades and rosy hues. He likes breathing in the crisp air and the way it almost sends a shock through his lungs.

But the sun stirs a lingering feeling of nostalgia, though, for the way things were before everything fell to madness. Doc tries his best not to let the thoughts get the better of him as you slip through the front door and out onto the front porch, carrying two steaming cups of coffee.

God, he could imagine staying like this forever: just you, him, a beautiful sunrise, and coffee. Surely the way you pay attention to him, the way you get up extra early to watch the sunrise, the way you doctor his coffee just right – they’re all examples of how you care for him, just as he cares for you. But for now, he’ll just bide his time, blowing the steam off the surface of his coffee and purring, soft and raspy, both at the taste and because of your company.

But that doesn’t stop the others from appreciating the astounding view at dusk, because Sanford and Deimos are more partial to sunsets after long days. They like lounging in the adirondack chairs set up around the fire pit, cracking open a few beers, and simply relaxing with you. (Don’t worry, Sanford will gather firewood and Deimos will set it alight if it’s a little too cold for your taste.)

They’re fresher clones, so they don’t remember the sun well, if at all. They both always go quiet when the sun starts to dip below the horizon. Sanford props his tea sunglasses on top of his head and Deimos sets his cigarette in the ashtray as they both stare at the way the light turns the clouds purple and paints the sky with pink streaks. It stirs something sad in your heart – both of these men are pushing and just over the cusp of thirty, yet they don’t know the simple sweetness of a sunset.

But as soon as night overtakes the sky, they both turn their attention back to you. Deimos makes some suave comment about your beauty being nothing in the face of a sunset in that rumbling, smooth voice of his, and Sanford gives him a pointed glare. Sanford points out that your beauty and the beauty of nature are two whole different things, but keeps showering you with not-so-inadvertent compliments, leaving you flustered and blushing from both grunt’s words.

Hank is somewhat of an anomaly with this one. All of the grunt’s biological clocks are absolutely porked from their time without a sun, but Hank’s affected the worst by far. (That, and he doesn’t really care for the sun. He literally slaughtered it.) Therefore, he’s more privy to waking up in the middle of the night and dragging you onto the roof to look at the stars.

He likes laying on his back with you on his chest, pointing out the brightest stars and asking you questions about them. (He doesn’t really care, he just likes hearing your voice.) He loves your vivid descriptions of the constellations and how you describe them in intricate ways. To Hank, they’re just sparkly, unreachable dots in the sky, but it seems like, to you, they’re beautiful: like millions of silver nails driven into a dome of dark blue velvet.

He savors the moments like these the most, when you’re alone with him. There’s no sound except for the crickets and dog-day cicadas and spring peepers and your voice and Hank’s sputtering purring. Honestly, it’s as it should be – without those other pesky dipshits ruining your time together. (Well, he can tolerate Doc, but that annoying extraction team could go fuck themselves for all he cared.)

ENTERTAINMENT

Sanford hates being lazy. He hates feeling like he’s not doing anything useful, even if he’s being useful by resting. The only real way to make him sit down and stop moving is by trapping him on the couch, laying your head in his lap, and turning on the TV. (Even if, for the first thirty minutes, he’s too focused on you and your body heat and how fast his heart is beating to even consider looking at the TV.)

But the thing he loves watching the most isn’t any sort of movie with amazing cinematography or show with riveting writing – it’s infomercials. Specifically, infomercials from the 90’s to the late 2000’s. He likes seeing what things could’ve been like if there was no madness in Nevada, because things are oddly peaceful (at least, to him) in your world. Billy Mays and Cathy Mitchell make him wonder about domestic life with you (even if the Jupiter Jack and the Xpress Redi-Set-Go are completely obsolete by now), and how these little gadgets would make your life together supposedly go smoother.

He likes combing his claws carefully through your hair as you both watch these people play up how useful these obviously useless inventions are. He tries to avert his eyes and act interested in the TV as you look up at him and point out how the Red Devil Grill was recalled because it got so hot it collapsed and caused fires, but can’t. He just can’t keep his eyes off you when you look up at him so sweetly, and can you blame him? You just make his face so warm and his heart beat so fucking fast…

Deimos has always had a fascination with electronics, but it’s mostly been from a tactical and weaponized standpoint. But he’s discovered (well, really, you introduced him to) video games. He absolutely loves curling up into your side, purring and providing commentary as he watches you play. (Because, despite his trying, he hasn’t really gotten a hang of the controls yet.)

He loves more story-fueled games with characters he can really get attached to. He likes investing himself in things and people that don’t actually affect him, because seeing your favorite character go through dire straits or even die hurts for a little while, but it’s nothing compared to seeing someone get eviscerated right in front of you. And, yeah, he totally cried when Arthur Morgan died (and totally played it up so that you’d comfort him).

He also likes draping himself over you in the middle of a boss fight, wriggling and nuzzling into your cheek, causing you to giggle, lose focus, and, obviously, die. He strings together half-hearted apologies through his raspy purring, but he’s not really sorry. More deaths means more time spent with him, and internally, he’s completely and honestly unapologetic for his underhanded tactics.

Due to the nature of his administrative role, Doc spends a lot of time in front of screens. He likes to unplug and unwind by reading, no doubt with a straight-up hazardous amount of coffee by his side. He prefers reading with you with an arm wrapped around your shoulder, whether you’re also reading or working on something else. Though he’s inexperienced (and sometimes even shy) with these types of things, he’s more than happy to ease into affectionate touches and romance that kills his common sense with you.

His tastes are often cheap, but when he earns enough dough, he likes to splurge on second-hand college anatomy textbooks. No, he’s not planning on going to university, but he wants to know the inner workings of the human system (and, therefore, the inner workings of you). He also likes speculative biology and seeing what humans think about other intelligent species potentially being out there.

He would absolutely be elated (though he tries his best to hide it) if you took his interests seriously and discussed them with him. He tries to keep you in his makeshift office and away from the others so you can continue to spend this precious alone time with him, but that doesn’t stop the red-hot flare of jealousy as one of the others bursts in with a childish ask about something that should be obvious. (Of fucking course you wouldn’t want to go for a walk, Deimos, have you seen the weather out? Leave you and him alone!)

Obviously Hank would love gorefest and splatter film movies because of his all-encompassing and absolute love for carnage, and he’d love them even more if you got scared and hid yourself in his shoulder or chest. It’s clear that he’s your strongest and most capable vessel, so he clearly agrees with your choice to choose him as your protector (even if that choice is based on an instinctive need to hide).

He also loves WWE and MMA fighting. When given the choice, he opts for MMA because it’s real and bloody and he prefers seeing people push themselves to their absolute limit rather than some predetermined fight that serves a higher storyline. (But, then again, he really likes the clip of Undertaker breaking into Paul Bearer’s house during an interview and throwing a cabinet at him because, what the fuck? He’s never thought of that before! Using things from the environment when out of weapons instead of his fists could be an improvement. Maybe he can learn a thing or two from these fake fighters…)

And, yes, if you give him access to Twitter he will turn your entire timeline into those backyard fight videos and dashcam car crashes. He doesn’t mean to, it just happens.

ANIMALS

Being a natural night owl, Deimos loves keeping a lookout for what critters come out at night. When he’s on the front porch with you, smoking a cigarette and waving away mosquitoes, he makes sure to keep an eye out for weird and unusual wildlife. (While pressed against your side and purring loudly, no doubt.)

He likes watching the whip-poor-wills swoop down and catch the moths that swarm around the overhead porch lights. Yes, he will try to catch one, but backs off when you tell him to. Instead, he opts for digging in the dirt to find beetles and grubs to toss up in the air for the small birds to catch. He will kinda feel bad if the beetles hit the ground but will continue to throw them to the birds when you tell him insects are basically immune to fall damage, so… no harm, no foul.

He’s also absolutely enamored by raccoons. He likes throwing food to them from the safety of the porch and watching them eat with their little grabby hands. He’s very reckless so, despite your warnings, he’ll try to squirrel one away inside the house. (He does this multiple times and, without fail, gets bitten each time. 2B has given him multiple rabies shots after shooing the raccoons out with a broom.)

Speaking of Doc, he enjoys going out in nature and finding decaying things just to see how many buzzards arrive. He excuses it with something about wanting to see if decomposition works the same across both your world and his, but he secretly finds some relation with the birds – something about being deliverers and arbiters and negators of death. (Though the last one really only applies to him.)

He also likes the rare sightings of wild horses. He’ll go out of his way to (carefully, shyly) rouse you from whatever you’re doing to go take a look at the majestic beasts, and he’ll be even more excited if there’s a foal wandering between the stocky legs of the adults.

He just barely brushes his fingers against yours as you both stand on the edge of the treeline and watch them graze. Seeing the foal break from the herd, kick out and tumble and fall over and immediately get back up sparks… something in his heart. A vision. Just you, just him, linked pinkies, and a future together, with this warm feeling in his chest.

Hank really likes the more dangerous creatures. He gets along well with cottonmouth and other venomous snakes (and “gets along well” really means that they’re mean as can be and strike as often as possible while he just holds them and smiles at you).

If you don’t keep a close enough eye on him, he’ll wander off and try to provoke larger animals, like bobcats. To him, they’re just tiny little pussycats, even if they pose a real threat and could kill him. Please don’t let him go too far, because if he comes across a bear, he will try to wrestle it, and Doc doesn’t like having to do emergency surgery on the island countertop in your kitchen.

On multiple occasions, he’s come back to the house after being missing for hours, reeking of skunk spray. He just purrs happily as you tell him to strip and hold still as you spray him down with the hose.

Sanford is way calmer with his interactions with wildlife. He likes sitting on the dock with you and watching the fish swim by (because he’s impressed both by the fish and by the river – he’s never seen water in such great quantity!) Set him up with a hook, lure, and line and he’ll be entertained for hours. Though he struggles a bit with making streamers and fishing knots due to his big hands and claws, he’s more than patient when you teach him (mostly because he gets to spend time with you).

When he’s fishing, he likes to look around and observe – mostly because fishing is a waiting game. His favorite visitors are herds of whitetail deer, especially when summer is in full swing and the fawns are ready to start exploring. They remind him of his family, mainly because of the way the does don’t really care which fawn is theirs, just that each is getting enough milk. You point at them and discuss them with him in small whispers because you don’t want to spook them.

Again, it reminds him of his want for a domestic life with you. Just basking in the mottled sun that seeps through the trees, dipping your bare feet in the cool river water as a catfish tugs on the line – it’s all he wants, really. Now if he could just get the rest of the grunts to leave you alone… excluding Deimos, of course.

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shiningsuki · 1 month

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The First Promise

.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･ Book 1 of the STARRY WITNESS Miniseries

full series on AO3. xavier x mc. your first life together.

SYNOPSIS: You meet a boy like light itself who brightens your darkest days. He makes your last days outshine the rest of your short life by light years.

Chapter 1 Preview *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Mornings in Philos, especially in the early spring season, are never really quiet. There is a buzz in the air—if one listens close enough, one feels the vibrations, life tingling all around. Evol, the energy that makes the universe and the source of your power, hangs everything in the balance. You feel it humming beneath your skin as you walk to school, waving your arm in the air. Your fingers wiggle slightly with the movement. With an absentminded awareness, you sense your Evol connecting with the air around you; your body and nature are always in harmony.

This all passes as fleeting thoughts. As soon as you pour your energy into the connection, you feel it draining just as fast. You drop your arm and make a sweeping glance around the market you pass through to get to school. The Academy’s campus lies in the heart of town, and your dorm is just under a ten-minute walk from school.

It’s a rare sunny day. Philos’ frequent storms and cloudy days finally break into a cool, spring morning. The streets begin to wake up. Older men and women set up their stalls. More cars start to pass you on the sidewalk. The humming you sense begins to amplify, ever so slowly, an exponential rise that you’ve come to recognize as second nature. As the world wakes up, so does its resonance, the one that connects your Evol to everything.

You adjust your backpack on your shoulders. Then you tuck your hands underneath your armpits, your hoodie’s thick material providing a little more warmth from the chill. It’s still cold this early in the year, but you try to make up for it by layering your uniform accordingly.

You calculate that you’re about five minutes from school when an entourage of large black cars zoom past you. Since the sidewalk is so close to the main street, the sheer speed makes gusts of wind blow toward your body. It makes your hair fly around and you instinctively hug yourself tighter. The added draft doesn’t help with the morning temperature.

Curious, you eye the line of cars and wonder who’s important enough to ride in them. They turn towards the school’s direction. You eventually follow into the same street, and the Academy’s gates greet you several feet ahead.

History teaches all of Philos’ citizens that the Academy is a stepping stone for the best and brightest students to utilize Evol in its various ways. They could study it in research labs. They could become Lightseekers and protect humanity from Wanderers and other universal threats. They could even become explorers, traversing the Deepspace tunnel into the vast corners of the universe. Discover whether or not you all are the last living organisms in this plane of existence.

None of it appeals to you. Granted, you can’t see so far ahead in the future. This is your first year at the Academy, yet even after the break, your prospects seem dim at best. Everyone tells you that you have time to figure it out. But time has never been your ally.

You subconsciously rub your chest as you approach the gates. They’re wide open for an hour before the start of the school day. In the circle drive, you see the black cars from earlier all piled up one after the other, parked in front of the main building. Outside each car, a large man stands guard, sunglasses covering their eyes and an earpiece tucked behind their ears. They scan their surroundings. You make eye contact with them, though you can’t really tell. They don’t spare you another glance.

As you approach closer, one of the car doors opens. A flash of silver hair glints in the rising sunlight then disappears just as quickly behind a pair of guards. They flank this person on all sides as they enter the school.

Strange, you think. Someone important is visiting? It’s after break, but you don’t remember hearing news of a welcome-back assembly or important announcement anytime soon. Then again, you don’t pay too much attention to what happens outside your classes. You follow a group of students entering the doors. You catch a bit of their conversation. They too wonder what the mysterious entourage’s presence means at the school.

Read the full chapter here ✧·ﾟ: *✧·:*

© shiningsuki on Tumblr and suki_dreams on AO3. all rights and permissions belong to the author. reposting without permission is prohibited. all depictions of love and deepspace are inspired and unaffiliated with official storylines and characters.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #xavier #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #my fics #NEW SERIES ALERT!!!#it's been two years since i wrote something in the fanfiction realm #it's good to be back #is it annoying to make people read on tumblr and AO3...#if it is oh whale #ENJOY!!!!!#leave feedback in my ask box pls #or just reblog with ur tag thoughts that would be Fantastic #loving you thank you for reading my stuff #shiningsuki #shiningsukifics #ao3

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wonjns · 2 years

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their flower ❀

pairing; lee seokmin x male reader x xu minghao

genre; smut & fluff

summary; despite being so busy with their schedules, your two boyfriends always made time for their complete puzzle piece. they lived for the moments they got to see you blossom beneath (or between) them.

includes; bottom!male reader, poly!seventeen, praise kink, teasing, nipple play, unprotected sex ( don’t irl !! ), finger sucking, blowjob (reader receiving), reader is youngest.

wc; 2.6k

notes; was a lil nervie about this one tbh bc i never written a poly before x_x but im obsessed w/ these two, they’re so sweet & sexy & cute especially this era and hsdhdsabs i just had to~ it’s not super explicitly smutty i just had to get my seokhao fix :(( hope its not terrible

you lied curled up on the couch of the Seventeen dorms, hugging a pillow in your embrace. a blanket covered you while watching the netflix series that played on the flat screen before you. you had received a text from minghao an hour prior, telling you to head to the dorms and make yourself comfy since him and dokyeom were currently heading back home from their last schedule. your boyfriend’s text claimed that only a few other members would be home for the night considering they were given the weekend off, not that you would mind seeing the other guys anyways.

it seemed you were faster than the two idols, because now you found yourself snuggled up in the furniture in one of dokyeom’s hoodies, hao’s basketball shorts, and already halfway into an episode of your show. they still hadn’t arrived at their own place.

you picked up your phone, it reading 11:36 pm, and you began wondering if they were ever gonna come home. you understood the amount of hold ups and imbalances within the music industry there were, so you did your best to not nag them about it. however, as if right on cue, you were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening and low mumbling. you picked your head up to see your two tall scarlet red and jet black halves rounding the corner, both carrying quite a few bags, a few of which were groceries.

the smile on your face grew quickly upon seeing them, but dokyeom’s doubled the size of yours upon seeing your frame resting on their couch.

“y/n!!” he coo’d cutely, immediately dropping everything in his hands - long legs hastily strutting up to you.

you sat up criss-crossed as minghao went to drop the bags off in the kicthen and dokyeom paces over to you. once he reached you he squatted down, meeting your eye level from your seat. his large hands then encased yours and he began rubbing his thumbs over your smooth knuckles.

“I’m happy to see you, babe. thanks for coming over.” dokyeom continued, staring at you with the brightest glow that shined through his orbs.

his gaze was strong and passionate as your eyes locked into one another. you felt yourself already blushing, your tummy lighting aflame with butterflies at the eye contact. he looked extremely handsome, the light from the tv reflecting off of his gorgeously tanned skin, and his dark hair still looking professionally styled. you took notice of his outfit, undoubtedly his wardrobe from the last day of their music video shooting.

“I-I missed you guys, it’s been like a week and a half.” you responded, eyes flitting down to his hands softly tracing patterns into yours.

all you heard was a giggle from the older male before your lips were instantly enveloped in a cloud-like, sugary kiss. you were caught off guard, but your eyelids slowly closed as you hummed, his cologne invading your senses. dokyeom broke the kiss apart to speak, much too soon for your liking.

“I know, we’re sorry prince.” he mumbled before reaching a hand up to cup your jaw and connecting your lips again. “it was a long day... but... everything’s wrapped.... director’s happy..... and now.... we’re all yours.....” he continued in between his kisses, growing in strength each time.

you hummed in agreement, trying to show you were listening, but you found it difficult to follow along the more his pillowy lips overrode your senses.

like you said, it had been a week - a seemingly never ending week of neediness. you felt sensitive to even just a few solid pecks, and your body was clearly responsive to finally receiving some attention.

as if on instinct, your hands shot out to hold the back of his neck and pulled him into you to maintain a longer lasting kiss. still being kneeled, dokyeom’s hand shot down to catch himself to avoid toppling completely over you, and he giggled into your lips. fully understanding your attempt for more, dokyeom gently pushed his tongue into your cavern, seeking out its favorite wrestling partner. you complied all too easily, groaning slightly when you felt the taller male’s pink muscle move against yours. your mouths continued their sultry dance and you tugged on the hairs on the base of his neck, causing him to work your lips with more force.

when you could feel your boner slowly growing harder, you ran your hands along the singer’s broad shoulders before cupping both sides of his face, his lips picked up in momentum, groaning quietly into each others mouths.

just as things were increasing in heat, you heard a voice wantonly call out from behind the couch.

“...am I being left out?” minghao chimed in.

you and dokyeom paused in the mingling of your lips to turn and see the red headed boy standing with an eyebrow raised and hands on his hips.

his annoyed expression quickly turned into a mischievous grin, causing you to giggle before he pounced onto the couch as if he were a graceful cat. he playfully nudged dokyeom out of the way before pushing you flat on your back, instantly connecting to your lips himself.

unlike dokyeom’s, minghaos kisses were immediately intense and filled with power. he released a deep moan as he worked your lips continuously, shamelessly grinding your cores together - it seemed hao was even more worked up than you were. you gasped at the sudden pleasure, causing both him and dokyeom to chuckle. you tangle your fingers into minghao’s unnaturally soft locks as dokyeom leaned in to place a kiss on your temple and minghaos cheeks.

you were then let free to catch some air, the intensity of minghaos lips leaving you breathless. your blush swiftly reappeared when you caught how focused minghaos eyes were watching you as well, smirking as he studied the way you tried to compose yourself.

“..why do you guys keep doing that?” you pouted, averting your own gaze.

“doing what?” minghao responded, tilting his head a bit in attempt to catch your eyes again.

“s-staring like that....”

minghao giggled again, not answering you before pecking your lips a couple more times. dokyeom reached out to stroke your hair, his nails feeling euphoric as they ran over your scalp.

“we just haven’t seen our favorite boy in a while, that’s all. we even brought you some of your favorites.” dokyeom spoke, finally standing from his kneeling position.

he walked over to the tables where minghao had dropped the groceries, and your eyes tried to follow him before being cut short of hao himself still trapping you beneath him. he still wore a big grin on his face, which then dove in to litter more kisses over your face.

the quick pecks caused you to giggle, but even that was cut short as he reattached those very lips to yours once again. you could hear dokyeom still talking to you while rummaging through the bags at the counter, but your senses were quickly being overwhelmed as your second boyfriend started licking his way into the roof of your mouth.

minghao reached down to cup your hard-on from outside your shorts, and it wasn’t until dokyeom heard a loud moan come from your that he figured no one was listening to him anymore. he dropped the large bags of chips dramatically and loomed over the couch. he did his best to feign an angry facial expression, but seeing his two love bugs giggling back at him while doing what they did best caused his signature grin to make an appearance. he couldn’t help but wonder how he got so lucky.

“so we really are leaving people out now, hm.” he blabbed, making his way around the furniture.

“sorry hyung,” you chuckled, leaning up to move minghao off of you. “but hey, at least you two had each other the past two weeks, i’ve only had my books to cuddle.”

although your statement was made as a joke, it couldn’t help but actually bear some weight on dokyeom’s heart as he said next to you, sandwiching you between the two older boys. he gently pat the top of your head, looking at you with a somewhat serious gaze.

“i know, we’re sorry, again. you know we were dying everyday until we saw our baby again.” he replied sweetly. minghao couldnt help but hum along in agreement before leaning to kiss your cheek.

the two males hated when you felt lonely or separated from them, and always did their best to prevent those feelings from ever coming to fruition in your pretty little mind. tonight would be no different. with a quick exchange of mischievous looks over your unsuspecting head, the two of them snuggled even closer to you. the three of your faces were only mere inches apart.

the ever-so-familiar redness crept back up on your face as you squeezed minghaos hand in embarrassment, but before you could speak up to ask what they were doing, they both started attacking you with a flurry of kisses. dokyeom covered the region of your face with innocent pecks, while minghao dove into your neck, leaving nips and sucks onto your delicate skin.

“well the great thing about being gone for so long means that we can make nights like these all... about.... you.” minghao spoke lowly, running his tongue over a sensitive spot on your column.

your response was somewhere between a whine and a giggle, your neediness from minghao’s actions building as dokyeom continued to relentlessly cover your face. you fiddled with minghaos elegant fingers, unable to comprehend how shameless he was, but unspokenly asking for more. he smirked, moving his hand to cover your still hardening member gently.... a little too gently. dokyeom noticed this, pulling back to admire your reaction.

“you’re so cute when you’re scared to ask.” he teased.

without another word, dokyeom’s large hands effortlessly removed his hoodie from your torso. the slightly chilled hair hitting your skin caused you to almost complain, until you quickly felt his warm mouth over one of your buds.

you gasped, gripping his dark locks once more which caused him to groan while running his tongue over your nipple. your sounds caused minghao’s cock to twitch, ripping him from his concentration on your throat. his eyes flitted down to see dokyeom’s actions, and he bore that wicked smile once more before dipping his own head further down to pleasure your other exposed bud. the red head also started to stroke your upper thigh as he sucked on you, making you grow dizzy.

“a-ah, you guys...” you exhaled, eyes rolling back from the stimulation you were receiving from both sides. your arms draped around both bodies on your sides, sliding your hands up and down their backs in order to keep your sanity.

“mmm, what’s the matter, prince?” dokyeom mumbled before returning to your bud, taking it between his teeth. minghao didn’t even bother answering you, his brazen moans not helping your case of near-paralyzation.

“m-more.... I can’t take this.” you huffed, trying to keep your eyesight stable.

“hmm... feeling greedy tonight, baby?” minghao teased, gently running his hand along the skin of your back.

he nipped your earlobe while chuckling lowly, his free hand dancing gently around your embarrassingly hard member already. you started to squirm, parting your lips to plea once more until dokyeom caught them between his, swallowing your whines. he brought his hand up to your jaw, holding you in place while he began ravaging your mouth. his sudden spark caught you off guard as it contrasted his gentle demeanor just moments ago.

you kissed back with more force, powered by your growing frustration that neither of them would touch you exactly how you wanted. while dokyeom kept your lips occupied, minghao continued leaving marks on your neck. and when you felt his hand that was resting on your boner come up to twirl one of your nipples in between his long fingers, you groaned. you dragged your hands from dokyeom’s face down to palm his own growing erection, hoping it would somehow work him up enough to have mercy on you. he broke the kiss, allowing you to catch some air and showing you his bright smile.

“wow, someone really did miss us.”

you were convinced your blush wasn’t ever going to fade when dokyeom pulled you on to his lap, leaving minghao staring blankly. the former’s hands continued to strip you of minghao’s basketball shorts until you were left in your boxers before doing the same to himself. your mouth couldn’t help but water once you caught glimpse of dokyeom’s thick, tanned thighs.

before you could reach out to lower the band of his boxers, he strongly pulled you back down onto his lap. your waist fit perfectly in his grasp, and he began rolling your hips over his, the friction from your bulges meeting causing you to throw your head back. the mix of your sounds and the stimulation had dokyeom rolling his eyes back, causing minghao to smirk. the red head scoot closer, his hands reaching around your throat and pulling you into a heated make out.

holding on to dokyeom’s shoulders for stability, you continued grinding yourself on to the tall brunette while you and minghao’s tongues mingled. dokyeom’s moans were as pretty as his singing voice, and it seems he were more on edge than he lead on, because before you knew it you were once again being lifted off his thighs so that he could rid both of you of your boxers.

a smirk danced its way across your face, you reaching out to pump his large member a couple more times. he groaned notably deeper before turning you around, slowly sinking you down on to him. you squealed, the stretch being something you weren’t prepared for, but your extreme desire caused the the discomfort to quickly transform into pleasure - he filled you up so perfectly.

“k-kyeomie... you feel so good... you’re so big.” you moaned, your head dropping back on to his broad shoulders. he gripped your waist again tightly, forcing himself to stay still and ignore the urges to just rail you - that’s what your praises did to him.

this time you held tightly on to minghao’s arms, your eyes squeezing shut. this only caused the mischievous red head to kneel down in front of you and dokyeom. he spread your legs wide before his face, his eyes lighting up when seeing your throbbing cock.

“that’s right baby boy,” he whispered. “i love when our flower blooms for us.”

minghao then surged forth to place strong kisses to the under side of your shaft, occasionally dragging his tongue up and down its length. mewls instantly flowing out of your mouth like a river dam. you tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged, causing his plump lips to finally wrap around you fully.

when you finally dropped your head on dokyeom’s shoulder, he took this as motive start rolling his hips from under you, gently thrusting upwards while holding your hips still. minghao continued bobbing his head on your length while massaging your thighs, causing you to tremble.

noticing your shaking, dokyeom began to coo praises in your ear and lifted his hands to your mouth. you immediately accepted to fingers into your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue around his long digits while he left kisses on your shoulder. you only lasted like this a couple minutes before both you and dokyeom released your love liquids, panting.

minghao smirked with amusement and wiped his lips before standing, gently oozing you off of dokyeom’s lap. you started to whimper at the loss of warmth, but hadn’t had time to fully register it before you were lied on your back on the other side of the couch, minghao hovering over you with his shirtless figure. he pecked your nose before lifting and adjusting both of your legs around his hips.

“we’ll clean you up in a second, love, but you know how I feel about being left out.”

#kpop x male reader #seventeen x male reader #kpop x reader #seokmin x reader #minghao x reader #seventeen smut #kpop smut #svt x male reader #seventeen male reader #kpop male reader #minghao smut #seokmin smut #male reader smut

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dramioneasks · 4 months

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Christmas Fics 2023 (Part 5):

The 12th, 12th day of Christmas by Cat.st.claire - M, WIP - A holiday rendition of Groundhog day, with the added bonus of being Dramione.

sweet dreams of holly and ribbon by LovesBitca8 - E, one-shot - The war against the Dark Lord continues on, but Hermione is stuck at Grimmauld Place with the world's most annoying house guest.

From the Journal of Hermione Granger by Catmint and Thyme (Languish_Locked_in_L) - M, one-shot - Only one bed, rainforest edition. In which Hermione Granger goes on an expedition to Costa Rica in search of a magical (probably mythical) poinsettia with her insufferable colleague, Draco Malfoy, who she can't stop drawing. (It's not creepy, he just has good bone structure.)

darkest days and brightest nights by riddikulus_puff - T, one-shot - The Second Wizarding War destroyed many lives, families and businesses, who then struggled to come to terms with life after the defeat of Lord Voldemort. Many people were shadows of their former selves. Some changed for the better. Some for the worse. Hermione Granger went away to Australia for years, struggling to keep contact with all of her friends before travelling back to London and opening a tattoo parlour — which quickly came to be one of the most favourite businesses in Diagon Alley. Further down the street was the young widow, Draco Malfoy, who had taken over the ownership of his late wife’s favourite flower shop and was struggling to survive day to day with the upcoming Christmas holidays — especially with keeping things happy, mystical and festive for his son Scorpius.

United? by ce1estemccc - G, WIP - It's no secret Gryffindor's and Slytherin's have never gotten on, and a prime example of this is that of the Golden and Silver trios. However, important new details come to light about certain members of each respective trio, which makes the other question just how founded their mutual hatred is... Or Hermione and Draco meet on a train on the way to King's Cross one Christmas. Four hours certainly isn't enough for their whole respective world views to change... but is it just enough to sow the seed of doubt in each other's mind? You'll have to read to find out I'm afraid...

Everything Gold Can Stay by charingfae - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy would give all the money in his vault for a chance to woo Hermione Granger. And he very nearly does. Year after year, he gifts her the most perfect, thoughtful, elaborate Christmas presents. So why in Merlin's name does she keep getting mad? One of these years, he's bound to get it right. Isn't he? Draco paused and drank in her radiant expression, her wisdom, her never-ending quest to make everyone in her sphere of influence better—all the individual components that added up to the mathematically impossible sum that was Hermione Granger. “I don’t agree with that. I’d argue that the things we love never stop being special. Not for a moment, Granger.”

The Scent of Her by Catmint and Thyme (Languish_Locked_in_L) - E, WIP - Sent to investigate a dark artefact, Hermione and Draco end up snowed in over Christmas. It’s a good thing Hermione’s a beta, right?

Not What It Looks Like by eveningstruggle - M, one-shot - A hot, panicky hurt begins to throb inside her chest. This doesn’t make sense. Is it some type of horribly misguided practical joke? Revenge for shutting him down a few months ago? Or—is it a parting gift? A “so long and thanks for the memories, now I’m off to fuck someone else?” ”What—” Her voice croaks. She clears her throat and tries again. “What the fuck is this, Malfoy?” Confusion creases his forehead. “They’re photos of you.” She’s five seconds from bolting back through the Floo. “I can see that. Why have you given me two dozen terrible photos of myself for Christmas?” Or: Draco gives Hermione a Christmas gift.

Merry and Bright by Biirdiee_Rose - T, one-shot - Draco comes home a little earlier from work than usual, finding his children playing out in the snow as his wife watches on happily. Or... Peaking in through a window of the Granger-Malfoy family as the holidays approach.

Ugly Christmas Swearer by aplthree - not rated, one-shot - Hermione forces Draco to wear an ugly sweater.

A Running Start by sundayviolet - T, one-shot - Hermione and Draco disagree with the DMLE’s assessment when their mutual friend and coworker, Theo, is poisoned. Alone at Hogwarts for Christmas, they must work together to find the truth. With their favorite buffer in the hospital, the two grow closer and finally admit what’s been long in the making.

Festive Ficlets by belladeexx - T - A collection of short works written for the holiday season.

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow by JessicaLovejoyAO3 - not rated, one-shot - Would Draco and Hermione falling in love at Hogwarts have changed the events of the Second Wizarding War?

#christmas #dramione

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lightning-chicken · 3 months

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What Lies Beneath Mountains

i wrote something for a server writing game (hi, nwod people!) and i decided to post it! this is based of off the deleted scene at the end of s13, where the munce and geckle return to the mountain.

(ao3 version here.)

It’s quiet under the mountain.

Pickaxes carve into rock, carts roll along tracks, stone is moulded and beaten into delicate swirls. The Munce and Geckle workers toil together in silence—not out of fear, like before, but out of respect and a rare kind of reverence. Any half-buried grievances have been put aside in the name of someone both sides admired.

Another someone.

One statue already inhabits the temple beneath the mountain, but that isn’t what the workers are here for. They’re focused on a new figure carved out of rock: a new hero, sent to help the people who idolised his mother.

Coincidence or fate? Maybe she has too much faith in the writers in the clouds, but she’d like to believe it’s a mix of both.

As this second statue is lifted into place—pulled by Munce and Geckle giving every ounce of energy they can, just like the heroes did for them—its features come to light. That statue is smaller than the other, and shaped into a different likeness, but the similarities are unavoidable: intricate yet durable swirls wrap around both the statues’ rocky skin, echoing each other but unique in their own ways. Gritty stone has been hewn into his features where polished stone was sculpted into hers; they’re two chunks of the same rock, shaped by different processes over the course of their lives but undeniably from the same roots.

Similar, but beautifully unique.

It’s all she ever hoped that he’d achieve: living his life on his own terms, putting his heart and soul into causes he believes in. For that, and for a thousand other reasons, she’s so, so proud of him.

Slabs of stone are pushed into place, and the second statue is secured in its place beside the first.

Tools clink together as the workers pack up their bags, filing out of the temple one by one. The completion of a monument like this should be a cause for celebration, yet the workers are hushed and the air is heavy. It’s not celebration, it’s quiet reflection and respect.

The workers have lived here long enough to know that this temple is home to more than stone monoliths.

Workers begin to make their way back up the mountain, the dull thuds of their feet receding into whispers of noise. Any lingering traces of activity are scrubbed away with the last worker’s departure, and the stone doors are gently pulled shut.

It’s quiet under the mountain.

Dark, too—the light from the workers’ torches has long since withdrawn to the upper levels of the mountain, rendering the statues near-blind in their temple.

Not for long, though.

Rock shifts and lava slips through the cracks, running in rivulets through the central carving on the floor. It streams outwards in spirals, emitting a soft golden glow that gets brighter with every new drop of lava exposed.

Heat rises and hangs in the air—not the blistering roar of fire, but the simmering heat of a hot spring. The gentle warmth of soil on a summer’s day. The unconditional pride of a parent’s love.

Molten rock entwines around the younger statue’s feet and stretches to his hands, welcoming and accepting him as part of the temple. The glow burns brightest not at his heart but at his fingers—they’re mere breaths from hers; so, so close to touching, but not quite there.

Not quite there.

They remain like that, for a while: one statue lit with all the might of the earth, and the other dull in comparison. Tarnished by time and weary from loss.

The desire to close this tiny, tiny gap shimmers deep in her stone chest, but she shoves it down and lets it simmer deeper. Closing the gap is something she used to be able to do, something she used to have the opportunity to do. Not now.

Closing the gap is something she gave up when she used her final years as a hero to fight and not rest. She doesn’t regret her time travelling or helping those who needed it—it’s the opposite, in fact. She loved that, and she can see the same desire ended up running in the family.

No, what she regrets is not being able to help those she cared about the most: she couldn’t help them when coughs rattled her frame every time she spoke; she couldn’t help them when getting out of bed took more effort than moving a mountain; and she couldn’t help them when all her strength finally left her and she died.

But she’s made piece with that. What’s done is done, and what is gone will soon bloom anew in another form.

Warmth seeps through every shard of her body as the lava pools at her feet, and—

Rough rock grazes her hand.

Just for a moment—but another moment is everything she hoped for.

Her stone shifts, head tilting left, left, left, inch by inch, until she can see him properly. His statue is back where it was originally placed; the only way she can tell it’s been moved (no, he moved by himself) is the disturbed soil and brighter glow.

That same glow sings through her skin. He isn’t the real thing and neither is she, but it’s close, and close means everything.

Lilly looks at her son and smiles.

#ninjago #cole brookstone #lilly brookstone #cole #ninjago cole #cole ninjago #lilly #ninjago lilly #lilly ninjago #ns13 #lego ninjago #master of the mountain #ninjago master of the mountain #key’s conversations #key’s fics #what lies beneath mountains #ninjago fanfic #ninjago fanfiction

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hannahssimblr · 3 months

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Chapter Ten (Part 2)

I have never known cold in my life like the cold of the early morning in Berlin. It’s the kind of morning that feels like the sun will never rise. The cars still have their headlights on as Claire and I haul our bags up the stairs of the U Bahn station and out onto the street for the first time. It is seven in the morning, and it is not beautiful here.

We huddle together beneath a massive BAHNHOF NEUKOLLN sign and peer through the grey in search for a familiar face. The metal barriers all around us are lined with chained up bicycles overlapping each other, and there is careless graffiti on the shutters of the electronics shop across the road from us. It isn’t open yet. Nothing is open yet, including our hostel, so we stand with our backs against the frigid metal of a cigarette machine and wait.

He’s like an otherworldly spirit when he emerges from the fog, bundled in a big black coat, breaths turning to clouds that absorb into the thick mist around him. He raises a hand in a wave, and his smile is the brightest thing for miles.

“Good morning.” Jude says. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late.” He bends down to hug me and I immediately feel my lack of sleep. I could almost sleep right here on the cushiony softness of his puffer coat with his cheek somehow still warm despite the weather.

“So this is your home.” Claire says as he gives her a hug, and he shrugs nonchalantly. “Looks like shit this morning, to be honest. It literally couldn’t be uglier, but welcome to Berlin.” He offers to carry some of our bags, and we let him. We head down an identically bleak street that’s lined with Doner Kebab takeaways, phone shops and tiny supermarkets, all closed. Jude gently tugs on the back of my collar when I try to cross the road.

“You have to wait for the green man.” He says near my ear.

I stare at him incredulously. “I know, but there’s no cars coming.”

“I don’t make the rules here.” We stand then, stupidly, waiting for the lights to change as not a single car passes us by. Then finally, it does, and we can cross.

“That was ridiculous.” I say. “What’s going to happen if I just walk? They’ll throw me in jail?”

“No, worse.” He says. “An old German woman will materialise and start scolding you from her kitchen window. Happens literally every time.”

“Hm. So they’re pretty rule bound here.”

“You’re telling me.”

Jude lives a twenty minute walk from the station in a large brutalist block of flats that is identical to all of the other brutalist blocks of flats that flank it on all four sides. I wonder how he can ever remember which is his, or how many times in his first few weeks he found himself wandering around trying to recall which block he walked out of that same morning, because I can certainly imagine that for myself.

“Oh, cats!” Claire comments as a pair of tabbys appear from the vegetation around the base of the building, one of whom starts winding her slinky body in between Jude’s ankles and mewing rather impatiently at him while the other sits watch from a short distance away. He leans down to scratch her head. “Nothing for you right now.” He says to her. “I’ll come back later on.”

“You feed these cats.” I say. Not a question, a fact.

“I’m the crazy cat man of the neighbourhood.” He admits. “But they just love me, they must know that I have a kind soul.”

“It’s because you feed them.” The tabby gives up on him and approaches me next, mouth open in a startling maw, her meow the cat equivalent of a screech. “Jesus.” I whisper.

“It’s just how she sounds.” He explains. “She’s actually a well tempered cat.”

“What’s her name?”

“I call her Main Street, because that’s where she mostly hangs out, and that one.” He points his thumb toward her noticeably more timid pair, hovering by the wheels of a parked car. “That’s Ten Feet Behind.”

“Because she’s always-”

“Yeah, ten feet behind the other cat.” He grins with chattering teeth. “Let’s go inside, it’s so damn cold.” With stiff fingers he punches in the code for the apartment and leads us into a hallway stuffed to the gills with more bikes. There is no lift, which means we have to carry our things up the stairway, winding around and around, hoping that each landing will be our last, but we keep going up until the seventh floor, where finally, mercifully, Jude lays our bags on the floor and fumbles in his pocket for his keys.

“Jonas is probably still asleep.” He warns us. “So let’s try and keep it down until he surfaces.” He gingerly opens the door to his apartment and lets us inside, and the heating is on, and my body is flooded with the kind of warmth and comfort that makes me want to curl up on that inviting green couch in the living area and fall asleep for hours.

“You two can sit down wherever.” Jude says, so we peel our coats off and leave them hanging in a closet by the door. “I’ll make something for us to eat.”

“Oh? Food?” Claire says, as she and I sink into the soft cushions of his couch. “You don’t have to make anything.”

“I’m hungry, I’m sure you’re hungry, we can eat.”

“Okay.” She says, immediately convinced, and I wind my arm with hers and rest my head on her shoulder as my eyes flutter shut with contentment. The apartment is so nice. It smells good. There is nice art on the walls that looks as though it was picked out by someone with a good eye, rather than the usual landlord special back in Dublin, which consists usually of some ancient picture of a hideous, jowled dog that was likely dug out of the bottom of a bargain pile at a car boot sale.

I can’t believe that this morning I was in Dublin, and now I’m in a different country. I’m really in Berlin. I’m in Jude’s house. He’s cooking breakfast. It feels like something that would only happen in my head, but I keep opening my eyes to make sure that it’s real, and finding out that it is. After a while I peer over the back of the couch, and he has his back to me, whisking eggs in a bowl, and I read the spines of the cookbooks stacked neatly by the hob. Ottolenghi. Samin Nosrat. Grace Young. There are no books with unsophisticated titles like One Pot Wonders or Meals in Minutes! His are specific cuisines. Middle eastern food, Japanese food, North African, Italian, Chinese, French. I prop my chin on my hand and regard him with fresh interest. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

He glances over his shoulder at me. “Of course.”

“I mean that I didn’t know that you cooked cooked, as in, more than just improvised tomato pasta and shepherd’s pie from a container.”

He chuckles. “I seem like I enjoy food from containers, do I?”

“Not particularly, I just never thought about it.”

He takes a serrated knife to a hunk of soft bread and cuts off several thick slices. “I’ve always liked to cook. I had to do it a lot when my parents were too busy to make dinner for my sister, it all kind of fell on me, and I grew to like it a bit, I suppose. Luckily. There’s not much that beats the taste of something you made yourself. When it’s good, I mean.”

He casually drunks a slice of bread into the beaten eggs with one hand and fires up the gas stove with the other. “Weird that you never knew that about me, honestly.”

“I suppose it never came up.”

“Hm. Well, surprise.”

The door from an adjoining room suddenly opens, and I glance around to see a very broad, bare chested man emerge from the darkness of his bedroom. “Hello” He says groggily. “What smells good?”

Claire, who had drifted into a shallow sleep before, regards him suddenly with wide, shocked eyes. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, looking like a viking, with blonde hair the length of his shoulders and messed up on one side to suggest that he sleeps on his right.

“Oh.” He says when he notices us on the couch. “Hello ladies.” He steps in front of us so that we’re just about eye level with his crotch and extends a hand for Claire to shake, then me. “I don’t need introductions. I know that you’re Claire, and you’re Evie.” He points his thumb at himself. “I’m Jonas.”

Jude peers at him from the kitchen. “Yeah, they’re pleased to meet you, Jonas, can you put trousers on please.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Okay! If you want.” and goes back into his room.

“Oh my god.” Claire says under her breath. I can’t tell whether she’s appalled or impressed, but she’s wide awake now.

Jude starts dealing out plates at the counter, and we get up to take our seats as he carefully places a slice of perfectly golden French toast in front of us. He takes a bowl of fresh berries out of the fridge, along with some sort of mascarpone cheese cream, and slides a jar of maple syrup across the counter into my waiting hand. “Enjoy.” He says, and stands on the other side of the counter to eat his the way that Italians drink espresso, al banca. He stabs his fork into the centre of the toast and swipes the knife across it. He’ll have it all eaten in ten seconds, but Claire and I will savour every delicious mouthful.

“Sorry about the berries.” Jude says eventually. “They’re off-season.”

“Oh God, no, we don’t mind that.” Says Claire. “It’s actually so good, this is unreal.”

“Absolutely.” I agree. “This is like something you’d get in a restaurant.”

“Calm down, lads, it’s just French toast.” Says Jude, but the tips of his ears have gone red.

When Jonas reemerges, dressed, he takes a plate from the cupboard and starts unceremoniously shovelling food onto it, and then stands barefoot in the middle of the kitchen eating it like a wild animal. I side eye Claire to gauge her reaction to this, and just like I expected she’s horrified.

“What is everyone going to do today?” He says, mouth jammed with bread.

“No big plans.” I tell him. “Maybe see the sights a bit, wander around. Look at the shops.”

“Oh, have you got costumes for Saturday night?”

“Sort of. Halfway, maybe. We were hoping to find something here.” I glance at Claire and she nods. I have the shoes I want to wear, but nothing else. She hasn’t got a single item, so some serious shopping is in order.

“There are so many places for thrift shopping.” He says with a wave of his fork. “You will find something great.” He prods Jude’s shoulder with his fork. “Are you going too?”

“Nah we’ve agreed to meet up in the evening, I have to go to the studio today, unfortunately.”

“Work work work.” Jonas says with an eye roll. “I hope you get a good job after all of this is finished, or it will all be for nothing.”

“Agreed.” Jude says flatly. “Who are going as, by the way? I mean, costume wise” he says to Claire and I then, eyes flitting back and forth between us, and I smirk at him. “We’re not telling you.” We don’t know. “We’re going to surprise you on the night.”

“Fine, then I’ll surprise you too.”

“Well I’m expecting to be impressed.”

His smile falters. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“You mean you’re not overly prepared?”

“It was a difficult theme.”

“It’s not difficult.” Jonas informs him. “It would be difficult if it was, I don’t know, 1930s soviet politicians, but it’s 60’s celebrities. It really couldn’t be easier.”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “Just mostly men were just wearing variations of the same suit.”

“Not true. You could have been a beatle, or a rolling stone, any of those groovy woodstock men, you didn’t think outside the box.” Jonas turns and winks at us. “My costume is good. Wait and see.”

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#lucky girl part 3

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monako-jinn-stories · 7 months

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Captain Howzer X Fem! Reader FanFic

Rebels on the Run

Main Master List

Multi-part Stories Master List

Chapter Four

Chapter Six

Chapter Five

Swirls of faint light dance in the vast darkness of your mind. Whispers fill your ears as you try to listen and make out what they’re saying. Their colors differ, although you can assume what they mean. Blue and green are the jedi that are still pure, grey are those that walk the line between the light and dark, and red are sith and fallen jedi. Some are flickering, indicating that they might be faltering in their ways.

There are four lights that stand out to you; two red, one blue, and one grey. Anakin, Tayah, Obi Wan, and Ahsoka. They travel different paths, and none of them lead to each other. Part of you wants to find each of them, but you know that you have more important matters at hand.

One matter is how to get off of Ryloth. Nothing has been working out for you, and your hope is starting to wane. Although, you keep your morale up when Howzer is around, as you don’t want to worry him.

Another matter is how to keep the two of you hidden once you’re off the planet. Dohbar likely will be a safe place for the two of you to stay, but you haven’t raised that question to Howzer yet. Plus, you haven’t been a ‘thing’ for long. You don’t even know what you really are. That’s a third matter, figuring out where you stand and what, if anything, is your label.

The fourth matter is Howzer’s aging. You want him to be able to live as long as he’d like, even though you’re not quite sure how long that is. A Kaminoan scientist had been working on Dohbar to come up with a sort of treatment to slow down the aging process for your battalion, but seeing as they were lost to the Empire, they no longer require it.

All this, plus little worries, have now replaced the lights of force users as stars in your mind. The big problems glow the brightest while the smaller ones twinkle softly. You let out a soft sigh in your meditation, blowing away all the issues and focusing on one.

A hand caresses your cheek and you open your eyes slightly before closing them again and leaning into Howzer’s touch. His breath is warm on your nose as he places a gentle kiss there, then one on each cheek, making you giggle. You open your eyes to playfully pout, causing him to chuckle in response. “I know you were busy meditating,” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead now, “but we should get going to the city before it’s too late.”

“About that…” you say, letting your fingers intertwine with his as he sits next to you, “I was thinking we could stay in the hotel tonight. I miss having an actual mattress instead of sleeping on stone. Plus, we’re already going there, so might as well make the most of it.”

“We could do that,” he agrees, “but I still think we should head out soon.”

“Why? You got a hot date or something?” you tease, nudging him in the side.

“Yes, the one by my side,” he replies with a smirk, “but also something else. I’m expecting a comm, that’s why I want to go to the hotel. I was able to use an old comm channel last time I was scouting. I reached an old friend of mine and we decided to do another transmission because I asked him to find some stuff out for me. He said he and some others might be able to help us get off of Ryloth, and soon!” he says, excitement building in his smile, “Just think, y/n, we can leave and never have to take another step into sand again! Wouldn’t that be great?” His smile is wide and expectant, but you don’t feel the same way as him. A silence fills the space between you as you sit and process his words. Your grip is tight on his hand, and concern starts to flood Howzer. “Y/n? Is everything alright?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath before finally responding. “I know you’re trying to help,” you say slowly, “but using comms…it’s dangerous, Howzer. Especially if you use channels that the Empire might be able to listen in on.”

“There’s no way they could have, it’s an old channel that only clones ever used.”

“And how many clones have security based jobs for the Empire?” you counter, “someone could have heard you.”

“Well, my friend made sure-”

“Howzer, I’m not trying to argue with you,” you say, cutting him off, “but…I don’t want either of us to have gotten so far, gotten so close to freedom, and then have everything stripped from us again. The risk is far greater than the possible reward. What if it was a trick? What if the Empire somehow, I don’t know, copied your friend’s voice and way of speaking? What if they track us down? What if people get in trouble for allowing you to go free? I just can’t see a way in which no one gets hurt from this.”

Howzer shifts to kneel in front of you, reaching up and cupping your face with both hands. “I promise everything will be alright, y/n,” he says, “we can get off this planet and join the rebellion, fight for everyone’s freedom.”

“Join the rebellion…” you echo, and you have to swallow hard as you look away. “I…I can’t do that, Howzer. Not yet, at least. There’s something else that I’m responsible for, something closer to me.”

“Oh,” he says, pursing his lips, “I uh, I get it.”

“I’m not saying that I’ll never join,” you reassure him, “just that I have something else first. I failed someone, and I have this urge to try and meet them again, to see if I can help in some way.”

“Would you want some help?” he offers, but you shake your head.

“This is something I have to do alone. I guess you can call it a master and apprentice situation.”

“You had an apprentice?” Howzer asks, and you nod.

“Briefly. For a year in the middle of the war. But, things went wrong.” You don’t want to speak more on it, so you stand and pull him up with you. “Come on,” you say, “don’t wanna miss your comm date.”

“It’s far from a date,” he chuckles, following you out of the hideout, “it’s with a brother of mine.”

“I thought you said it was a friend?”

“Friend, brother, fellow clone trooper, it’s all the same to me,” he shrugs before climbing onto his speeder. Once his helmet is on, the two of you start your engines and race to the far town.

“So, who exactly is this friend-brother of yours?” you ask as you wait for him to get the comm set up.

“His name is Echo,” Howzer replies as he begins to set up his transceiver. You stand off to the side, helmet in your hands as you wait for him to tell you it’s connected. “He was in the 501st under General Skywalker.” You stiffen then, heart lurching at the name. “Then he joined the group of clones called the Bad Batch, or Clone Force 99. He left them to join Captain Rex, also of the 501st, and help liberate other clones.”

“I know Rex,” you say, “and I knew Echo too. Although I never got to see him after he was rescued. I heard about what happened to him though. Are we sure he’s trustworthy? The Techno Union could have put some…programming into him. Can we really be sure-”

“If I wasn’t sure that he is trustworthy, I wouldn’t have let you be here,” Howzer says, looking up at you. “I would have told you it was too dangerous if I wasn’t sure. Same with Rex.”

You let out a sigh before nodding. Howzer finishes pressing a few buttons then nods at you. You slip your helmet on and watch as he puts his on as well. “This is Repeat and King reporting to Howler.”

“Howler here,” Howzer responded, and you instantly figure out the code names they are using. Smart, you think to yourself, but is it smart enough?

“Is Wizard with you?” Rex, that has to be him. The hopeful tone in his voice is all too familiar to you. And the way he says wizard, as if he’s remembering his own former general.

“Wizard is in the area.” Howzer’s vague confirmation of your presence sticks out to you. Just this small detail can be very confusing. If someone is listening in, they won’t know if you’re inside or outside, unless they have some sort of tracking technology.

“Good. Our information about exports is no longer confidential. We are contacting you to give a report.”

“We are prepared to hear the report.” Well, that just confirmed where I am.

“There is a cargo shuttle scheduled to pick up exports in city three at 0800 on Taungsday.” In three days time, there will be a ship coming to city three at 0800. But what is city three? “The ship will depart with exports at 0900, and no later.”

“What are the items that are being exported?”

“Local products, as well as a few foreign products that had been mistakenly imported a while back.” I guess we’re the mistaken foreign products.

“Alright, thank you for the information, Repeat and King.” Repeat must be Echo, while King is Rex. “Wizard and I will be ready to help load the exports onto the shuttle by 0900. We unfortunately have not been able to secure guards to make sure things go smoothly.”

“I’m sure there won’t be any interference,” Rex says, and hearing his voice again reminds you of the good old days. “We must go now. We will contact you if we receive any more information on the exports.”

“Thank you,” Howzer says before the transmission ends. You move from your spot and take your helmet off, sitting next to Howzer as he rests on the edge of the bed. “Three days,” he says, “until we’re finally off of this planet.”

“Hopefully,” you agree, leaning over and resting your head on his shoulder.

“We could just stay here until then. This is city three,” he suggests, but you shake your head.

“There are things I need to go get,” you reply. “Things I can’t leave without.”

“Could you bring them back here?”

“Too dangerous. It’s best if I get them and then stay back at the hideout until Taungsday.” Howzer nods, and you get up and stretch. “You know, I think I’m going to take a shower. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to use a proper sanisteam.”

“That does sound like a good idea,” Howzer agrees, and you turn to see the slightest smirk on his face, which gives you an idea.

“I’m taking one first, but you can have a little nap in the bed while you wait. Just don’t go on my side, I want the left.”

Howzer’s smirk drops and he purses his lips, which confirms your suspicions on his idea. “Actually, I was thinking,” he starts, “it might be a little wasteful for us both to take separate showers.”

“I was just going to take a quick one,” you reply, “maybe ten minutes at the most.”

“But that’s still ten minutes of water we could be sharing,” he counters.

You feel a giggle slip from you and you shake your head. “Now now, Howzer, you should never try and convince someone to let you shower with them.”

“Wha-no!” he says, panic settling on his features, “that’s not what- I’m sorry-”

You walk over to him and grin, taking his face in your hands before pressing your lips to his. “I was joking,” you say as you pull apart, “I guess it was kind of a rude joke.”

“Yes, it was,” he says while playfully pouting. “I know how you can make up for it.”

You raise an eyebrow and step back, folding your arms while smirking at him. “Oh really? And how is that?”

A grin spread over his face and he stood up from the bed, playfully grabbing your hand and starting to pull you towards the refresher. You stop, however, which causes Howzer to look back at you. “Are you…sure we should?” you ask, meeting his confused expression.

“Well, if you really don’t want it, we don’t have to. But I don’t see any problem with it.”

You sigh, taking a step forward and raising your hands to look at how they’re clasped together. “We’re getting off of Ryloth soon,” you start, “we’ll be free of this endless hiding. Well, I will. You’re going to go off and join the rebellion. Save your brothers who are still trapped in the Empire. We won’t be together anymore.”

Howzer’s eyes drop to your hands as well, and he squeezes slightly before pulling them to his chest. “You’ll always be here with me,” he says, pressing your hand over his heart, “even when you’re not standing by my side.” You lean forward and rest your forehead against his, letting a small sigh escape as you move. “But if you think this might be too big of a step, I understand.”

“Maybe…maybe when we finally leave.”

“Alright, mesh’la,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Enjoy your shower.” He steps back and smiles gently at you as you walk into the refresher. After you close the door, you hear the bed creak as he lays back down. Part of you feels bad for denying him, but another part of you thinks that going so far might be a mistake. Will you guys even still talk after you leave this planet? Are your promises just there to be broken?

You end up taking longer in the sanisteam than intended. Your mind wanders and distracts you, as well as the water. The warm liquid soothes your body, and you revel in the feeling you’ve been deprived of for so long. A soft knock on the door followed by your name is what pulls you back to reality. You turn the water off quickly and step out, looking around for a towel. “Uh, Howzer?”

“Are you okay in there? You’ve been taking a while,” he replies.

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, taking another look around the room, “but uh…I forgot to bring in a towel.”

“Oh,” he says, “I’ll grab you one.” A few moments pass and there’s another knock on the door. “I have one.”

“Thank you,” you say, opening the door a crack and sticking your arm out. You wait for a few more moments to let him hand it to you, but nothing comes, other than a few chuckles. “Howzer?” you ask, sticking your head out, “can I have the towel?”

“Of course,” he replies with a grin, “it’s right there.” You look down to where he’s pointing, and the towel is just barely out of your reach.

You look back up at him with a raised brow, and his cheeky grin only widens. “You know I can just use the force, right?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “but you wouldn’t ruin my fun, would you?”

“You wanna bet?” you ask, and he gives a fake pout, making you sigh with a small smile. “Alright, what do you want?”

“Kisses and cuddles,” he instantly responds.

“That’s all?”

“Well, if you insist on more-”

“No, no no,” you cut in, “that is enough. Now can you please hand me my towel?”

“Anything for you,” he says, walking over and picking it up before taking another step and kneeling down. He raises the towel above his head with both arms and bows slightly, saying, “my lady.” You roll your eyes and snatch the towel whacking him on the head briefly before closing the door and drying off. You then redress and step out to find him back on the bed.

“I’m not cuddling you until after you shower,” you say with your hands on your hips. “Since I just got myself cleaned.”

“Ugh fine,” he says, dramatically slipping off the bed and falling onto the floor.

You walk over to where he is, grinning like a kowakian monkey. “You’re acting very…childish today,” you say, looking down at him, “is there something you’re happy about?”

He looks up at you with genuine confusion before standing up. “We’re about to get off of this rock,” he says, “of course I’m excited.” You look down again as your mind goes back to your inevitable separation. “Mesh’la,” Howzer says softly, reaching his hand out and gently lifting your face to look up at him, “it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

You close your eyes again and take a deep breath, leaning back to look up at his messy curls. Your hand reaches up to run through them, and Howzer’s eyes flutter softly as he melts into the feeling. “I’ll let you go take a shower now,” you say quietly, moving your eyes to meet his beautiful dark brown ones. He nods, and you lean in to gently kiss him. His hands go to your waist and he holds you close, pulling you into a hug after you break from the kiss. You think about letting those three words fall out, but decide it isn’t a good time. So instead, you let your intrusive thoughts win. “You stink.”

Howzer immediately pulls back, giving you a look of fake offense. “How dare you,” he says, “and here I thought we had something special.”

“That smell is special,” you snicker, and he sticks his tongue out at you playfully, causing you to giggle. “Don’t forget your towel,” you say, throwing it at the back of his head as he walks to the bathroom.

“Oh, you’re not going to tease me like I did to you,” he chuckles, and you pull the towel back with the force.

“I can if you want, or,” you say, grabbing your wet one and twisting it up, “I can be a lot more mean.” An evil grin covers your face, and a look of fear covers his as you run towards him. He lets out a yelp before slamming the door shut, and you laugh maniacally from outside. “I still have your towel!” you say while standing outside the door.

“I’ll be fine without it!” he responds before turning on the sanisteam.

“Well it’s outside the door if you want it,” you say, crawling onto the bed before slipping under the covers. It’s been a long time since you’ve been this comfortable, and before you know it, you’re falling into a deep sleep. You barely notice when Howzer crawls in next to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his nose buries into the back of your neck.

You and him have never actually shared a bed before, not even just to cuddle. But it feels so natural when you wake up that you swear you’ve done it a million times. You don’t think about it for too long, though, as the coziness and warmth from Howzer pull you right back into sleep. Besides, you have a couple more days until your escape. You can spend the time cuddling with him, nothing will go wrong.

Right?

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