#very desperate here. basically biting off the last of my fingernails

[padfootastic]

Saudade

You can also read it on Ao3

x

Remus knew he was a coward.

It’s why he always preferred to blend in. He couldn’t afford not to. It’s also why, to his eternal shame and regret, he’d never bothered to even question the circumstances of Sirius’s imprisonment. His betrayal.

Because he knew if he looked even slightly below the surface, it’d shatter.

(He’d shatter)

Because he wasn’t just a coward, was he. He was also helpless.

No.

Powerless.

He was powerless.

It didn’t matter if he knew Sirius was innocent, if not of the murders then definitely the betrayal (because he knew, didn't he, that Sirius Black would never—as long as he had breath in his body, magic in his veins, life in his heart—do anything to hurt James Potter. It was a fundamental truth of life. There were five exceptions to Gamp’s law of elemental transformation, the sun set in the west, and Sirius was unfailingly loyal to James. Isn’t that how it's always been?)

Because even if the truth was not what it seemed, he couldn’t do anything about it.

So he lived his lie. Didn't bother to look past the newspapers blaring the inevitability of a Black turning to the dark side. It validated his own feelings, his mistrust, his circumstances.

It was a profoundly selfish act, but it was all Remus could do.

x-x-x-x

There was…one moment when he tried, just the bare minimum, really, in hindsight but it was enough to, if not soothe, then push down the constant guilt gnawing at him.

“Mr. Lupin.” Dumbledore looked down at him through his half moon glasses. “What can I do for you?”

Remus didn’t know whether to appreciate the even tone or not. In the past month, his entire life had collapsed around him. He’d gone from being part of a whole, one of four, to completely alone. Even putting one step in front of the other was getting too much for him and on some days, he forewent even that small action. Laying in bed, contemplating his entire life and how it went so wrong in less time than it took to blink—that was all he had the energy for these days.

So to hear Professor Dumbledore refer to him like that, almost pleasantly, as if they were still back in school and Remus had just bumped into him in the corridor—it was equal parts relieving and maddening.

He chose to ignore that for now, though. He had enough going on without discovering new things to be bothered about. Not like he had the energy for it, either.

“Headmaster, I—“ Remus gulped nervously. Now that he was here, it felt much more daunting than he could have imagined. What would he even say?

“Yes?”

Remus took a shaky breath and tried again. “Professor, are you—is it completely without doubt that Sirius—“ He couldn’t finish the sentence but he knew the other man understood what he was trying to say.

“Mr. Lupin…Remus,” Dumbledore started gently, and already Remus was regretting this little excursion. “I know the past month can’t have been easy for you. I wouldn’t even presume to understand how bad it must’ve been. None of us thought that Mr. Black could…” He trailed off, eyes staring at a door behind Remus. He didn’t think he’d imagined the sadness that flashed in his eyes, a meagre reflection of his own agony.

It was only a momentary slip, though, as his eyes hardened and steel coated his next words. “But what’s done is done, despite the tragedy of it all. Mr. Black made his choice, and now it is time for you to do the same.” He gave a sad smile, a damning one that spoke of his finality in the matter. “It is always harder to be the one left behind, Mr. Lupin, and your fate is one I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. I can only hope that you find the strength I know you have in you, and use it to move on from this episode.”

Remus could only sit there, stunned and numb and feeling like his skin was tearing itself apart from the inside, the way it did on full moons except worse.

An episode, Dumbledore said, as if he wasn’t talking about his family, his entire life. As if this was a schoolyard skirmish, an encore of that horrid ‘prank’ in fifth year, one he could forget if he so wished to. As if it was that easy to carve away the parts of himself that were entwined with the rest of his brothers (which made up most of him— mind, body, soul, and magic). As if he would even want to.

Remus didn’t try again after that, not with Dumbledore and definitely not with anyone else. If the man who was their leader seemed so sure, then who was Remus to go against his word?

(He’d never regretted anything more in his life, perhaps with the exception of the belief that caused this in the first place)

x-x-x-x

They didn’t talk about it.

At first, there was the whole thing with Pettigrew and being on the run and everything that came with it. Once that got sorted, though, there was no excuse other than it was easy.

Easy to ignore the ache in his heart when the distance between them reared it’s ugly head.

Easy to turn away when he saw the way Molly and Dumbledore treated Sirius in his own house, because isn’t that what he’d been doing so far?

Easy to stay away, altogether.

Sirius never brought it up either. Perhaps on purpose, too, because the pain in his eyes never lessened. Remus could pick out multiple instances where he opened his mouth to say something before abruptly shutting down.

That was another difference. Pre-azkaban Sirius wouldn’t have hesitated like that, not with Remus.

It only drove the knife further in. But did he have anyone to blame but himself?

It was just after Hogwarts had closed. Harry, who’d finished his fifth year, had gone back to the Dursleys but not for long because in a turn of events no one could have predicted, Sirius’ case had completely upended itself in the aftermath of the DoM debacle. Remus still didn’t like to think about it, how close he—they’d come to losing Sirius (again) and how it was only sheer dumb luck—a rock that made him stumble sideways instead of back—that saved him from falling into the Veil.

Perhaps the only positive of the evening was the Minister seeing Sirius Black fighting unequivocally for the Light and against the Death Eaters. In Remus’ opinion, it would be quite some time before anyone forgot the image of escaped inmate Sirius Black laughing at Bellatrix Lestrange in a strange parody of his actions fifteen years ago. The cold laughter juxtaposed with the deadly spells he’d been aiming at his cousin was enough to stun everyone not in the know and that was how an enquiry had been conducted into the case, leading to where they were today.

Remus, however, had spent every minute he could hiding away, even more than before. He couldn’t bear to show his face at Grimmauld Place—the idea of seeing Sirius actually sent a wave of shivers down his spine.

But, as he’d always known, his time did run out.

x-x-x-x

“So are we talking about this then?” Sirius’ voice is tired, perpetually exhausted as it seems to be these days.

They were sitting at the dining table, cups of tea long gone cold in their hands. It was the first time in months Remus has allowed himself to be in the same room as Sirius (it shouldn’t be like this. it never was before. how did it all go so wrong) and the other man wasn’t stupid. Even if Remus hadn’t initiated the conversation, he knew they’d have it. Of course it was Sirius who poked the sleeping dragon. He had always been the braver of the two. Of course, if it was a competition, then James Potter would’ve come leagues ahead of either of them, his passion and intensity unmatched.

(But James isn’t here right now and that’s really the cause of half their problems, is it not?)

Sirius was…quieter, more focused, but plenty brave enough. If Remus allowed himself to think about it, it’s no surprise he brought it up first. In fact, it’s more surprising that he hadn’t so far.

Still. “Talk about what?” he regrets the words almost as soon as they slip out of his mouth. Sirius only looks at him steadily.

Of course he knows what this is about but it’s easier to cling to what you’ve been hiding behind all this while, is it not? But is it fair, to him? More importantly, is it fair to Sirius? Does he not deserve an honest answer, an honest friend?

It’s that which pushes him to try again.

“I-I didn’t mean that.”

“Sure you did, Remus.”

“Alright,” he amended. “I shouldn’t have meant that.” And that at least is true. It gets a wry smile out of Sirius.

“There’s a lot I shouldn’t have done,” he continued, which neatly drives the mirth away. Remus looked down, at his fingers, the bitten down nails and ink stains, so he didn’t have to stare into the consequences of his actions.

‘I should—apologise.”

“Do you want to?”

His head snapped up, the sting of the comment settling under his skin like an itch. How could he think—? One look at Sirius’ face, however, devoid of any malice or cruelty, and the indignant feeling in him dies out as quickly as it rose.

It was a fair question. He hated the fact but couldn’t deny it.

How would Sirius know about the hundreds of hours he’d spent screaming and crying and begging someone, anyone to turn back time, to make things better, to give him a second chance?

Sirius couldn’t know about the time Remus hadn’t been able to get out of his house for seven months, two weeks, sixteen days straight, surviving only on dry crackers and tepid tea and stale bread and feeling guilty for doing so. He’d spent the entire time staring blankly at the sickly green wall of his bedroom, living in a haunting loop of his memories and wishing he was back in them.

Sirius hadn’t seen any of that.

(Would it have made a difference, if he had, Remus thinks. They weren’t indicative of anything but his own guilt, certainly didn’t stem from any moral conviction in Sirius—and what value did it have for someone who was being tortured day and night? living with the knowledge that he’d been left behind without so much as a second thought?)

It’s not something he’s thought about before—in those fantasies where everything is as it was before. Sirius apologises, Remus apologises, they hug it out and it’ll all be better again—but now, now he can’t help but wonder about the efficacy of platitudes.

He hated Sirius’ matter of fact resignation even more, like there was no other way for Remus to react except defensively. (It wasn’t always like this. The Marauders, James & Sirius, they’d always been his biggest believers. They’d made him capable of touching the sky and the stars and everything in between and Remus has been untethered ever since that fateful halloween. There was a time, when anyone expecting any less of Remus—even himself—than they should would’ve gotten all of Sirius’ hackles raised—‘our Moony’s worth a dozen of you and you should only be so lucky to get to see that’—so it stung particularly bitterly when it was the same man expressing this apathy.

The juxtaposition of the two Sirius’ in his head was enough to give Remus a headache at the best of times, let alone now.

So he takes a deep breath, lets the feeling wash away, and nods.

“You don’t have any reason to believe me, and I don’t blame you for it, but I do. Want to, that is.”

Sirius didn’t reply but Remus continued, undeterred.

“I didn’t for a long time. I didn’t want to, not at all. Because it would be my fault, you know? And I was so tired, Sirius, god. I was exhausted trying to keep up this pretense. I just needed to get the burden off.”

Sirius just looked at him, silent. Remus could see the way his eyes flick around the room, however, and how his fingers trembled ever so slightly. He might’ve been out of Azkaban but the signs would last a long time.

“What made you change your mind, then?” There's a note of curiosity in Sirius’ voice and Remus cannot articulate the relief that fills him at hearing it. Anything, even anger or blame, was better than that bland apathy that made his skin itch.

The question itself makes him pause, however. Because he’s guilty, nay, he’s ashamed of the answer he’s about to give. He contemplated shutting up, or perhaps leaving the room altogether, and it takes longer than it should for him to banish the thought.

“Remus?” Sirius asked again and it’s the knowing look in his eyes that made him close his eyes in defeat. He should’ve known he couldn’t have avoided this. This was a man who knew him better than anyone else who’s alive right now—how could he ever have thought he’d be able to hide things from him?

So he takes a deep, fortifying breath. Releases it slowly, grounding himself in the process.

“When I came to Hogwarts.”

“The time I broke out?

Remus tilts his head in the barest hint of confirmation. Sirius nods like he’d expected that.

Again, Remus wanted to be offended—but how could he?

“How’d you—“

—know?” Sirius finished. Remus nodded, a sharp, jagged thing that’s barely an answer.

Sirius smiled ruefully. It looked wrong on him, like a shirt stretched out and shrunk back down with a charm. “Because I know you, Remus. And though it hurt, I always knew you didn’t believe in me, at least not at the end there.

I’ve had nothing but time all this while. Time to think, to wonder where it all went wrong, what I could’ve done—time even to curse James out,” he lets out a hollow chuckle at that, one that Remus echoes because just the idea of Sirius cursing at James is so absurd, there’s nothing you can do but laugh at it, morbid though it may be in the moment.

“And the only thing I can think of is how bad we messed up. I don’t— you know the worst part about this, Remus?” Sirius asks, in his tired, broken voice. Just hearing it makes him want to flinch and hide away. Instead, he brings himself to give another shaky nod.

“I wouldn’t have cared one bit if you’d thought I was a mass murderer. Hell, even being a Death Eater could be believable under the right circumstances and you were away so long, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d entertained the thought.”

Remus waited for the ‘but’ with his heart in his mouth, tasting ash and regret and guilt. He knew what was about to come, had wondered the same thing hundreds of times, going round and round in circles with no relief to be found.

“But how could you ever, even just for a second let alone 12 years, think I could do that to Ja—“ here, his voice broke, unable to even finish the name. Sirius’ trembling hands clenched into fists, hard enough that he could see the knuckles losing color. The words were just as devastating as he could have imagined, if not more. Coming from another’s mouth and not just whirling in his thoughts, it seemed even more damning in the light of day.

And that was just it, wasn’t it. It was this that confirmed what Remus had known from the moment he’d been made aware of Sirius’ innocence.

There would be no forgiveness here. The most he could hope for was closure, perhaps a chance to clear the air, as it were, and that was only if Sirius was feeling merciful. Which, when it came to James, he seldom did. Remus would know; he’d seen the aftermath of what happened to those who dared touch James Potter.

And Remus? Ne hadn’t just hurt Sirius—that was almost inconsequential in the larger scheme of things—no, Remus’ biggest mistake was besmirching the legacy, the honor of James Potter.

Sirius had destroyed people for far less.

It was this realisation that weighed heavy on him, head bowing until his chin touched his chest, unable to hold it up anymore, not knowing what to say and unsure whether he should.

“I can forgive you almost anything, Remus, you know that. I wouldn’t have cared one whit about anything else but that you could think that—that anyone who knew us could—it was that, more than the dementors, more than the crazed prisoners, more than the taunts and insults and torture, that’s what almost broke me in Azkaban.”

A sob broke out from Remus’ chest, ugly and desperate and entirely unfair on his part. Sirius didn’t need his guilt, nor his despair. Remus didn't deserve to be unhappy in front of him. He had made his own bed and now he was to lie in it. He couldn’t even be happy about the hint of steel he could hear underlying Sirius’ words, a faint echo of his past self. Because the implications it held for him were devastating. Remus knew he wouldn’t lose Sirius completely—they had too much history for that, but he’d lose everything that made Sirius him. He’d been spoiled, allowed into the small, small circle of people Sirius truly let in, and he knew there would be no going back. There would be perfect civility, and amicable conversations, but he’d never have his Sirius back. He’d get the Sirius Black the rest of the world saw, the one with the impeccable masks, who was always in control—but not Padfoot, never Padfoot anymore.

And that was to be his penance.

“I am—I truly am sorry, Sirius. You’d never know how much. I just—I couldn’t—I don’t think I’ve taken one full breath since that night, everything was too fast and I couldn’t think and I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t used to being alone anymore,” he said, leaning forward desperately, wanting to explain (not justify, never justify), not wanting Sirius to leave thinking this was—this was what Remus wanted. because he didn't, never could’ve imagined things ending up like this.

It was almost humbling, this ignoble end of the Marauders. They’d considered themselves untouchable, rulers of the world, sitting atop a throne only they could see. So many promises, a seemingly unbreakable bond, the best of the best.

And look at them now.

All of them in varying stages of decay, dead and dying.

“And I know, dammit I know that doesn’t count for shite. But please, I just—you have to know—“ his hands pressed together, pleading, as the words came out in a defeated plea, “I never meant for it to be like this.”

“The worst part of that,” Sirius smiled, small and broken and not even worth a shadow of his usual brilliance. “is that I know you mean that, Remus. I believe it too.”

A second passed, then two, before he delivered the final blow.

“I just wish you’d fought for us the way we had for you.”

#sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #he’s not here in person but he’s mentioned enough to be an imo character #but then when is he not when it comes to me #i edited the whole thing and added punctuation + capitalisation and lowkey prefer the og raw unedited one lol #it felt more fitting to this style of writing #but idk if that’s even readable to people lol #so we gotsa make lil creative sacrifices #please read and tell me what u think!!! #very desperate here. basically biting off the last of my fingernails #gonna be anxiously looking at all my notifs lmao #gimme feedback ok? #i wanna know what remus fans think tbh #yes yes im being v annoying and v greedy but. let me have this. pls. #i have—so many thoughts about this that i’ve held myself back from adding #bc i didn’t wanna tell too much #or add unnecessary shit just bc my brian wouldn’t stop #but i don’t think i can stop talking about this if anyone wants to lol #ok that’s enough of me now have fun! #pen’s writing

[cosmicjoke]

Wow, the parallels between Lestat and Memnoch are strong at this point.  This stuff’s breaking my heart. 

One thing I want to start off with is these quotes

“Lestat, don’t you see that what impelled you towards the complexity of Roger and his daughter, Dora, was the same thing that compelled me to come to you?  You had come to a point where you were reaching out for the supernatural.  You were crying to Heaven to be laid waste!  Your taking David, that was perhaps your first real step towards utter moral peril!  You could forgive yourself for having made the child vampire Claudia, because you were young and stupid.

But to bring David over, against his will!  To take the soul of David and make it vampiric?  That was a crime of crimes.  That was a crime that cries to Heaven, for the love of God.  David, whom we had allowed to glimpse us once, so much did we feel an interest in him and whatever path he might take.”

This seems to tie back into what I was saying in my post about Lestat turning David, that to me it felt almost like an act of self-recrimination and self-flagellation, like Lestat punishing himself or wanting to be punished for the evil he perceived inside himself.  His attack on David in Barbados was really spurred on by what had happened in the hotel room with the false David, with Raglan James pretending to be David.  Lestat’s initial happiness and desire to believe that David had at last agreed to join him in immortality, that he at last had a willing companion who might finally accept and understand him and put an end to his loneliness, leading him to ignore his own sense that something wasn’t right, and biting him despite it.  And then realizing it wasn’t David, but the Body Thief, the horror of that violation leading to Lestat’s knee jerk violent reaction, all of this basically occurred simultaneously, in the most damaging combination imaginable to Lestat’s psyche.  It was like a perfect storm which lead directly to solidifying Lestat’s negative self-image.  To believing he really, truly was evil, and that there was no longer any purpose or point in trying to deny that fact to himself.  And so he goes and he turns David against his will, like some desperate attempt to force himself to face his evilness, to accept it about himself and stop pretending he could ever be good, or ever even wanted to be good, and at the same time, a plea to God to strike him down at last, to put an end to his wickedness. 

But then there’s Lestat’s mistrust of Memnoch’s claim about him having nothing to do with Roger or Dora, and I feel like Lestat’s suspicions here should be heeded.  Because while Lestat might be childlike and impulsive, he isn’t in the least stupid.  So it makes me wonder.  It makes me fear for Lestat and what Memnoch truly intends for him.

This part

“I’m torn,” I whispered.

“Why?”

“Because I feel love for you,” I said. “and that’s something I always pay attention to, as we both know.  I feel drawn into you.  I want to know what else you have to tell me!  And yet I think you’re lying about Roger.  And about Dora.  I think it is all connected.  And when I think of God Incarnate-” I broke off, unable to continue.

I was flooded by the sensations of Heaven, or what I could still remember, what I could still feel, and the breath did leave me in a sorrow that was far greater than any I ever expressed in tears.

I must have closed my eyes.  Because when I opened them, I realized Memnoch was holding both my hands in his.  His hands felt warm and very strong and uncommonly smooth.  How cold my own must have felt to him.  His hands were larger; flawless.  My hands were... my strange white, slender, glittering hands.  My fingernails flashed like ice in the sun as they always do.

He drew away, and it was excruciating.  My hands remained rigid, clasped, and utterly alone.”

Lestat’s sense of loneliness here is powerful and so poignant.  The way he contrasts his hands with Memnoch’s, how he feels alien and alone in the presence of this perfect, angelic being, how he longs for his companionship and love, feeling his own love for him already, but fearing it, because of where his love has lead him in the past, and particularly, lead those he loves.  Lestat thinks of himself as a monster, who’s love brings ruin and devastation to those who’s focus it lands on.  I feel like he’s struggling here with that very fear, and also with his mistrust and uncertainty in Memnoch’s claims about Roger and Dora.  I think Lestat is uncertain also about Memnoch’s interest in him as a person, as someone he wants by his side, again because of his experiences in the past, this fear of abandonment and feeling himself unworthy of love, things which he’s felt so keenly all his life.

“He turned as if he’d just noticed I was looking at him .  He stared down into my eyes.  Then he bent forwards, his eyes very clear, and filled with myriad colors, and I felt his lips, smooth, evenly and modestly moist, touch my cheek.  I felt a burn of life through the hard coldness of my self.  I felt a raging flame that caught every particle of me, as only blood can do it, living blood.  I felt a pain in my heart.  I might have laid my finger on my chest in the very place.

“What do you feel!”  I asked, refusing to be ravaged.

“I feel the blood of hundreds,” he whispered.  “I feel a soul who has known a thousand souls.”

“Known?  Or merely destroyed?”

“Will you send me away out of hatred for yourself?”  He asked.”

Memnoch asks Lestat here if he’ll send him away out of a hatred for himself, and that’s what this feels like, like Lestat is afraid at this point to trust in anyone elses love, or to allow himself to fall in love with anyone, because he thinks so badly of himself.  Because he hates himself.  This is some seriously rough stuff.

And then there’s Memnoch’s own story about his fall, about how he was cast down by God for sleeping with “The Daughter of Men”, for daring to question and “accuse” God in his plans.  It seems impossible that the parallels between Memnoch and Lestat here aren’t intentional.  Like Lestat was when he had his existential crisis, Memnoch is horrified by the realization that human’s have developed souls which are earthbound and unable to enter heaven, or know anything beyond this kind of static, confused state, existing between realms.  And then when God casts him out of Heaven, Memnoch determines, if his fate is to die as a mortal, to at least do it by enacting some good in the world and to humanity.  He says

“If this was to be my finish, if I was to die in this mortal body as all men die, if some days or weeks or even years were left to me- whatever this body could hope to survive amid the perils of life- then I must do with it the very finest thing that I knew.  I must offer to God my finest.  I must go out like an Angel, if going out is what I had to do!”

This sounds almost exactly like what Lestat determined to do after he had his own crisis, when he felt certain that life was meaningless and there would be no answers in death.  He determined to give his life meaning by doing good in the world.

And Memnoch goes about it by trying to teach humanity all he knows, teaching them civilization and culture and art, again, very much like Lestat, who tried to put good into the world by being an artist, through finding the value in art as a means of expression and individuality, by being an actor.  And just like Lestat was eventually seemingly punished for it, drawing the attention of Magnus, resulting in his being turned into a vampire, Memnoch’s own actions are later interpreted as ruinous to man, as tempting him with knowledge out of the Garden of Eden.  Lestat quotes the book of Enoch to him

“And there arose much godlessness, and they committed fornication, and they were led astray...”

And Memnoch finishes the quote

“And as men perished, they cried, and their cry went up to heaven.’  He stopped again, smiling slowly and bitterly.  “And what is the rest of it, Lestat, and what lies in between the lines you’ve spoken and the lines I’ve spoken!  Lies!  I taught them civilization.  I taught them knowledge of Heaven and Angels!  That’s all I taught them.  There was no blood, no lawlessness, no monstrous giants in the earth.  It’s  lies and lies, fragments and fragments buried in lies!”

And then he says

“The case I had meant to lay before the Almighty was that these people were above Nature and beyond Nature and demanded more of Him, and all that I had seen only upheld me in what I believed.  How they had taken to celestial secrets.  How they suffered, and sought for some meaning to justify that suffering!  If only there were a Maker and the Maker had his reasons... Oh, it was agony.”

Again, this is just like Lestat’s horror at meaningless suffering and death.  As his refusal to accept that meaninglessness.  But of course, rather than seek answers in religion or God, he seeks it through the exertion of his own will.

God eventually calls Memnoch back up to Heaven and he says to him

“’I have a word for you, my brave one, my arrogant one... I have a concept fo ryou to ponder in your angelic wisdom.  It is the concept of Gehenna, of hell... “’Fire and torment eternal... the inverse of Heaven.  Tell me, Memnoch, from your heart.  Would that be the appropriate punishment for you- the very opposite of the glory you forsook for the Daughters of Men?  Would it be the appropriate sentence- suffering everlasting or until Time is no more?”

Again I feel like the parallels with Lestat are pretty striking here.  God calls Memnoch “brave” and “arrogant”, and those are words regularly associated with Lestat.  Lestat, like Memnoch, questions Gods plan and finds the concept of death and decay and the meaningless behind suffering and death repellent and horrifying.  And what is Lestat’s vampirism but a “suffering everlasting”?  Memnoch tried to do good in the world, and for it, he was turned into the literal Devil.  As Lestat tried to do good in the world, and for it was turned into a vampire, both of them blamed for the downfall of others.  Mennoch all of mankind, Lestat the people around him. 

#Lestat De Lioncourt #memnoch the devil

[syndxlla]

Part ten of the More To Love Series

Summary: The ball is tomorrow night and preparations are in full swing in the Mandalorian Palace. In desperate need of a break from all of the Masquerade planning, you get away from the palace for a few hours. This gives you a chance to reflect on your relationship with the Knight, learn more about his past, and grow closer with Koska.

Word Count: 10.9k, NO ‘Y/N’

Warnings: SMUT (handjob, grinding, this is like actually sort of gross if you over think it so just don’t over think it thanks <3), THIS IS EXPLICIT, 18+ CONTENT, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Swearing. Mentions of: blood, scars, fighting, hand-to hand combat.

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: insight of recent events surrounding my tumblr, I have added an additional in-text warning for the smut scenes. This will continue for future chapters for those who do not wish to read the explicit scenes of More to Love.

Author’s Note: HEY, it’s been a little while, huh? Happy to be back. THANK YOU FOR 1k FOLLOWERS HOLY CRAP!! You all mean so much to me and the support of this fic is unlike anything I could have ever asked for! Also... the smut in this gets,, nasty. Like not that bad it isn’t super kinky or needs lots of warnings it’s just... like gross if you think too hard about that so do me a favor and don’t overthink it haha. OKAY LOVE YOU ENJOY

Part Nine

“No, If you keep that elbow down it will throw off your balance.”

“Okay, what if I hold it like this.”

“No it will get more tired faster.”

“Well how long do I have to keep it up like this?”

“Until the song ends!” You sigh, your fingers coming up to hold your eyebrow out of frustration. You and the Knight have been in the library for nearly an hour trying to learn how to waltz together and if you didn’t know any better, you’d guess he had two left feet. He was starting to get the hang of it, though. Slowly but surely and through a lot of trial and error but you don’t have very much room to talk because an hour before this one, he was just as frustrated with you because you couldn’t swing at him with nearly enough power needed to make some damage on anyone. This is how you’ve spent your last two evenings with the knight. The two of you sarcastically bullying one another in learning the opposite’s art. It was already Friday, the ball was tomorrow and you weren’t sure if he was going to be able to pull it together in time. The worst part is that you haven’t had anytime privately with him to do your... usual antics. There was always someone with you, usually Korkie or Koska, or the dance and fighting practice took up too much time to really have any fun.

The palace has been bustling the last two days. Every servant has had a task they were always doing, there was no down time for them which meant lots of downtime for the Royals. If there was no one to set up tea, then there would be no tea, simple as that.

Because of the high workload put on the staff of the palace, each royal has been subject to dinner in their own rooms alone this week, which was a dream come true for you. Dinner was your least favorite time of the day because of how painful it was to get through socially. And it also meant you got to spend more time with your own thoughts. You still aren’t sure what to do about the marriage, especially since you’ve admitted to yourself that you think you are falling for the beskar-clad knight who stands watch outside your door.

Even Soniee has been spending less time inside your quarters pampering you (you could really use a bubble bath). At all hours of the day, there was either a team of butlers carrying large bouquets of flowers down ornate hallways, a chef interrupting your dress fitting with Soniee and Koska to have you try another flower-flavored mousse, or an immediate meeting with the Queen to learn about some of your guests who will be at the masquerade and how to properly greet them. One time yesterday, you were asked to review the lanterns they picked out for the garden decorations. You were so indifferent to the ones they picked that the servants actually sent you back inside out of frustration. Along with the controlled chaos of preparations, the mask making has still left you feeling guilty. Just this morning you caught a glimpse of Koska’s shaky hands that had clearly been pricked by one too many needles while sewing jewels into the Queen’s mask. You must have apologized too much because she eventually got snarky and asked you to quit saying sorry about it. As much as you would like to dance with your knight with others looking on, you weren’t sure if it was worth all the pain and labor others were putting themselves through for it.

Party planning was exhausting, and on top of all of it, you needed to teach the most uncoordinated man in the kingdom how to waltz. It genuinely baffled you how he was able to be so methodical and perfect in hand-to hand combat and in bed but can barely hold his own in situations such as these. There was something charming about that flaw, however.

Now, the golden sunlight of the aging day was pouring into the towering windows of the Mandalorian library. It had made the room warm, and showed just how valuable the knight’s dark skin was as his bare hands soaked in the rays. You caught yourself staring at them a few too many times, which to your dismay, he caught you doing.

“You’re staring again.” He says while the two of you are practicing the basic 1, 2, 3 waltz step. Your eyes jump back to the emotionless visor of the beskar helmet which looked down at your face. You didn’t even realize you were looking at your hand holding out to the right, studying the way his knuckles looked and how clean his fingernails were.

“Sorry… It’s just that dancing is usually an emotional thing, you’re supposed to play off of eachother I suppose.” You shrug, stopping the dance. You realized you had been searching for something to play off of, anything, even if it’s just the calloused fingers of a hard worker.

You wouldn’t think the two of you would be so far behind and underprepared but for a majority of these rehearsals you’ve been the one leading as he figures it out. You know how bad it would look if you were the one leading tomorrow, and you’re starting to lose hope that you’re going to pull this off. You had wished you started teaching him earlier, but knew that he would have never agreed before now.

“Princess, you do realize that you’re probably still not going to see my face if we dance tomorrow.” He drops your hands. You sigh, you did know it, you just didn’t want to admit it.

“I know… when do you take it off?” You couldn’t remember if you had asked this already. Maybe you were out of line for asking, but a piece of you didn’t care, you deserved to know.

He was quiet, he always was when you asked him something personal. Maybe he was hoping you would get the idea by now…

“When I eat, when I sleep… sometimes around my son. Sometimes around other guards.” He said as he walked towards one of the library windows. You followed him, a few footsteps behind. He stopped at the glass, his reflection disturbing the pristine scene outside. You could see the beach from this window, not as well as in other parts of the castle, but the horizon of the Mandalorian sea was still in view. Your reflection came up behind his. You could see the exhale of his lungs from the shift in armor weight.

“I understand if you never want to show me.” You said. You didn’t really believe that, but you did respect him, and because of that you had to accept the reality that he may never show you. Maybe you were just trying to convince yourself that. You walk a little further to him and stand up on your tippy-toes so that you may rest your chin on his shoulder, looking out at the world below. It was so peaceful from up here. You’ve only left palace grounds once in the last two weeks and you desperately want to again. Being cooped up inside an oil painting was getting exhausting. “I want to go somewhere.” You mutter, your arms wrapping around his waist to hug him from behind: a pure and innocent act of affection.

“What?” His helmet turns to the side just a little bit so that you might hear him better. “Like… the Garden? The Parlor?”

“No!” You chuckle against his pauldron, “Outside, I want to get out of the palace again.”

“Did you forget what happened last time we went out?” He asks meditatively. “We can’t risk anything happening to you before tomorrow, The Queen would be furious, and even worse, Koska would be too.”

“Of course I didn’t forget! I’ll have the scar to always remind me” You giggle at his remark. “And besides, I-I want to go to the water.” You step out from behind him to look out at and gesture to the gentle waves against the golden beach. “I’ve been on a sandy beach before.” You clear your throat.

“We… might be able to arrange that. How about we go on Sunday? After the ball?” He attempts to negotiate.

“Or we could go now? There’s no formal dinner tonight.” You suggest.

“Your parents are coming in tonight, along with a number of other guests, not to mention Grand General Vizsla, all the Royal Guard is to be presented to him at nine.” He groans, but you were determined to convince him. You really needed a break from all of the planning, fittings and tastings.

“So? It’s barely five! We can just go for a little while!” You say as you look at the grandfather clock that sits nestled between two bookcases. You weren't feeling very optimistic, you doubted he would not budge, he’s always been so stubborn. “I can repay you…” You bite your lip. You were also incredibly horny and remember overhearing a maid back home talk about sex on the beach. It had always excited you.

He sighs again.

“Please? For me? I seriously deserve a break, so do you.” You reach out to stroke his hand. You knew that would probably work, it has before.

“Fine-“

“Really!?”

“Yes, but we have to tell Koska just so they don’t think we’re missing again.” He turns to walk out of the library. You silently congratulate yourself on getting the most unmovable and obedient man in the galaxy to go against his orders and do what you want. You happily skip behind him. “It takes a while to get all the way down to the beach so we should probably take a horse.” He says on the move. “Do you know how to ride?”

“I’m royalty, of course I do… do you?” You revising a teasing eyebrow.

He scoffs at your question, “There is much you do not know about me.”

“Well, you make it sort of hard for me to learn.” You roll your eyes playfully. He elbows you in the side, knocking you off your balance. You attempt to do the same to him, nudging him right back but not even getting the boy to budge and hurting your funny bone a little against the Beskar.

It takes you two a few minutes of complete silence and portrait-perfect stature to get all the way down the palace into the servants quarters. The only other time you had been in these narrow, stone hallways in the ground level of the Mandalorian Castle was earlier this week after Korkie begrudgingly led you back to your quarters in a wet peasant gown and a stinging bicep.

By the time the knight and yourself had made it down here, he was leading you through the maze of corridors, past helmetless knights who all nodded out of respect as they passed you, and into a wooden-arch. The room you had entered into must have been the servant’s common room, because it was about the size of the dining room. A candle-lit, wooden chandelier hung over four long tables, unlike the glass and oil-lamp chandeliers in the rest of the palace. A large fireplace burned on one wall, illuminating the room more and several small, gothic-arch windows towards the ceiling allowed warm light to pour into the cozy hall. Several handmaidens bejeweled masks at one table, twice as many sewed the bases of the coverings at another. One table showcased all of the finished designs, which depicted extravagant bird beaks, colorful fox and wolf snouts, towering cat and rabbit ears, ornate peacock tails, sharp antlers and horns on some and even incredible tusks on a few. They were all breathtaking, and while you felt guilty for making so many staff members work double-time, you appreciated their handy-work in making your dream come true.

The fourth and final table was mostly empty, a few elderly and child servants ate potato soup at it, and one maid cleaned her finger-nails at the opposite end. Everything was so simple and normal, it was such a display of controlled chaos that almost made you forget about the corruption in Mandalore… almost.

A sharp whistle rang through the room, and immediately, everyone dropped what they were doing, stood up swiftly from their seats on the long benches that paralleled each table, and turned to look at you before bowing deeply and diligently. They hadn’t even noticed you were there at first and interrupting their normalcy was not what you intended to do, but then you caught sight of who it was that sang the whistle. Koska Reeves was walking through the bowed, silent heads to you and the Knight. She looked exhausted, her hair was down and over her shoulders instead of pinned up in the intricate braids she usually wore them in when she was around royalty. The amount of fly-always was distracting but you couldn’t blame her, she would not disappoint the Queen with her work, even if that meant looking a little rough and disheveled.

“What’s the meaning of this? All royalty is supposed to be approved before coming in here.” She says to your knight chivalrously, then turns to you, “This is no sight for you, princess.” Something told you that she wasn’t only referring to the activities taking place in the common room. “I am sorry for our disorder.”

“No worries, Lady Reeves. There’s no need to apologize. I am most impressed by the work done on the masks for tomorrow.” You gesture to the table with the completed designs.

She sighs and smiles, “Thank you.” She nods before turning around, “Carry On!” She calls out to the room and everyone returns to normal as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, as if you weren’t even there. There was something you liked about that, something that reminded you that even though you have a lucky bloodline, you’re human too, and not all that different from the workers in this very room. Their daily routine was fascinating to you. “What do you two want?” She hushes her voice and drops her “right-hand woman to the queen”, first lady-in-waiting and head of the Mandalorian royal staff persona. She’s now the same brash friend you two shared.

“We want to go out for a while, it’ll just be a few hours but we knew we needed to tell someone in case anyone notices that we’re missing.” The Knight nods, explaining the situation. She raises a questionable eyebrow.

“Absolutely not, we cannot risk anything happening to her before tomorrow night.” Your heart drops.

“That’s what I said, but she’s incredibly convincing.” He shrugs, tilting his head just enough to show the extra bit of emotion. Koska looks between the two of you, her hands perched firmly on her hips. You caught sight of her hands again, which were now bandaged tightly with the same white gauze that she wrapped your cut arm with earlier this week. You wondered if that was done to dress bleeding wounds, keep the shakiness from over-working and late nights in control, or a dreadful mix of both. A terrible feeling told you it was the third.

“Vizsla is going to be here.” She raises an eyebrow, her intimidating demeanor hasn’t gone away even after she’s become aware of your little secret (well, actually massive, life-altering, “how-the-hell-am-I-gonna-fix-this?” secret). “If you aren’t here, that could result in a court-martial from the Queen herself.”

“Sounds tempting.” He replies.

“You and I both know what’s going to happen to you and your little boy if you step out of line, even once, which is why I’m guarding your scandle so close to my heart.” Her voice get’s real quiet when she says that, and he shifts his weight. Your heart drops, what in the world could she mean by that? “You know what could happen to you if I accidentally slip something, that’s why I won’t cover for you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” You whisper. She glances at you and then right back to him.

“Wow, you really haven’t told her much, have you?” Koska’s arms move from her hips into a fold over her chest. He doesn’t respond.

“Told me much about what?” You ask, worried about whatever was going on that you didn’t know about. Every day you’re reminded about how much of a stranger he really is to you.

“All she knows is that I had an old job, that’s all she needs to know.” He bites back, his voice equally hushed.

“If you’re fucking her, she deserves to know a lot more, but that’s just my opinion.” Koska chuckles once and you blush red hot. “I mean, at least tell her your name.”

“Why is this happening here? Now?” He gestures to the very crowded room. “Look, we just want to go down to the beach for an hour at the most. We’ll be back long before Vizsla gets here. You won’t have to cover for us, I swear.” He tries changing the subject but your mind is racing with the possibilities and confusion of the conversation you were just welcomed into.

Koska looks between the two of you a few times again, carefully considering what’s on the table and the risk. “Fine, one horse. I mean it, only one because if two are gone, someone will notice and then I’m gonna have to do exactly what I told you I wouldn’t do and what you said I won't have to: cover for your ass. Get out of here.” She beckons her head to a door that leads outside as a smile spreads across your cheeks. “Djarin! Don’t be late!” She calls out as you begin walking. That’s the second time you have heard that word, both times uttered from Koska’s mouth. Something wanted you to believe that might be his name but you were far too scared to find out for your own. You would try to remember it this time.

The knight leads you out of the room, and you watch Koska over your shoulder as you follow, studying the way she stood still immediately after you walk away, taking a few deep, sharp breaths and then promptly returning to her work. You wondered if she was tired, remembering that not everyone who lives in the Mandalorian Palace has the same relaxing lifestyle that you have.

Despite the aging daylight, it was still deathly hot. The heat of summer bled onto your shoulders, which were still partially covered due to the scarring cut in your muscle. The clothing only added to the heat. The part of the Castle grounds you were were foreign to you. They weren’t the beautiful, lush and trimmed gardens or breezy courtyards you usually spend your afternoons in, no. It was dark, the tall height of the palace shading the courtyard where knights sparred and a pair of little servant girls chased one another. One wall that lined the courtyard was the horse stables, and another was a blacksmith. The golden light shone through the stables, and you were able to spot the four white horses that took you and Korkie to Keldabe earlier this week despite the beasts being backlit.

“You can ride, I’ll just walk.” He says as he guides you to a palomino, a tall horse with a Caramel body and pure white mane.

“Are you sure?” You ask, not wanting him to have to walk.

“Of course.” He says as he mindlessly bridles the horse, petting him on the nose a few times. “Do you prefer a saddle?” He asks. You nod, and he swings the seat over the back of the steed.

“Does this horse have a name?” You ask, reaching your hand out to pet his neck a few times. The horse nickers at your touch.

“He likes you.” The Knight chuckles. You smile at the statement, and continue to stroke the soft hair on the neck. “Clove.” He says, his voice velvet and full of caring. The knight knew this horse. They had a bond. “Here.” He holds his hand up for you to hoist yourself onto the saddle. You were in no way dressed for riding, and the saddle wasn’t even a side-riding seat, but you would make it work. You knew that on the palace grounds you would have to ride side-saddle, it’s customary, and how you learned. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t ride regularly. The horses back home in Corellia were massive beasts, animals suited for harsh winters and heavy amounts of snow, thick fur covers their ankles so that they can trudge through deep snow and pull sleighs. The Mandalorian horses were far more majestic, more like show horses than work horses. Clove was gentle, though, that was something that wasn’t common for the strong horses up north. He didn’t move a muscle or bat an eyelash as you heave yourself onto his back, adjusting yourself to sit properly, the knight’s hand holding yours tightly as you positioned yourself and then rearranging the heavy skirt of your dress to properly cover your legs. His plan grazes your shin as he does it, and your eyes immediately catch the visor of his beskar helmet. You liked to think he was looking at your eyes, too. The moment is so still, time freezing for half a second.

He starts to walk the horse out of the opposite side of the stable and into the field behind the palace. You could see the tree line of the garden from here. The bridle was tightly wrapped around his hand as he led the two of you out of the palace and into the hot, hot sun. This was the first time you’ve ridden a horse in a very long time, and you had almost forgotten how much you loved it. A cheesy smile was on your face, and your eyes cycled from the mane of the horse, the shoreline ahead, the back side of the ornate castle and the top of the helmet of the knight. The sun reflected off of the beskar, causing a bright illumination to shine on the bodice of your gown. He walked methodically and quietly, and you wanted to start a conversation with him but it didn’t feel right.

Comfortable silence is often overlooked, something taken for granted that is really only shared between two trusting people. You aren’t sure if you’ve ever experienced a genuine comfortable silence with anyone before. Being a royal has a lot of “fine print”, one of which being that no one ever shut up. Korkie isn’t the only self-centered, talkative royal in this world. The thing that sets Korkie aside from the rest is the fact that you’ll have to deal with it intimately for the rest of your life.

There was something wildly attractive about the introvert by your side. Because he was few with words, it caused you to seek them out, and cherish what little you did get. He was warming up to you, opening up and every time you get a moment alone with him, he says a little more. Your conversations now are very different from that first night in the castle when he helped you untie your corset. All he said originally was “Goodnight, Princess”, and now he’s telling you about the stars and teaching you how to fight and defend yourself. The idea that it’s happened too fast has crossed your mind several times, but you considered that when you’re alone with someone almost all day, every day, you’re bound to get to know one another quicker than usual. However, you’ve also been afraid that you came off too harsh, maybe you jumped into it all too fast and overwhelmed him. What if he’s only complying to the relationship because he’s obligated to through his duty? You had to admit that there were a number of insecurities surrounding your friendship, you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t think that. Maybe you felt that way because you relied so heavily on him to get away from the other boy in your life who you can’t escape no matter how hard you try. Was it entirely possible that the knight feels about you the way you feel about Korkie? That very thought made you sick, your stomach twisting and preventing you from enjoying the beautiful landscape ahead.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. He noticed that you had tensed up. You silently curse yourself for not hiding it better.

“What?” Your look down at him, forcing a false smile. He was looking up at you now, his hand resting on your knee. Your eyes move from where he holds you and back up to the visor on his helmet. “Oh… nothing.” You hum.

“You are a fool if you think you can hide anything from me.” He tilts his head and your cheeks burn with blush. You sigh, knowing you should tell him. The chances are that expressing these concerns to him might give you a piece of mind… or they could do the exact opposite. You aren’t sure if you can take the emotional weight of resenting two men who you admire. You admire them for entirely different reasons, however. You admire Korkie for his dedication to his kingdom, and you admire that he’s genuinely trying his best. However, you admire the Knight for his kindness, his patience, his protection. You admire his velour voice, his plush lips, and the way he touches you. You admire that he’s a father, that he’s split his dedication between his duty to his kingdom and his duty to his son. You admire his deep chuckle, and the way he kisses you, the way you can see him laugh when you shoot him silly faces during dinner. You both admired and was frustrated by his obedience to his creed. He kept promises, no matter how life-altering they may be.

As you reflect on all the reasons he meant anything to you, you felt a sense of peace. It was better, the feeling in your stomach, that is. You decide it is right to tell him, you recall your governess explaining to you that all good relationships are built on enthusiastic communication, and you wanted your relationship with the Knight to be considered ‘good’. You sigh and then speak up, “I just…” You take a sharp, deep breath in the middle of your sentence before speaking up again, “just lots of insecurities, I suppose.” You shrug.

“Insecure- about what?” He asks.

“Everything, but especially us.” You didn’t really want to have this conversation, but you knew you had to.

“May I ask why?” His tone was sincere.

You aren’t sure how to reply at first. “Is it too fast? Am I too much?” You ask after careful consideration of what you were going to bring up first.

“What? No.” You think this was the first time he had ever replied immediately after you ask him something. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know-“

“Yes you do… tell me.” He reassures.

“Our personalities are different, you’re quiet and stoic…”

“Is that… bad?”

“No! No, not at all. Royals just aren’t that, and I worry if we’re compatible enough. And don’t mistake me, I admire that about you, but I fear I’m too much for you.” You sigh, shaking your head. Clove nickers again as if he’s listening in on your conversation and chiming in. He doesn’t respond right away which you’ve gotten used to, but if it was any other situation you wouldn’t be overthinking it. You can’t take the silence anymore and speak up, “And there’s the added factor that I’m totally cheating on Korkie with you-”

“-If I thought you were too much, do you think I would let you teach me how to dance?” He interrupts. The words halt in your mouth, and you look at him almost dumbfounded. “Or do you think I would be teaching you how to defend yourself? Fucking you on a royal sofa in an un-locked room? Risking my title to take you to the beach?” He almost sounded… angry? Had you offended him for thinking that? Your legs tensed up on the horse, and you regretted everything you had said. He did have a point, you hadn’t really thought of that.

“I… suppose you’re right.” You mutter.

“I don’t have to be doing any of this,” He grabs your hand, holding it in his and uses his other hand to halt the horse. The three of you pause in the field between the beach and the castle. There had been a downgrade so you were mostly hidden but you could still the upper-towers of the palace. He looks up and you, and you find yourself wishing you could see his eyes again. “But I do because I’m… fond of you.” It sounds like he’s having a hard time getting the words out, but that isn’t very uncommon for him. Your heart flares up, this was the first time he had ever admitted anything like that.

“W-what?” You ask, sounding like a fool.

“I know, it’s crazy. How could a halfwit like myself deserve a Princess like you?” He chuckles under his breath. “Maybe the elf laid a spell on me, I don’t know. But I do know that ever since I was given the duty of protecting you, my life has been different.” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “I’ve… I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and I don’t know what it is but I-I-“ You smile fondly, and use his hand to hop off the horse. You bring your hands up to hold the back of his neck.

“It’s not a spell.” You whisper. “I feel it too.”

“Then it’s a spell on both of us.”

“Maybe.” You move your hands up to his helmet, desperately wanting to remove it, but you remember what you told yourself the other day. If he wishes to show you his face, it should be his choice, he deserves to be the one to take the beskar off. You would respect that. Instead, you just run your fingertips along the lip of the helmet, looking into the visor enchantingly. “Then it would be a wonderful spell.”

His hands find their way to your waist, hugging you to his chest. You rest or head on his shoulder and just close your eyes, feeling his chest plate move with each breath. It’s so still, the summer breeze softly runs through the tall grass. You can hear the waves gently hugging the beach, and the two of you just stand there like that. Completely alone, the only companionship being one another and a mindlessly-grazing horse. No one to interrupt. No doors to lock. No Princes to lie to. No thieves to fight. Just the two of you. If you could stay in that moment for the rest of your life, you would. In the earlier days of your relationship, you used to worry you wouldn’t like what his face looked like, worried that he might be unattractive to you. But every selfish desire you had about his physical appearance dissolved with the wind. No matter what he looked like, or what his past was, or what his name was, you didn’t care. You didn’t care because he cared for you, and you cared for him, too.

Before you can soak in the moment any longer, you’re swiftly grabbing his wrist, and tugging him towards the beach. The stillness of the moment is lost, but you’re quickly giggling as he’s chasing you down the small slope to the beach. You pull your skirt up as far as you can so you don’t trip on it, and find yourself being unable to slow down before the hill meets the shore. The soil slowly becomes more and more sandy, and your feet are bolting against uneven land towards teal, clear water. Before you can reach the ocean, however, strong hands are wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against the Knight’s chest. You can hear the low rumble of chuckling in his throat, and you have the biggest, dorkiest smile of all time on your face. He spins the two of you around a few times before setting you back down on the beach.

You’re out of breath from running, and your hair is already untidy from the unexpected change of direction. The wind blows it just softly, letting it pull away from your face and neck. He tucks one rogue strand behind your ear, and then cups your face. You hadn’t even realized he’s been gloveless this entire time. You close your eyes and rest your cheek into him. You turn your head ever-so-slightly to kiss his palm, laying a sweet and innocent peck to his calloused skin.

You wonder if he’s hot with all that armor on. If you were too warm with a dress, only he knows what it’s like to have to spend summers so formally.

He’s the one to pull away, walking towards the water. You follow him, and the two of you stand against the tide. You kick your shoes off and pull your dress up again. Stepping into the water. You giggle at the tickle of the sand and smile at the feeling of the warm water against your ankles. He watches you fondly with his arms crossed. The water in Corellia is never this warm, and you throw your head back in bliss, breathing in the salty air. This was the happiest you had ever been since you arrived in Mandalore. The break from all the rules and customs was very needed, and you soaked in the sound of the waves, a distant call of a gull, and the wind keeping your hair out of your face. The best part was the fact that you were experiencing it with the Knight. There is no other person you would rather spend this memory with. You bite your lip and close your eyes and you never want to leave, you want to stay here forever. You hear the sound of metal clinking behind you, and something heavy hitting the sand. You turn to look at the Knight, who had discarded most of his armor. His boots have been carefully set next to one another, and beside them were his pauldrons, wrist guards, thigh plates and breastplate. The chainmail was the next thing to be removed, leaving him in only the dark-brown underclothes. His trousers were heavy duty, covered in various pockets and made out of thick material, but his tunic was a thin material, still long sleeved, but flowy, allowing the fresh, summer breeze to run through the fabric. The two items of clothing were held together by a pair of black suspenders, and the entire ensemble made him oh so… human.

You had only seen him with all his armor on before, and witnessing his shell being removed was both humbling and inspiring. The armor added quite a bit of bulk to his stature, it rounded out his shoulders, boosted his posture, and broadened him out. That was the first thing you noticed about him on the first day you arrived, he was ample in size and it made you feel so primal and safe. Despite his smaller stature without the armor, he wasn’t one bit less attractive to you. He was still the same guy who you were slowly falling for and didn’t even know it. But as he cuffed up his trousers and rolled back his shoulders, you felt so comfortable in his presence. He wasn’t just a mass of armor and creeds and rules, no, he was just a man. He was a single father, a guy who doesn’t know the first thing about dancing, and a boy born across the world in the Nevarro frontier. He was just a man.

You couldn’t stop the warm feeling in your chest that came with this thought. Everything about him was far more simple than you initially thought.

He walked towards you, and you held out your hand for him to take. He laces his fingers with yours as he steps into the shallow water with you. Your dress drops, dipping into the water and getting wet but you can’t even be mad about it. Your smile is big as his hand tightly grasped yours, the two of you looking out at the horizon.

“When I was a boy-” he begins, his voice quiet, “I wanted to live on the sea. Join a ship crew and travel the waters. There was always something so adventurous about that thought.” He shares. You turn to look at him as he speaks, studying the contour of the helmet with your eyes.

“What stopped you?” You ask, not entirely sure if he would share, but this time he was the one to start the conversation, and you felt like he might this time.

He sighs, you see it, he turns to look at you, the two of you staring at one another as the temperature slowly dropped with the sun on the horizon. “I was orphaned when I was only five.” He shrugs, your heart breaks. “It was one of the Mandalorian wars that caused it.”

You can’t imagine what it’s like having to serve a kingdom so intimately when they were responsible for the death of your family. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, letting him know that you’re here for him. “I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“It’s not your fault, it was so long ago I don’t really remember it.” He looks down at the water.

“Thank you, for sharing that with me.” You smile apologetically. You really did appreciate that he felt comfortable enough to share something so serious with you. While you were grateful that he had begun to open up to you, it still didn’t answer any of the questions about Mandalore’s past, and what Koska was referring to a few days ago. It didn’t tell you what his past job was and why he’s serving the royal family now. However, you supposed it didn’t really matter, not right now, not today.

After a little minute of listening to the waves, he reaches down into the water, picking up a flat, thin rock. He runs his pointer finger along the edge, outlining the shape before hatching it into the space between his index finger and thumb, reeling back, and flicking it out so it hopped over the water’s surface seven or eight times before falling in. You looked at him enchanted, like he had just expressed a magic trick to a bright-eyed child.

“How did you do that?” You ask in awe.

“You’ve never seen anyone skip a rock?” He asks. You slowly shake your head. You’ve been cooped up inside a wintry castle your entire life, of course you haven’t.

“Teach me.” You say a little too forcefully. He chuckles and looks down at the sand, looking for a pebble that might work. He bends down eventually, and picks out a similar looking rock to the original.

“So, you want a rock that’s thin and flat, like this one.” He shows you the sediment. You reach your hand out, taking it and outlining the edge of the stone with your finger similar to how he did. He walks behind you, sloshing in the water but eventually gaining position. He wraps his left arm around your waist, and cups your right hand which holds the rock in his. “Now, don’t throw it quite yet, okay?”

“Alright.”

“You’re gonna flick your wrist like this,” he motions both of your hands at the same time, pulling back and then shooting forward quickly. He does it two or three times before speaking up again. “You’ll use your pointer finger to pull back like the trigger on a crossbow, it will give the rock enough spin that it stays on top of the water.” He makes you do the motion along with him a few times again. “Your shoulders will draw back almost like you’re pulling back an arrow on a bow.” Again, he does the motion with you, your back flush to his chest. You admired that he was able to relate everything to weaponry. He definitely knew his way around combat, that was apparent to you. “Then, you add all three motions together, aim for the horizon, and-“ he pulls back with you and before you know it, the rock is spiraling out of your hand and onto the surface of the ocean. It doesn’t skip, though, and instead plops right into the water.

You frown and look back at him. “What did I do wrong?” You ask, you knew he would know what needed to change.

“You didn’t flick your finger enough. Try again.” He pulls another stone out with a grunt, and holds you against his body to pull back and send another rock out. This one skips once before plopping into the water again. You sigh out, frustrated. “Here, try without me.” He says after handing you a third flat stone. You carefully practice the motion once, desperately wanting to impress him. You then pull back and give it everything you got, only for the stone to plop in without skipping at all again.

“Ugh, lemme try again.” You say angrily. You can hear him laughing at you, but you ignore it, ready to try again and determined to get it right this time.

You must have thrown four more rocks after that with no results. Each time he tried giving you just a little more advice about different things, “Follow through” or “You had too much spin that time”. You were starting to get really frustrated, having never had to really work for anything in your life before, and you knew he was starting to have a hard time finding flat rocks. You would not give up on this.

“Maybe we can try again next time-“

“No.” You say forcefully, “We do not leave this beach until I skip a damn rock, so if you want to be back in time for your evaluation with Vizsla, I suggest you find me another rock.” You raise an eyebrow as you pull out your diplomatic royal voice. He holds his hands back in defense and then tosses you the stone he already had waiting for you. You sigh when you catch it, taking a deep breath and remembering all your training. Don’t spin too much, follow through, add all three motions together, have faith.

You pull back the stone, praying that it will all go according to plan because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take failure. You pick out your target with your eyes before adding together all the advice given to you and sending it. You can hardly believe your eyes when you see it skip at least five times over the water. You cheer out in accomplishment and look over at the Knight, smiling big and triumphant. He runs through the water to you, shouting with you.

“I knew you could do it!” He grabs your waist, congratulating you. You giggle out of achievement. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asks.

You roll your eyes and playfully punch his arm (which luckily this time was not covered by pain-inflicting chainmail). “A lot easier than having to dodge your hits.” You admit.

“I’m proud of you.”

“It’s just a rock skip?” You wonder why he would be proud of you for that and ask yourself if you really are that pathetic.

“Yes but you put your mind to it and did it! I know some guys in the royal guard who would have given up on their third try, but you didn’t!”

“I was just trying to impress you.” You sheepishly chuckle.

“We’ll consider myself: Impressed.” He laughs and you blush.

“They don’t teach royals that.”

“Well of course not, I learned how to do that from the guy who took me in after my parents died. You picked it up much faster than I did.” He nods and you smile again.

The two of you catch your breath from the exuberant laughing, but you aren’t able to enjoy the still moment because all too quick it all comes crashing down quickly when he’s pushing you into the water. It isn’t very deep, but the unexpected soak makes you yelp out in surprise. Your initial reaction is to be frustrated, but you can hear him chuckling by your side and you can’t help but mischievously smiling in response. He’s standing, still dry with a hand over his stomach as he laughs at you. You roll your eyes before reaching up to pull him in with you, he yelps out stupefied as he’s splashing down into the tide next to you. You laugh out at him, sitting up in the water which is about waist deep. He wipes some water away from his visor and then splashes you, swatting a handful of the ocean at your face. Your laughing immediately halts from a mouthful of salt water. Your slight makeup washes off, and your hair is starting to get wet, too. You look over at him with a frown before copying his action and spraying him right back. He laughs at you, and you remember that you can’t win this. He has a helmet to keep his eyes clear from the water. You groan out of frustration, and wipe your eyes dry. He’s just looking at you, panting. His clothes were soaked now. You crawl to be closer to him in the water, which thank goodness it wasn’t too cold because you’d be rushing to get out, but the summer weather made it enjoyable to just sit there together.

[SMUT BEGINS HERE]

You’re next to him, running your fingers lightly up and down his right arm, looking at him fondly. He catches his breath, and brings his wet hand up to cup your face again. You close your eyes, hoping he takes the hint, which he does because a few seconds have your eyes are closed, his arm his pulling away from your touch against it and his lips are pressing into yours. You can tell he completely took the helmet off this time, which means he would take his time kissing you instead of a quick peck to shut you up.

The two of you sit in the water of the Mandalorian Ocean, both of his hands reaching up to hold you as he kisses each eyelid as if to say “keep ‘em closed”, before moving to your lips passionately. His left hand holding your cheek while his right hand finds its place on the back of your neck, pulling you into him. You breathe deeply as he practically devours you, his lips moving hungrily. Your hands find their way to his thighs in the water, running your palms up and down the strong muscle, making sure to take notice of the healing wound on his upper-thigh. Your hands eventually find their way to the waistband of his pants, running your fingers under them to pull out the tuck of the tunic. Fingernails come out of the water and up soft abs that flinch at the stroke. It’s hard to work around the suspenders, but you’re able to still run your hands over his torso, getting to know his body for the first and hopefully not the last) time. He has a few scars, you can feel the fresh tissue under your fingers and wonder what caused them. He’s still kissing you, his left hand moves down to hold your jaw and you keep your eyes tightly shut out of fear of this ending too quickly. The kissing noises are obscene, wet and needy amongst the sound of the waves. The Knight licks into your mouth, his tongue hot and forceful as it explores your mouth, you can taste the lust on his lips, and you happily welcome the sensation.

His right hand works around the way your gown has flared out in the water and eventually wraps itself around your ass, pulling you up onto his lap. You’re mostly out of the water now, just your shins being completely submerged. You’re slightly weighed down by the added weight of a wet skirt, but you sit comfortably on the guards lap, your hands coming up to wrap around his neck, kissing him from above now. The kiss is forced down, and this time you’re able to lick into his mouth, nibbling his lip and deepening the kiss further from the angle. You can’t help your hands from cupping his face now, pulling him into you.

Your noses rub into one another, and both of his arms lift you up from behind. Your back arches into him, and your breathing hitches, getting heavier and hotter. He starts to get hard, you feel it under your body, and a mixture of the kissing and the pressure beginning to press into your cunt is really starting to turn you on. You start to just softly grind against him, moaning a little bit at the feeling of his growing cock against your heat. His hands help you, making the humping motion more smooth and natural. The kissing becomes sloppy now, and the water from the wet bodice is making your nipples just that much harder.

Your hands are reaching down to slide the suspenders off his shoulders, and then you’re pulling his shirt up and unhooking the trousers. Your hand is reaching in and finding the base of his hardening, thick length. He groans at your touch, and you’re bending down to kiss his neck, sucking deep, purple hickeys into his golden skin. You’re needy, still grinding against him and trying not let the water slow you down. He’s sighing breathy moans and grunts in your ear as you start jerking him off. The water does make it hard, but there’s something about the added sensation of the flowing water that really made it unique. You swipe your thumb over the head a few times, getting drunk with the unexpected control you have. This was the first time the two of you have fooled around that you really got to have total dominance. You liked it… you really liked.

He did too.

Your clit is able to rut so slightly and deliciously into your fist and his cock, and you’re having a hard time not letting your eyes open and flutter in pleasure. The same shocks of ecstasy ran up and down your spine, and he held you closer to his body, using his strong hands to cup your ass and knead the soft skin. You’re panting, your free hand reaches down to rub your clit, both of your hands working in between your legs as you straddle the Knight. You’re going to cum already and can’t believe it’s happening so fast but choose not to hold it back. You’re moaning out loud when you cum against your fingers, graining against his lap fast and squeezing his cock a little harder.

“Fuck, did you just cum?” He asks deep in his voice, growling in your ear. You hum out in response against his neck pathetically, and all dominance you previously possessed dissolves as you keep jerking off your Knight. “Dirty girl, kiss me. Keep those pretty eyes closed.” His throat is dry, which you remember from last time that that means he’s close, too. You reach up to kiss him again, going in tongue first and breathing in his scent deeply. One of his hands reaches around to cup yours that is working his length, holding it and adding pressure and then making you go faster, you happily oblige and soon the pace is quick and he’s grunting against your lips. He cums in your hand, you feel the heat of it. He’s panting and sighing and it’s all so hot you think you could get turned on by it again.

He rests his head on your shoulder after cumming, catching his breath. You take your hand out of the water and you tangle your fingers through his hair, toying with the curls as he sighs against your wet skin. You open your eyes now, looking out at the horizon, lashes heavy with lust.

[SMUT ENDS HERE]

“Gross.” You chuckle.

“You liked it.” He hums against your collar bone. His hands are steadfast on your lower back, holding you there against his chest. He doesn’t have the cold breastplate separating the two of you, so your hearts were pressed against one another, beating in perfect synch. You could also finally feel how warm his body was, despite the wet clothes and gentle waves. In your peripheral, you can see some of the brown curls.

Your heart warms, this might be the happiest you have ever been. The two of you must have sat like that for a long time because your skin was starting to prune and your hair was slowly drying with the wind. His breathing had completely calmed, and he was so still and quiet that just for a moment you wondered if he had fallen asleep. The sun was almost down completely, only a little sliver of it peaking over the water. You watched it as it fell to its resting place in the ocean, the sky still blazing oranges and yellows but cooling with a soft, pale blue from the top down. It was so… serene, so peaceful. Nothing like the crashing waves of Corellia. This was the best part of Mandalore yet. It’s saving grace.

The crescent moon is on the horizon when he’s turning to kiss your ear one more time and asking you to close your eyes as he pulls the helmet back on.

“We should probably get back, I don’t want to be late for Vizsla and I’m afraid I’ve started to lose track of time.” He stands up and holds his hand out for you to take. You attempt to hoist yourself up out of the water, but the wet dress has added so much weight that you can’t lift your legs up. You grunt in effort, but there’s no budging. “Huh, looks like we need to take that thing off.”

“Again?” You look up at him, you knew he had a smug smirk under all that beskar. You reach behind you to undo the corset just enough for you to step out of it, water dripping from your undergarment as he yanks you up and out of the warm water. “I’m starting to think you just really like seeing me naked.” You mutter and don’t realize how close you were to him while saying that until after. You catch your tongue, holding your breath as he looks down at you.

“Yeah, something like that.” He mumbles in response and you believe you could faint and die right then and there. He doesn’t let the moment stew for nearly as long as you would have liked for it, however and he’s pulling the sopping wet dress out of the water and carrying it back on shore. He hands it to you when he gets to his armor, and you try ringing some of the liquid out from the fabric but it’s almost too heavy for you to even hold in your arms. He re-assembles his gear on top of the wet clothes and you know that can’t be comfortable. Sand clings to your bare, wet feet, and you're desperately trying to brush some of it off before slipping your shoes back on. He’s resituated too fast, he has dressing his armor down to a perfection and you’re sad to see your beach adventure come to a close so quickly.

Before you know it, he’s walking up the hill again with you by his side, making your ways to Clove who has been diligently and patiently chewing on the grass in the field this entire time.

“Ride with me.” You ask as he helps you onto the palomino. “Please.” You ask. “We’ll get to the palace faster and then maybe you can get out of those wet clothes before you have to go to the meeting.” You ask. He sighs but then nods with a shrug, hoisting himself onto the horse behind you. You were riding normally now, and situated yourself comfortably into his chest. The wet gown lay on the back of the horse and you wished you had thought about removing that before getting into the water.

As the two of you start a gentle gallop to the palace, you feel your hair get drier. At one moment he reaches his hand up to run bare fingers over your healing bicep.

“We should have kept this out of the water.” He says in your ear. You twist your head back to reply.

“It’s okay, really. It’s starting to feel a lot better.” You reassure.

“It looks better, but the salt water can only do bad things to it.” He explains. You shrug, unsure of how he expects you to respond.

The three of you arrive at the castle just as the sky begins to darken, both of you still damp from the ocean but your hearts still full and bodies still riding the orgasm high. The Knight helps you off the horse, and now that you aren’t alone, you feel very aware that you’re only in your undergarments and really anyone could see you. You pull the wet gown off the rump of Clove, which was so saturated that it made his fur wet. You hold it against your body, trying to cover yourself up as much as possible. The Knight removes the saddle of the horse, storing it away and removing the bit. He stretches the beast’s ears and then walks over to the far side of the stable to grab a carrot out of a bucket before handing it to Clove as a reward for his hard work. You watch him as he expertly takes care of the animal, like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Then, with no warning, the two of you hear the shrill voice of none other than Koska Reeves.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.” She’s crossing over the dirt courtyard to the stables. Her hair has been done now, put up into the customary braids they usually are in. She was now wearing the royal blue color reserved for the Queen’s court, a golden sash sitting on her hips. She held the dress above her feet and she hustled in your direction. You felt scared, you knew Koska meant business, and was not afraid to scold. She was intimidating, to say the least. “You’re soaking wet.” She gasps when she gets to the stable fence. “Come with me, Princess. We must get you changed before anyone sees you or the Queen will have my head.” She sighs, opening the gate for you to walk through. “As for you, Vizsla’s here early.”

“What.” You heard the drop in his voice from panic. “Why?”

“No one knew, he just arrived before we could do any regular welcoming. The evaluation is starting in ten minutes, I suggest you move your ass.” She shakes her head. You were incredibly thankful you had both rode Clove now. He wouldn’t have made it back in time if you hadn’t. You did feel a twinge of guilt, however. You shouldn’t have pushed for that so much and risked him missing his mandatory meeting. But an overwhelming part of you was more than happy that you got to experience those few hours alone with him. He swears under his breath before bowing to you, shrugging apologetically and then full sprinting towards the servant quarter’s entrance. “I would take that from you,” Koska says in reference to the wet dress, “But I’m already in my ceremonial dress. I can’t get it wet. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I can manage.” You nod. The two of you begin to walk back inside, and the night time breeze runs over your wet body, making you shudder ever-so-slightly. When you get back inside, the Knight is nowhere to be seen, and there’s only a fraction of the people as there were earlier. The masks had all been moved somewhere, which let you know they finished them. A mother sat on a chair by the fireplace, nursing a small baby and three young boys who couldn’t be any older than seventeen all sat around one table playing some type of card game and eating buttered bread. They were the stable boys. The three of them stared at you when you walked in, in awe of your unparalleled beauty and the fact that you were carrying a massive, heavy, wet dress.

Koska led you down a hall adjacent to the fireplace. You could see into a few sleeping quarters. The little ones were dozing off, and in one room was a couple laughing together. The small community that existed underneath the palace was something you deeply admired. You wouldn’t have had any idea any of this was here if you hadn’t pushed for today’s events, and you truly loved it. You loved how all these people found refuge and a home here.

You wished you could, too.

Koska stops at one door, taking the wet dress out of your hands and tossing it into the room before closing the wooden door shut and progressing back down the hallway. She eventually opens up a door to a small room with a single bed and large chest.

“Is this your room?” You ask, looking around and familiarizing yourself with it. A single embroidery hoop with a half-done pattern sat on the bed, on the windowsill was a melting candle whose wax had dried in a cascading pattern on the ancient stone, and at the foot of the bed was a small table with a wash basin and hairpins.

“No, It’s my sister’s. My room is closer to the Queen’s.” She nods. You had no clue Koska had a sister. She opens up the chest and pulls out a dry under-slip and simple but pretty purple dress. It wasn’t a ballgown and had long, bell sleeves in a similar fashion to Koska’s. There was some moon and star embroidery on the bodice.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” You said, starting to shiver a little now.

“Her name is Alva, she works in the kitchen.” She nods as she crosses over to the table, opening up a little box to pull out a horse-hair comb.

“Will she mind us using her things?”

“Well, you’re the Princess, so I hope not.” She shrugs and crosses over the room again like a madwoman, pulling a wool blanket from the chest. “Here, strip and dry off.” You look at her, confused. “Alright… I’ll turn around then.” Koska rolls her eyes and turns to face the wall. You peel off the wet slip, and use the wool material to wipe your body dry. It wasn’t nearly as soft and luxurious as the cotton robes you have five floors up, but it will do for now. You have sand everywhere, and you mean everywhere. You brush it off as best you can, hoping it doesn’t make too much of a mess for anyone to have to clean. You then pull on the dry clothes, and clear your throat when you’re done and decent.

Koska turns around and smiles. “Sit, I’ll brush your hair for you and then escort you back upstairs to see your parents.”

You had completely forgotten that they would be arriving tonight. You get a twinge of adrenaline. You’ve been so homesick, and it will be nice to see some familiar faces after such an emotional two weeks. You sit at the stool in front of the table, and Koska carefully combs out your knotted but drying hair.

“So… It looks like you two had fun.” She says. You smile and blush.

“Yes, we did.” You chuckle.

“That’s good, it’s been so long since he’s had fun. He deserves it.” She hums in response and you immediately question how they know one another so well again.

“How do you know each other?” You ask, knowing there's no harm in that.

Koska sighs, “We… used to work together in a sense. He’s a good man, an even better father.” She shrugs. So that’s four people you can think of who know about his son, You, Koska, Peli and the woman from Isla’s bar… although that situation seemed different, magical almost.

“You two never…” You trail off, not really wanting to hear the answer but not stopping yourself before you ask it anyways.

Koska laughs out loud this time, stopping the combing motion, “Oh stars, no. Never. I have someone else… and he has you.”

Your heart warms at that phrase. “Who is this ‘someone else’ you speak of?” You ask, enjoying the casual girl talk the two of you are sharing.

She hums again, “You’ve met her, she’s shorter than me and far more serious, she has a fire burning, but she’s special to me.” You can hear the smile in Koska’s tone.

You wonder who she’s talking about.

—

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#more to love #din djarin #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #fan fiction #reader insert #star wars #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando fluff #mando smut #mando x you #royalcore #royalty au #royalty #princesscore #princess x bodyguard #princess reader #knight x princess #pedro pascal fic #star wars fanfiction #no y/n #Pedro pascal smut #star wars au #the mandalorian smut #knight din djarin

[soysaucevictim]

“aching, shaking, breaking (like humans do)”

Summary: Remus thinks Hypnos has abandoned him for good (metaphorically speaking), Patton is there to help. (Sanders Sides, Gym Rat AU. One-shot. Ao3 link.)

Genres: Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic

Characters: Patton and Remus centric. Logan, Virgil, and Roman mentioned.

Relationships: Intruality (platonic), Logicality (platonic), Background Intrulogical (platonic/ambiguous), Background Dukexiety (romantic/QPP), Background Moxiety (paternal/platonic)

Warnings: Remus angst, extreme insomnia, (unintentional) self-injury, medications, mental health issues, grim imagery, Remus Has Intrusive Thoughts, Remus Is A Mess, Patton Is A Good Friend, Interfaith Friendships, Implied (Extended) Family Problems

-

Patton was pedaling on one of the exercise bikes, which was one of his favorite activities to do at the gym. Relatively low impact and he usually took a “something is better than nothing” approach to his routines nowadays. Just appreciating the people watching and socializing with his workout famILY.

That was odd.

Remus hadn’t been to the gym for the whole week. Even when the kiddo overdid it – usually he’s not out of commission this long for it. Unless-

Something hit him in the gut when he realized that. He stopped on his bike and immediately buzzed his number.

Ring.

Ring.

Nothing.

He could shoot him a text, but it was just not settling right with him. Logan had been doing one of his HIIT circuits on the bike next to him. He took a deep breath, gently tapping Logan’s shoulder. Despite Logan’s concentration, he desisted immediately, turning off his music to respond, “What is it?”

“Have you seen a certain Pottymouth at your work recently?”

Logan paused, with a look of concerned realization, “Come to think of it, no. No, I haven’t. Well, he was getting particularly erratic and called in sick… 3 days ago.”

“I think I should go check in on him. My Other Son’s been swamped with work lately, sooo…”

If Logan was perfectly honest, it was often confusing when Patton referred to half their crew as his son, “Other son? Did you mean Virgil?”

Patton nodded.

“Probably prudent. Unfortunately, no one can stand in for me at the firm tonight. And. You’re better at the… emotions stuff.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence! Hopefully I’m just worried for nothing.”

Patton rose up from his bike and was about to leave with his things. Logan smiled faintly, “Hey, if you would, could you tell me how he’s doing when you find out?”

Patton smiled back, a little forced if he was honest, “I’ll make sure to have him tell you that himself!”

-

It wasn’t a very far trip across the city to get to Remus’s apartment complex from the gym.

Once Patton parked his car and took another deep breath, he stepped out toward it.

After getting buzzed in and jogging up a couple flights of stairs, thanking his stars for basic training, he was at the door in a jiffy.

Patton wasn’t in the business, but he was reminded of the time Remus was raising heck to get Unit 404 from this building. He remembered seeing Logan trying desperately not to laugh when he heard about it.

He knew to knock to the phrase “Shave and a Haircut”, to alert Remus. He drummed out a few calls, waiting for Remus to make a sound on the other side, hoping he would.

It was a thing in their group, ever since they all watched “Roger Rabbit” together for a movie night, years ago.

Once. Twice. Thrice…

Patton heard the sound of chaotic crashing noises and an off-script, but still in the right cadence, “Fuck OFF!”

“Remus!? Kiddo, it’s me. I wanted to check on you!”

He heard some stumbling noises and a hoarse, “P-padre?”

“Can I come in?”

There was a dramatically loud sigh before the door was unlatched, unlocked, and open.

“Thanks- oh.”

Patton wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting, but Remus looked even more harried than he usually was. The darkness around his eyes even more pronounced, his face was so drained. His makeup smudged, tear-streaked, and hanging on for dear life. His gaze wild and jumpy. Remus didn’t do much more than stand in the living room, staring at Patton once he entered.

Patton saw that Remus had knocked over one of his glass cabinets. He noticed Remus looked pretty scratched up and was bleeding in places, mostly his hands and knuckles.

Patton furrowed his brow, asking mostly to avoid presumptions, “How are you feeling?”

Remus sounded breathless too, “What does it fucking… look like!?”

Patton paused and looked around some more, there was a lot of trash strewn about the floor. Granted there usually was, Remus would just call it “organized chaos”. But Patton did note that there was an alarming number of energy drink cans piled around a hopelessly full trash bin. Monsters, NOS, Red Bulls, 5 Hours, yerba mate, the works.

Patton slumped a little bit in worry, “Not exactly peachy keen, I take it?”

Patton had a hunch that Remus was screaming not that long ago, based on just how raw his voice sounded, “No SHIT!”

“Um, would you like to sit down for a bit? It might help to talk it out.”

“Can’t.”

“Too restless, huh?”

“Yeah.”

At that point Remus was mindlessly digging his fingernails into his arm. Patton winced a little and decided to ask, “Can I take care of those injuries, at least? I just want to make sure they don’t get-”

Remus glanced at but barely registered the wounds, “Infected?”

“Yeah.”

“F-first aid kit’s in the bathroom. Not like it matters. It would be just my luck to have a brown recluse bite or resistant staph or necrotizing fasciitis. You know where shit rots and liquefies and you get all septic?! Imagine the SMELL.”

Patton slowly worked his way to the bathroom to get the kit, not taking his eyes away from Remus, “Well, if it looks like it’ll be that way, I WILL be taking your butt to the ER.”

Remus didn’t seem to register that, droning on, “Oh. What if I lose a finger? Or several! Or my entire hands! Everybody says I might die of a heart attack before I hit 30? My ticker feels like it’s going to EXPLODE, Teddy Roosevelt. Imagine a live grenade strapped to it – BOOM. Sounds like fun.”

Patton flinched, thinking that was to get a rise out of him, “Kiddo, I think that’s the opposite of fun.”

Remus weakly laughed, pointing at his chest thoughtlessly, “Better than worrying about cancer or some shit!”

Eventually Patton had to break line of sight to grab the kit, but he kept talking, “When… when did you last get some sleep?”

There was a pause that made Patton’s own heart ache a little bit. Remus muttered after some hemming and hawing, “Uh… 3? 4?  4 days ago? I think. I don’t even fucking know.”

Patton took a moment to look over the medicine cabinet while he was there. Just to see if Remus had anything that could help him get much needed snooze time. There was a bottle of trazodone, mostly full, Benedryl, also mostly full… no suspiciously empty bottles of anything around. So that was a hopeful sign.

“Would you mind if I asked you to take something to help you sleep? After I patch you up?”

“You remember that story where a whole batch of Tylenol was tampered with and killed like seven whole people?”

“… I’ll ask again a little later, then.”

Patton returned to the living room, kit in hand, both relieved and disconcerted about Remus just standing in the same spot he was in. His hands were clenching and unclenching, like he was fighting to stay awake even longer. “Okay, it would be easier on both of us if you sat down while I dress those wounds.”

Remus didn’t move, so Patton tried to gently nudge this poor kid toward the sofa anyways. Thankfully, he didn’t resist at all. Patton noticed just how wobbly a gait he had in that short distance. Once seated, Patton also saw that both his knees were scuffed. Patton winced, imagining that he took at least a few falls very recently.

Without prompting, Remus whined, “Everything hurts, Padre.”

“Well, going without sleep as long as you have can give you a bad case of the body aches. Seen some of my old combat buddies deal with that on our worst deployments…”

Patton started to wipe down Remus’s knuckles first with some cotton balls and alcohol. He just wanted to get a better sense of how deep these cuts were. He was relieved that they were surprisingly shallow, “I think these will only need some simple bandages and antibiotic cream… but I’m definitely going to check on you later, to see how your hands are doing.”

Remus nodded, and started to blather a bit again, “I feel like Hypnos himself has forsaken me. A curse! A bane! Pat? Is his brother going to come for me? Am I going to ride down Styx and meet the big H himself?”

“… you’re not going to die, if I can help it. I swear to God Himself.”

“Gross.”

Patton sometimes forgot that their positions of faith were so far removed. But that didn’t dissuade him from caring a lot. He hated seeing his friend suffering so much. He took another breath, and addressed the gouges and cuts in Remus’s arms. They were rough, probably unintentionally from his own hands. He approached those similarly. “You feeling any sleepier, yet?”

“Mmm… no.”

Remus looked like he was about to pass out, Patton was reasonably sure just the fact he was seated and getting some TLC helped push him closer to shutting his eyes. “Well. I’m going to hang around for a few, just to make sure you’re alright, okay? Mind if I turn on the TV?”

Remus started to slur his speech considerably, “Knock yourself out, Holy Ghost.”

Patton thinly smiled about the blasphemous sentiment, but he shook that off, it didn’t matter really. He was just glad to see Remus doze off like he desperately needed it.

Patton decided to tune into Nickelodeon and watch some cartoon reruns, eventually hearing some loud snoring coming from Remus. Patton sighed and smiled at the sight.

-

“Oh GEEZ, Patton. Were you – were you here all night?”

Patton blinked awake from the shouting and looked outside to see it was bright out, “I-I guess I was?”

Virgil was there to see his boyfriend sleeping like the dead and Patton next to him.

“Logan told me to check on Remus and I just got back here. And-”

“Remus is going to be okay, I think. Do you have any idea what may’ve started this episode?”

Virgil sat down on the recliner nearby and looked tired but contemplative.

“His “family” tried contacting him. All I know was it devolving into a messy fight and it rattled him. He… stubbornly didn’t want to talk about it.”

Patton understood what he meant at this point.

The only blood relative Remus had anything nice to say about was Roman. Someone who should probably know what happened, if he wasn’t already aware.

All to address later, once Remus recovered a little more.

Patton ran his fingers through Remus’s greasy hair. Not the most pleasant, but he hoped it helped to soothe him as he continued to slumber.

Virgil smiled at both of them, his own concern never quite gone, “Thanks for this, Pop Star.”

#spilled musing #sanders sides #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #(yes - give both the twins a drabble in crisis) #(patton's here mincing his oaths whilst remus is swearing like a sailor... pffft ) #(patton used to be a combat medic in this AU - so like. he's seen some shit but is still v caring) #gymrat au

[not-close-to-straight]

Hexes and Honeysuckle (Final)

The ultra fluffy end to our magic verse! 

Enjoy!

MASTERLIST HERE

******************

“Holy crap, I’m human.” Tony held up his hand again and flexed his fingers, smoothed his palms down over his thankfully fur-less chest and sides. “Bucky, we did it. I’m human.” 

“You’re also naked.” the witch pointed out and Tony waved him off with a casual, “Oh don’t worry about that, I’m basically naked all the time anyway. Who needs clothes?” 

“You do!” Tony oophed when a towel splatted over his face. “Cover up, Tony! You don’t have fur anymore!” 

“I know.” Tony spread his legs and wriggled a little bit and Bucky made a strangled, squawking sound. “Don’t be such a prude, you’ve seen me naked before it was just in cat form. This isn’t very different.” and then with a sly glance towards the witch, “Well I mean, there’s like seven inches worth of something different, but who’s counting?” 

Bucky just looked at him and Tony finally rolled his eyes and spread the towel over his lap. “Better?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” Bucky inhaled sort of shakily. “So um-- what does this mean, Tony? What does this--” he motioned to the other witch. “--what happened? You learned your lesson? Your hex ran out, what is it?” 

“I learned my lesson.” Tony touched gingerly along a faint scratch of scars on his chest. “Humility and empathy and you know, the only thing stronger than a witch’s curse is a witch’s love, right?” 

“Humility.” Bucky repeated. “And empathy and--and love?” 

“Humility cos I realized I couldn’t do everything alone.” Tony counted off on his fingers-- he had fingers! He had never loved fingernails and knuckles so much!-- “I couldn’t do normal day to day things alone, much less save you. Empathy cos being with you is the first time it occurred to me that maybe the universe doesn’t revolve around my whims and that my actions affect other people just like they affect me. I get it. I was self centered and terrible and now I’m only mildly self centered and quite a bit less terrible.”

“That’s why you were a cat.” Bucky said flatly. “That’s it right there. Cos you think the sun rises and falls based on your wishes.” 

“It’s exactly why I was a cat.” Tony agreed with a quick nod. “And um-- love. I think even if I hadn’t learned my lessons the hex would still break since you love me and everything.” 

“... if you hadn’t learned your lesson I definitely wouldn’t love you.” Bucky retorted, and Tony was quick to point out, “But you aren’t denying you love me?” 

“I--” Bucky paused, scratched awkwardly at his chin. “-- I care a lot about you, Tony. But you were a cat. I cleaned up your hairballs and had to pick fox tails from your fur and threw shoes at you at god awful hours of the morning when you had the zoomies.” 

“Which is clearly true love!” Tony exclaimed, and clapped his hands. “You do love me!” 

“Tony.” 

“I know it’s weird.” the witch finally sobered, finally quit teasing long enough to be honest again. “I know it is. I was a cat and now I’m not, we were really starting to get along in both dream world and waking and now I’m not cursed to familiar anymore. It’s weird and that sort of sucks but before you decide whether or not this whole experiment is over and send me away, could we just--” 

“I’m not sending you away.” Bucky interrupted. “Why would you think that? Do you want to leave me?” 

“No!” Tony nearly shouted, hands out stretched. “No! I don’t want to leave you and I don’t want you to send me away and--whew.” he shook his head. “-- I really do love you, don’t I? Never thought I’d say those things out loud. Bucky listen, things are going to be different after this but it doesn’t have to be all that different, okay? If you’re willing to deal with me as human, then I want to stay.” 

Then softer, “Can I stay?” 

Bucky was quiet for a few minutes, and Tony waited with a pounding heart for the verdict. 

“Do you still want that stupid box or can I throw it out?” the witch finally asked and Tony breathed out a relieved laugh. “And are you going to stop shedding, cos I gotta say that’s my least favorite thing ever.” 

“If I wasn’t so happy you aren’t throwing me out, I’d be tempted to bite you.” Tony grinned, all sharp teeth and sharper smiles. “Right there on your ridiculous pecs.” 

“I feel like you biting me doesn’t have the same connotation as it used to.” Bucky shuffled his feet and got a little pink cheeked when Tony’s smile only stretched wider. “Please don’t leave, Tony. This is gonna take some adjusting to, but I don’t want to be without you anymore.” 

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Tony whispered gratefully, honestly. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Don’t know if I’m ready to be kissed by my former cat.” Bucky said bluntly, but not unkindly. “Can we work up to that? Cos I wasn’t opposed to kissing dream you but…” 

“We’ll work up to it.” Tony scooted back on the bed and patted the spot next to him, biting at his lip anxiously to ask, “Will you come lay by me? Sleep next to me? Is that okay?” 

“Hell yeah, that’s okay.” 

They fit together perfectly, legs tangling and chests brushing with every breath, Tony’s head tucked under Bucky’s chin and both arms wound tight around the witch’s waist. 

“This is so much better when you don’t have a tail to twitch in my face when you need attention.” Bucky mumbled and Tony sassed, “Don’t worry, I still have something to twitch in your face when I want attention!” and the bed shook with their combined laughter. 

Then Bucky lay a very soft, very gentle kiss on Tony’s forehead and combed his fingers through the thick hair, smiling when Tony immediately snuggled closer and purred up against his throat. 

“That’s so sweet.” he whispered. “Don’t ever stop purring for me. Don’t care if you’re human now or not.” 

“Kay.” Tony budged in as tight as he could go and closed his eyes tight, exhaling years worth of worry and stress and choking fear and inhaling Bucky’s sweet honeysuckle scent and letting it warm him from the inside out. 

Perfect. 

But then-- “ACHOO!” he sneezed and Bucky cursed and flailed away, a hand to his heart and eyes wide. 

“Okay.” Tony sniffed at him. “Don’t need to be that dramatic about it.” 

“Oh my god, your sneezes were so much cuter when you were a cat.” 

“Well now you’re just being rude.” 

*************

*************

Epilogue

Bucky nodded to a witch who smiled a hello as they passed, held up his left hand and waved when someone else called to him from across the market square. 

It had been a whole month now since Tony had created him a new arm in brilliant silver and bold copper, the pieces connecting and fitting up over his shoulder to frame the red star from Lehigh. 

The arm was beautiful, a gift of love, pure effort and affection on Tony’s part, born of a wholehearted wish to help, to make Bucky’s life easier, to reinforce what Tony had told him that last, awful nightmare with the Hydra-- “You aren’t broken, just hurt.” 

And these days Bucky didn’t feel broken, not with two working hands and a skill in magic that was growing by leaps and bounds every day thanks to the daily insight Tony offered since his full powers had been restored. 

Magic linked to love always shown brighter anyway, and every day the spells were easier, the more complicated incantations more natural and now Bucky walked tall and proud through the town, chin up and eyes sparking and a smile curving the corner of his lips because he was finally fulfilled, finally happy, finally--

“Why are you smiling still, that person is long gone.” The witch got a tail across his face for his lingering grin, and Bucky sputtered a few times and knocked it away. “I’m just saying you look weird walking around smiling all the time. Witches are supposed to have some mystique and no one who grins like a goofy goober has any mystique.” 

“Thanks for that.” Bucky batted Tony’s tail out of the way again. “By the way? It’s cool you figured out how to shape shift and can go back and forth to cat as you please but would it kill you to get off my shoulders and walk a little bit? You have beans again, use them for something useful!” 

“After some very serious thought, I’ve decided I only want to be human when we’re in bed.” Tony stretched out lazily, settling himself more firmly across Bucky’s broad shoulders. “Unless we’re kissing or losing clothes, I’d much rather be in this form, resting my beans. They’re so delicate, you know.” 

“You only want to be in cat form so I have to feed you, brush you and carry you places.” Bucky complained. “You are the worst witch and familiar in the world.” 

Tony only grinned cat-sharp and purred in Bucky’s ear and by the time they passed Magic and Magnolias, they were laughing together. 

“Do you hear that, darling?” Pepper nudged Natasha as the pair passed. “That sounds to me like a match well achieved, don’t you think?” 

“I’d say so.” Natasha agreed. “And since Tony’s magic has apparently shifted enough to allow him to retain some of the familiar form and spirit, their bond won’t dissolve as we feared. An excellent match, but now we need a new project. Who should we shift our attentions to next?” 

“I think Samuel.” Pepper handed her wife a thin file folder. “He is so drawn to the avian familiars and after losing Red Wing two summers ago, he’s never quite recovered. And Clint is avian you know, he keeps getting rejected because the witches complain he shifts between Hawk familiar and awkwardly winged human at abrupt and inopportune times.” 

“Samuel would pluck Clint’s feathers if the bird tried to scare him that way.” Natasha said slowly, then nodded. “Yes. An ideal match, they will balance each other nicely. Who else?” 

“Steven is in desperate need of a familiar as well.” Pepper pulled another folder free from her stack. “He’s had several but none have fit him quite correctly. Do you suppose Thor…” 

“Thor.” Natasha repeated blankly. “The full size lion familiar that stands at Steven’s chin when fully shifted? Pep, Thor would sneeze and knock Steven away, we need someone delicate, better suited to Steven’s size.” 

“No.” Pepper made up her mind and shook her head. “No, you won our argument with Tony and Bucky, I’d very much like to see Thor and Steven together. Thor needs to learn a lesson about his ego and Steven needs to learn to bring down some of his defenses. They are perfect.” 

“What about Wade?” Natasha mused. “Ever since his accident and the damage to his form he’s refused a witch, even goes out of his way to spite them.” 

“Until Wade learns to manage his rage and violence, I don’t think it’s safe to put him with anyone, my love.” 

“Peter has been five years a witch and has never had a familiar.” Natasha mused, holding up the two pictures and studying the pair. “His stubbornness and morals are equally as resolute as Wade’s violence, plus there isn’t a creature alive who could resist those soft eyes. He would balance Wade beautifully.” 

“Natasha no.” 

“Alright.” the witch pushed those folders to the side. “We’ll let them be…. For now...”

**************

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#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #pepper potts #natasha romanov #magic au #witch bucky #familiar tony

[krreader]

dripping.

pairing: kim taehyung x reader fandom: bts warnings: sex ; oral sex ; hair pulling ; dirty talk ; hints of impregnation kink ; language genre: smut ; fluff word count: 1.6k+

summary: it’s shower sex. that’s the plot lol.

a/n: I don’t have a summary for this except for the above, like this is only smut without plot and a little bit of fluff at the end so I hope you enjoy it ♥

You hadn't even heard him come in, that's probably why you looked so shocked when the shower door got opened all of a sudden.

“Shit! What are you doing? You can't scare me like this!”

“Sorry,” Taehyung chuckled, “I thought you heard me come in, I knocked.”

“What are you doing here anyways?” you turned back around and continued to rub your arms with shower gel, “You told me you didn't have to leave until later tonight and that I could take my time..”

“I meant it,” Taehyung wrapped his arms around you from behind, beginning to kiss your shoulder, then a trail up to your neck until he could plaster kisses all over your cheek, “But then I sat in bed and realized my hot girlfriend is currently taking a shower and I got a little hard.”

“A little?” you repeated with a snort.

“Very,” you could feel him grin against your skin, his hands running over your arms and getting rid of any remaining gel, before he wrapped his fingers around your wrists and pulled them back a little so that you had no other choice but to arch your back, your ass pressing against his dick, “I couldn't help it, you know? I thought about fucking you against the wall and then it just happened.”

You let out a moan at his words alone, that's the kind of power he held over you at this point.

“Is that what you want too?” he whispered with his deep voice into your ear, “Do you want me to fuck you against that wall, (Y/N)?”

You gulped down hard, couldn't speak, but managed to nod.

But that wasn't enough for Taehyung.

“Say it.”

“Please.. please fuck me.”

Now that was music to his ears.

He pushed you forward, but not hard enough so that you'd hurt yourself when your cheek hit the cold shower wall.

You thought he was so desperate that he'd simply push inside of you, but then the grip on your wrists eased until it was gone completely and the next thing you knew was that his mouth was between your legs and you let out a load moan.

He was always good for a surprise.

His hands were on your hip, holding you in place as you immediately began to squirm because of how good it felt and how shaky your legs became after just mere moments.

Your hands tried to find something to hold onto, the shower wall not being good enough, so you reached behind until you could grab onto his hair, which ended up being a very good idea, because with each pull Taehyung could tell when you liked something very much and when you didn't.

Despite being with each other for a while now, he still learned new things about you and your body every day.

“You taste so good,” he sucked on a spot of your inner thigh, making sure that it left a red mark that would hopefully turn purple the next days so you'd remember this act for a few more days.

When he got back up, you must have thought that you'd return the favor and wanted to turn around to get down on your knees, but Taehyung immediately turned you back around and pressed you back against the shower wall.

“No,” he ordered, “I want to be inside you right now.”

Well, you most certainly wouldn't complain about that.

With him pretty much making sure you were dripping – not from the warm water still hitting your bodies, but because of how wet you were – he slid inside of you so easily that both of you let out a moan.

“Oh god,” you whined.

Taehyung couldn't help but chuckle, leaning forward to your ear, “Taehyung is fine, baby girl.”

Instead of pounding into you like he did on some other days, he completely pulled out, before pushing inside of you once more, slowly and – more importantly – deeply. His entire dick disappeared inside of you, him being so entranced by that that he did it a couple more times.

“You're taking me so well,” he let out a breath, then pushed his, at this point, wet hair back with one hand, before grabbing your hair with the other and pulling it back.

“Please,” you whined, “Please move..”

He loved it when you begged, that was probably one of his favorite things when you two had sex, that he somehow always managed to make you beg for him to fuck you. 

Harder, softer, slower, faster.. whatever it was, he always complied.

He couldn't deny you anything..

One hand held onto your hair tighter, the other was at your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. And as soon as he was sure he was in a good position, he began to take you from behind, not too fast, but also not too slow.

It was a pace that made both of you moan, you a little louder than him because of the hair pulling he continued to do, but Taehyung didn't enjoy it any less.

Your boyfriend watched the droplets of water run down your spin to your ass, biting down hard on his lip as his eyes fell on his dick once more.

Watching himself fuck you was something that always got him ten times harder than he already was.

Knowing that he made you feel this good gave him such a confidence boost..

He ultimately let go of your hair and settled for just holding your hips, slamming into you harder and harder, the sound of the shower making the sound of skin against skin a little less obvious, but with the echo in here, it still sounded extremely dirty and at the same time, amazing.

“Tae,” you moaned out, your fingernails dragging over the cold tiles of the shower wall, desperately trying to cling to something.

“Hm?” he leaned forward, slowing down only momentarily, “Tell me..”

“I..-” you gulped down hard when one of his thrusts hit your g-spot, “I want you to cum inside of me..”

You were on the pill, had been ever since you first started dating and nothing had happened so far, you were both feeling confident with this method of contraception.

Nevertheless, Taehyung always varied where he came. Your mouth, your back, your breasts.. for him it only mattered that it was somewhere on or inside of you. And that might sound very dirty, but for him that was another way of showing that you were fully his.

And you loved it.

He chuckled darkly, “You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” you moaned, “Please..-”

And with that in mind, he continued to pound into you harder than before, his fingers now digging into your lower back, simultaneously giving you a little massage that only helped you relax more with the warm water against your skin as a bonus.

Your entire body was in such a good state that you knew you were about to reach an orgasm soon too. He didn't even have to touch your clit, his tip continued to hit spots inside of you that made you see stars and his fingers were doing such wonderful things to your body that your moans gradually became louder.

And once Taehyung felt your walls beginning to clench around him, he picked up the pace one last time, pushing himself to reach his height at the same time as you.

And it really hit him like a truck this time, he usually could tell a few seconds beforehand, but this time he just.. exploded, basically. With your walls having suddenly wrapped around him even tighter, he couldn't help it anymore and just let it out all out with one final and loud moan.

After a few moments, he pushed himself as deeply as he could inside of you once more, not wanting to waste a single drop of him, before he finally let his forehead drop forward against your shoulder blade, keeping his dick inside of you for now, though.

“I'm dead.”

You giggled, putting your hand on top of his that he – for some reason – slid forward so that it was now on your lower belly.

“And I'm not pregnant.”

“Yet,” he grinned, “You've been wanting me to cum inside of you for a while now.. I noticed that.”

“I just like it when you do it.. and I know you do too.”

“Still,” he carefully pulled himself out of you when he felt you wanting to move and gently wiped off his dick with the flowing water, “I can't wait until you are.”

“I know,” you turned around and reached for the shampoo, “Me neither.”

You ended up showering again, the whole process of shampoo and the likes and helped him do the same. He had done most of the work, so he was ten times more exhausted than you were. You quickly helped him with the process and them told him to lay down, adding that you'd join him once you were done in here yourself.

When you finally were and left the bathroom to follow him into the bedroom, you smiled at how he laid there in his bathrobes like you had told him to, completely exhausted and his hair still wet.

“You'll get sick if you don't blow dry it at least a little bit, Tae,” you said softly, your hands running through his wet hair.

“No,” his eyes were closed, his arms reaching behind so that he could grab onto you and pull you into the warm bed with him, “I just want to nap and cuddle. I won't have time for that if I take care of my hair now.”

How could you refuse?

You chuckled and joined him, him immediately pulling you close once you were next to him, letting out a breath and relaxing as soon as you were settled.

Neither of you said anything else, he fell asleep pretty much five minutes later anyways, but you just continued to watch him with a happy smile for a few more moments.

“I love you,” you whispered, then buried your face in his chest and closing your eyes as well, “So much..”

#bts imagine #bts x reader #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #v x reader #kim taehyung imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan #kim taehyung #taehyung #v #reader

[thistangledbrain]

Ok y’all, I’m sorry I’m having to catch up! We got a new foster in a few days ago - a particularly broken soul - and my mind has been *entirely* on him. But he’s settling in a little now, so here’s the last 3 days in one post ☺️

Autism Acceptance Month

Day 10!

“Sensory Life”

This is sort of hard to describe, but I’ll try! This is different from the next entry about stims, though both are sensory related.

It’s like being on microdosed ‘shrooms *all the time*. If you don’t know what that’s like, I’ll try to describe (this is collaborated with a friend who regularly does this - I don’t...it would probably be far too overwhelming).

Colors are far sharper to me & I emotionally react to them far more than most people. That results in some colors being genuinely offensive - not just “I don’t like that color”, but it will make me intensely angry or physically sick. This makes me curious about chromotherapy, but I haven’t really looked into it that much. My tolerance of certain colors can ebb and flow depending on my emotional state/mindset. (This crap is so sharp, I’m actually getting a twinge of irritation just *thinking* about my most hated colors LOL 😂 🤦🏻‍♀️)

Textures/skin sensations are another big one. (By now you may be asking, how TF did this chick manage Marine Corps training/exercises?!) I guess if you want something bad enough, you can shut down some of the overwhelming aspects of the sensory thing...this ability to disassociate probably isn’t what NT’s would call “healthy”, but it’s quite handy if you’re autistic, and those of us who have been through real trauma seem to be especially skilled with our ability to just shut off all circuits and “embrace the suck”). Like...I’ll nearly panic to get out of a store or something if my underwear starts feeling uncomfortable, but I’ve literally been soaked head to toe, covered in mud and sand in my *everywhere* (and I HATE SAND anywhere but on my feet) AND I pissed myself, because nobody’s gonna stop shooting/training just because you have to go potty 🙄), and I remember literally giving zero fucks about it...so it really is entirely a mindset thing. But let’s talk about when I’m NOT in “Marine mode” (cuz let’s face it, it’s been close to two decades since I got out, and I no longer HAVE to tolerate overwhelming sensations).

Sensory input is just basically dialed to 11 & the knob’s been snapped off. Bright lights, loud discordant noises, too much touching/not touching the right way, things like that. I am particularly sensitive about body hair (my own). I *strongly* prefer to have my head shaved on the back and sides (but I leave the top long). The only time I haven’t done this, was in the Marines (it was considered “eccentric” and not allowed, so they made me grow it out). Even though I leave the main part long, it’s *always* in a bun or ponytail - well, unless I’m super dressed up for something, but even then I prefer some sort of updo. Despite the fact that I like my long hair (well on the top anyway), I can’t *stand* the way it feels on my neck or especially my face - I HATE IT when my hair touches my face. If I wasn’t married...there’s a decent chance I’d just shave it all off and be done with it LOL 😆 My ponytail pulled through the back of a baseball hat is I guess what they’d call my “signature look”.

And you think NT’s have bad misophonia? *I’ve jumped out of a moving vehicle before* to get away from the noise of someone chewing loudly/smacking their lips in the back seat (he was a coworker and punching him in the mouth - which is what I DESPERATELY wanted to do - would have gotten me fired 😕)...but humans eating, or dogs licking their junk, makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. It’s mostly humans though....you have *no idea* the level of self discipline it takes to keep me from either rage crying or actually getting violent around someone smacking their mouth during a meal. I *cannot* be around my husband when he’s eating breakfast cereal even though he’s a very mannered eater - I don’t know why, but it’s *so loud* (and I’m terribly hard of hearing) - it sounds like he’s chewing rocks. It took us years to work this problem out LOL - he thought it was dumb that I had such a deeply emotional reaction. Then he tried to “chew quietly”, which all that did was slow down the rock tumbler inside his mouth 😂...gradually, for everyone’s sanity, we realized that cereal eating should not be done in close proximity to each other lololol....and now, when it’s time for family meals around the table, I’ve learned to either keep the range hood fan going (white noise is definitely my friend), or have the TV on. If it’s just mainly the sound of everyone chewing, I simply won’t eat at the table. I lose my appetite. (And all of my dinner guests/family are very polite diners. It’s MY hangup.) Phone calls are another big one. I could probably come up with several reasons why I hate it...I LOATHE it. This is one sensory hangup some people in my family just refuse to accept. I don’t think they realize I equate unexpected or immediately demanded phone calls to running naked though a mall or getting a root canal. Hissssssssss!! Give me some time to prepare myself for this shit please - you’re actually asking a *lot* from me. (And when I do have a call? Ugh I babble and am so awkward, because I’m so effing uncomfortable, which I also hate.)

But here’s an area where my “sensory overload” serves me very well:

Dogs.

I am usually *intensely* dialed into the energy and body language of an animal, but particularly dogs. I’m *so* sensitive to them, that I often actually can feel things even happening behind my back - can basically sense the energy in the area shift. (Roughly 75% of the time. I’m spacey sometimes too LOL.) The work I do with “behaviorally challenged” dogs is the biggest area where I am *grateful* for my autistic mind. I don’t think I could really do the things I do without it, successfully. (I can do this to a large degree with people as well, as can my youngest son. You cannot lie to that boy about your feelings or mood.)

We all have different levels of sensory sensitivity and different triggers, but every autistic I know has several “sensory hangups”. It often is one of our biggest hurdles to deal with, when it comes to “normal functioning”. So, many of us constantly have headphones (or muffs) on, some of us wear sunglasses *all the time*, etc (I wear a baseball hat - and I genuinely don’t like going anywhere where I have to get dressed up and can’t wear my hat. Been like that since my early teens. That hat shields me from all sorts of real and imagined sensory triggers.) You do what you can to mitigate, you know? But my “microdosing shrooms” and “knob dialed to 11 and snapped off” is really the best way I can summarize. (And that’s not all bad - my trips into a new natural space, like the redwoods, is an absolute *thrill*. I also occasionally love sensory overload - many auties do - like rollercoasters. My youngest son and I can ride till we pass out LOL!) So sensory life is love/hate, really....but I don’t think I’d change much about it.

Except the fucking misophonia. I hate that I go into almost a murderous rage over someone just chewing food loudly 🤦🏻‍♀️ - but seriously. It’s impolite anyway. Don’t do it. 😆

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Day 11!

Stims

This is one of the biggest areas where neurotypicals struggle to understand us.

We all have stims. Stims are basically any stimulus that brings us joy or comfort. It could be rocking, flapping, walking in tight little circles, clicking your fingernails together, spinning, making weird sounds or whistling, etc. And it’s usually repetitive - that’s the part that gets on people’s nerves.

I’ve found that most *women* hide most of our stims. We only let go and stim our little hearts out when we’re alone. I do that, because some of my stims grate on my husband. Sometimes I don’t WANT to feel “watched” anyway...I’ve noticed males don’t have quite the same issue with that.

I have quiet stims I do to soothe myself, and happy stims. One of my quieter stims when I’m trying to soothe myself (like in public) is clicking my teeth, particularly my right canines. I also have this silicone bite stick I wear around my neck sometimes, that I chew on (my sons like the bite sticks as well). I carry a little bag of fidget toys in my purse, to soothe myself with when I’m stressed. There’s a thing sort of like a fidget cube, a little cowrie shell and twine bracelet that I fiddle with almost like a rosary, a small stuffed axolotyl (her name is Blossom), and a few other toys. My little stash also comes in damn handy when I encounter a bored child LOL!

One of my sons makes funny little sound effects randomly (and he’s grown & still does it). The other used to randomly shriek when he was younger - then he learned how to whistle, so he couldn’t say a whole sentence without punctuating it with little whistles (we actually thought it was adorable).

My favorite stim is putting my headphones on, putting on some favorite music, sitting with my legs crossed, closing my eyes, and rocking. I’m happy to TELL you about this stim, but it’s one I do alone, because I like to get completely lost in it and I can’t do that if I feel I’m being watched...and you’ll damn near give me a heart attack if you touch me while I’m lost in that world. (And boy does it irritate me to get yanked out of that before I’m ready, for some bullshit non emergency reason.) Better to just isolate myself (except my dogs are always with me). Another one I do alone - and I have no idea why i like it so much - is squeaking my bite stick across my teeth. (This one is weird to me because I usually HATE my teeth being touched...yes dentists are a problem.) This one I enjoy doing kind of mindlessly while I read, but damn would it irritate anyone in listening distance LOL...I mean, it would irritate the shit out of ME if someone else was doing it, because *other people’s* repetition, especially if it makes noise, gets on my damned nerves. 🙄 Figures lmao!

Stims can be damaging sometimes, though. Like I used to twist and twirl my hair when I was younger so much that the areas I usually grabbed were frayed and broken (I also chewed my hair sometimes). One stim I cannot break myself of even though sometimes it’ll make me bleed, is chewing the insides of my cheeks or my lips. That’s my most frequent (several times a day) one, and the one that is both gratifying *and* soothing. It’s also the one that’s hardest to suppress.

Some auties are either unaware or literally don’t care how you feel about their stims, but I am and do. I’d like to think I’m pretty “appropriate” *most* of the time with my stims and other people around, except the lip/cheek chewing. If my husband notices I’ve gotten pretty furious about it (even using my hand to push my cheek into optimal biting position), he’ll gently put his hands on mine to bring me back to awareness - if I’m gnawing away, I’m either super stressed or way lost in thought. Either way, I can accidentally hurt myself, so he gently guides me away/distracts me.

Stimming is an important part of Autie life and should not be discouraged unless it hurts Your Pet Autie ™️.

And if you’re looking for a neat gift for an Autie? They actually make stim toy packs. Get them one, they’re fun. ☺️ (Most stim toys are designed to withstand being put in mouths and bitten/chewed, too - LOTS of us have oral fixations.) And hey, even if you’re a NT, try stimming sometime (lots of normal people have stims, they just don’t realize that’s what they are - like nail biting. Bite your nails a lot? Get a bite stick!! God they’re so satisfying!)....

Happy stimming!

———————————————-

Day 12!

“Favorite Autism Charity”

This one is short and easy: ASAN. Autism Self Advocacy Network.

“The Autistic Self Advocacy Network is a nonprofit organization run by and for individuals with autism. According to its mission statement, the Network’s goal is ‘to empower autistic people across the world to take control of our own lives and the future of our common community, and seek to organize the autistic community to ensure our voices are heard in the national conversation about us.’”

————————————————-

Day 13!

“Family”

Well that’s kinda ambiguous, isn’t it? 😒

I’ll start with this tack:

Being an autistic mom with autistic kids.

I mean for years, none of us KNEW LOL - and maybe that’s what took me so long to get around to pursuing a formal diagnosis for my youngest. To me, for the longest time, he was just sensitive and different like me (same with my oldest, for the most part, but I’m pretty sure that was me buying into the “brilliant people are just fucking weird ok” mindset also), yannow? So it was like, “well mama always told me I’d have one like me & then know what I put her through” 🙄 My oldest got lumped into the “all bright kids are quirky” category - but as I learned about ASD through my youngest and myself, it became damn obvious the oldest was also in our camp. (He’s taken the prelim test now anyway, but is not formally diagnosed.) I genuinely believe that our “shared weirdness” binds us very tightly to each other - and I’m super pleased about that.

It brought a whole new level of understanding and awareness within our little family when we realized it was ASD I guess - and acceptance. (I 100% believe that diagnosis - or even affirmation - is critical to our self acceptance and understanding.) I wouldn’t trade my little family for anything, and consider myself remarkably blessed. I can talk about how complex and brilliant my boys are ALL day (and often do LOL). Hubby is neurodivergent, and can identify with (or at least sympathize with) MANY of our hangups....but he’s “normal” enough that he’s been able to guide us (mostly me) with things like how to use tact (not often a skill we naturally possess lmao). My heart breaks when I read posts by auties whose families either don’t understand or don’t accept them & are constantly trying to basically mute who they are. Auties “live out loud”, and some people find that off putting. I know growing up, I was constantly getting my ass chewed for being “dramatic” or too sensitive, too, so I shut down and hid my sensitivity far, far away. I’m only *lately* (last few years) discarding that silly tough girl mask. (I can still be quite the little wolverine at times, but I’m not afraid to show my soft sensitive actual self anymore...to stay soft in today’s fucked up world takes actual courage - a lot of it - and strength. I was looking at the concept of being “strong” entirely the wrong way.)

I swear my husband has lived with nearly as many phases and facets, as years we’ve been together. Sometimes I ask him if this ever bothers him. He says no, because who I am at my core never changes...and he grins and says “and you damn sure aren’t boring” 😂

But since I’ve known I’m autistic, I’ve given myself more freedom to discover who I am without these socially dictated parameters. And permission to be precisely who I am, without cringing apologies when the real me shines through awkwardly.

And my husband and boys have been there every step of the way, embracing me, as we do with them. ♥️

Yeah. I love my family. We’re some pretty cool people. 😁

[nicolasnelson]

Sizzie fic - Powerless to Your Touch [oneshot]

Title: Powerless to Your Touch Relationship: Lizzie Saltzman/Sebastian Additional Tags: Blood drinking, power dynamics, kinky, rated M Words: 1,738

Summary: Lizzie is worried her dad will catch Sebastian drinking blood off campus, so she offers Sebastian her blood.

Requested by anon // Prompt: lizzie offers herself so seb won't be kicked out of the school and lizzie ends up enjoying being bitten

[AO3 LINK]

“You need to be careful, Sebastian. I don’t want my dad to catch you.”

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirked up. “He won’t. I have made sure to follow your turnip-headed friend’s advice and erase the memories of the humans I feed upon. And I hide the bite marks very well if I do say so myself. None of that ‘neck scarves’ nonsense.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. She knew her father had a tracking spell on Sebastian, and he was already suspicious that Sebastian went into town so often at night. It was only a matter of time before he followed Sebastian and caught him in the act. Then he’d have the perfect excuse to kick Sebastian out of school.

“Please, Sebastian, just try the school blood bags again.” Lizzie was getting desperate. She couldn’t bear the thought of Sebastian being kicked out of school. He wasn’t even properly enrolled yet. Her father insisted he couldn’t start classes until the new semester in January, and he was devising a series of tests that he refused to tell Lizzie anything about.

“I will not weaken myself with rabbit blood to fit in with your father’s ridiculous rules. Vampires are meant to drink human blood. It’s in our nature. To deprive us of our basic needs is unethical, and I will not submit to it.”

“I know,” Lizzie said, frowning. They’d been at this for weeks, but she knew it would go nowhere, and she didn’t want Sebastian to change. She was fine with the fact he drank human blood. He didn’t kill his victims like he did in the middle ages. And it was better to feed on humans rather than witches or werewolves since humans could be compelled to forget.

If only there was a way for him to get blood without leaving campus. An idea occurred to Lizzie. It wasn’t the first time she thought of it, but it was the first time she dared to mention it out loud. 

“What if you drank my blood?”

“No, I couldn’t do that, Elizabeth.”

“I trust you,” Lizzie said, her voice soft and sincere.

He looked up at her, a scared look in his eyes. “It’s not your safety I’m worried about.”

“My father won’t find out. I can heal the bitemarks with magic.”

“No, that is not what I meant. I trust myself to maintain control.” He paused and met her eyes with an intense gaze. “But I don’t trust you.”

Lizzie felt like her heart was shattering. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, masking the hurt in her voice with anger.

“You are a very powerful witch, Elizabeth. Every time we are skin-to-skin, I know that you could easily siphon all the magic out of me. Most of the time I trust you not to do that. But feeding on someone is a lot different. It’ll make your feelings even more intense. You may not be able to hold back, and I would hate for you to kill me by accident. You would never forgive yourself.”

Lizzie scoffed, hardly believing his words. “I wouldn’t try to kill you. Come on, Sebastian. You know I wouldn’t do anything to you.”

“It does not take much to kill a person. Actually, you’ll find it happens far too easily.”

Lizzie wanted to argue more, but she knew he was right to be afraid. “What if there was a way to prevent me from siphoning?”

“Are you suggesting I drink your blood out of a goblet like a bloody king?”

“Not at all.” Lizzie lifted her chin, a glint in her eyes. “I’ll be right back.” She got up from her bed and left the room.

Lizzie crept into her dad’s office and opened the bookshelf he used to hide his weapons. She picked up the one she needed and returned to her bedroom. Sebastian was still waiting on the bed, eyeing her curiously.

“What are those?” he asked.

“Cursed shackles.” Lizzie held them up proudly. “Clarke used them on Hope last month. She broke them, but my father found a way to repair them. They will render me completely unable to use magic. If you trust yourself to control your bloodlust, then let’s give this a try.”

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirked up. “You’d really render yourself completely powerless in order to feed me.”

“To keep you safe,” Lizzie said. “Sebastian, you’re important to me. I don’t want you kicked out of the school. If this is what it takes to protect you, I’d do it a thousand times.��� She handed the shackles to him. “Well, lock me up?”

Sebastian grinned deviliously. “I had no idea you were into this kind of play.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Lizzie said, smirking.

“Clearly.” He moved ever so slowly, sliding his hand around Lizzie’s arm and lifting it to give her a gentle kiss on the wrist. He pried open the metal and slid it over Lizzie’s wrist.

The cool metal made her shiver, and her heart leapt as the shackle clicked shut. He picked up the other and slid it onto her other wrist. A moment later she was powerless.

She felt it now, an excitement she never knew was possible. Sebastian had complete power over her, and it sent a mix of fear and delight through her. She lifted her hands and grabbed the heavy chains so she could put her hands over Sebastian’s head. With the shackles, she pulled him close to her and tilted her head back to expose her neck to him.

“All yours,” she whispered.

Sebastian brushed her hair back, his fingers light against her skin. He brushed his lips against her neck. “Are you sure, Elizabeth?” he whispered in her ear.

Hearing her name sent a thrill through her. She dug her nails into his back. “Do it.”

Sebastian’s teeth sunk into her neck. The feeling of pain was brief before Sebastian sucked her skin. It felt like he was kissing her fiercely, attempting to give her the mother of all hickeys. Her body felt so alive, the pumping of her blood pounding in her ears. She dug her nails deeper into Sebastian’s skin, and that just made him suck her neck more intensely.

She felt her body try to siphon magic, but the shackles wouldn’t let her access the magic. Still, she felt how it buzzed beneath her, how his body moved against hers in pure magical energy. His lips were so soft while his fangs were so sharp in contrast, and the way his tongue would run across her skin.

Lizzie was so turned on. She wanted nothing more than for Sebastian to push her against the bed. She wanted his hands to run along her skin, his body to completely dominate hers. She wanted him inside of her, to allow this pleasure to build until she felt like she might break.

She slipped her fingers into his pants and grabbed his ass with both hands, squeezing the only skin she could easily reach. He pushed her down until he was on top of her and pulled his fangs out of her neck. He looked down at her, his mouth covered in her blood.

“Take more,” Lizzie insisted, enamored by the sight of him.

“No.” He reached over to the side table and picked up a T-shirt from her drawer. Gently, he pressed it against her neck and held it there, looking down at her with tender eyes.

“Why did you stop?” Lizzie demanded.

“I’m not going to drain you, Elizabeth. No matter how much you beg for it. I fancy you far too much for that.”

Lizzie scoffed. “Well, I would fancy you biting me again.”

“I will,” he promised. “In a week.”

Lizzie pouted and bit her lip. She wanted him so bad. “You’re really going to make me wait that long?”

Sebastian’s mouth spread into a smile. “It’s so much better when you have to wait for it. Trust me.” He picked up Lizzie’s hands and lifted them over his head. He pushed her hands up over her head and pinned them to the bed. “Now, Elizabeth, where were we?”

“Give me your face, you asshole.” She reached her head up, but he held his lips just out of reach.

“Wait for it. Wait for it.”

When Lizzie felt like she couldn’t wait a moment longer, his lips crashed down onto hers. It felt like electricity was sparking through her body. Okay, wow. That was way more intense than usual. She wrapped her legs around him and tried to pull him closer to her.

Sebastian chuckled. “Who knew you’d be so into bloodplay. Or maybe you’re into the feeling of being powerless.”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

He ran his free hand along her face, slowly working his way to her mouth, and then he poked a finger into her mouth.

Lizzie sputtered. “What are you doing?”

“Experimenting. Isn’t that what tonight is all about? I’d like to discover what else you enjoy.”

“Well, I don’t like your fingers. They taste weird.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Fair enough.” He traced his hand down her body over her dress and dug his nails into her arm. “How about this?”

Lizzie felt her back arch as a wave of pleasure swept through her. She nodded to him. He dug his nails in deeper until she was certain she had to be bleeding.

Sebastian pulled back his hand and licked his fingernails clean. Lizzie thought she would be grossed out by that, but she was surprisingly into it. He gripped her thigh, digging in his nails until he drew blood, and he licked his fingers clean again. He smirked at her. “You, my dear, have a thing for vampires.”

“I do not.”

Sebastian leaned close to her lips. His voice went slow and soft, seductive. “Are you sure about that?”

She leaned up to try to kiss him and shut him up with her lips, but he was just out of reach. She glared at him. “Are you going to keep teasing me like this? It’s getting really annoying.”

“Oh, is it?” Sebastian pulled back, letting go of her wrists. “Sorry, I thought you were into it.”

Lizzie gripped his arm. “Oh, who am I kidding? I totally am. Get back here, Sebastian. We have yet to copulate.”

Sebastian grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

#legacies fanfiction #legacies #sizzie #lizzie saltzman #lizzie x sebastian #sizzie fanfiction #* #my writing #rated M #i don't know what this is #but it was fun

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Oppa Knows Best | Part 4

Word Count: 7.8k Genre: Smut, Angst Summary:  If there is anything a lot of people can agree on when it comes to college, it’s that college is about much more than just education; it’s a whole transformative experience.  The person you were before college is not the same person you will be after college, and no one knows the truth of that statement quite like you do. You just didn’t expect to change so much so fast. Chapter Plot: Something about his question rings alarm bells in your mind, and you lash out. “Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t need someone to take care of me anymore? That I want to be my own person now?” Jaehyun laughs in disbelief, “I’m the one who got you this far, and now that you’re here you want to dump me to the side and pretend like you don’t need me?” Warnings: This story contains a very unbalanced power dynamic between the two main characters that is unhealthy and shouldn’t be tolerated irl. If someone treats you this way irl please run. This is a fictional story and the plot is basically just a vehicle for the smut. Contains slutshaming and controlling behavior. Also the dirty talk is painfully corny and pornolike so be warned lol. Oppa kink if it wasn’t obvious. foot job (no licking dw), thigh job, humping? lol The previous parts and the rest of my masterlist are in my bio suck my dick tumblr 

It’s funny how something that you’ve wanted for so long could turn out to be so catastrophic for you, but that seems to be the running theme of your life. A year ago, you wanted nothing more than to be the sole object of Jaehyun’s attention, but now that you are, you’re finding it to be just so fucking exhausting. You don’t want to sound ungrateful; knowing your luck, a higher being could be listening to you right now and decide to deprive you of Jaehyun all together for not appreciating this nightmarish version of your dreams that he/she/it has bequeathed upon you. As it stands though, Jaehyung was no longer recoiling from you like he used to, not one bit. Now, he doesn’t even try to keep his hands to himself. He is always touching or kissing you. His stamina was insane and his sexual appetite insatiable. You were beginning to understand why he slept around so much in the first place and why the girls on campus hated you for taking him out of the game. Granted, no one knew for a fact that you two were fucking, and officially you were just really close friends—almost siblings—but that didn’t stop people from (correctly) speculating that you were sleeping together, not when Jaehyun was hovering around you all the time and scaring off any male from getting within a mile of you. Half the student body believed he was just being a protective older brother, deceived by his sweetness and inoffensive charm, while the other half was convinced he wanted you for himself, claiming that no mere friend would act so protectively no matter how close the friendship was. So which of these was the truth? Fuck if you knew.     As had become routine for you now, you’re awakened by a pair of large hands feeling up your body. You don’t have to turn around to know whose morning wood was currently pressed snugly between your asscheeks that are bare under the over-sized shirt of his that you wore to bed. Opening your eyes just a sliver to check the time, you groan, “Oppa, it’s six in the morning. Not now, please.” “But I have a class at seven.” He fusses childishly and covers your neck in kisses, his hands groping your breasts clumsily.

“Well, I don’t. You can fuck me all you want when you come back.” You try to push his hands off but he climbs over you and presses you against the mattress with his body. “But I need you now.” “We just fucked last night, oppa. I’m still a little sore.” You turn your head to the side, trying to escape his kisses. As you move, you feel some of his cum from the night before leak down your inner thigh, further reminding you of how used up you felt at the moment. “Please I’ll do all the work.” His hand goes between your legs, but as soon as his fingers come into contact with your pussy, you flinch from the overstimulation. “It hurts.” He immediately withdraws his hand and slumps over you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and murmuring a quiet ‘sorry’. He stays like that for a few seconds, softly peppering kisses on your neck and collarbone before he sighs and pulls away. “Wait,” You stop him from leaving. Chewing on your bottom lip, you regard his painful looking hard-on, the tip red and engorged, and decide to take some pity on him. “You can fuck me, but no penetration.”   He look at you funny, “What does that even mean?” Without saying a word, you close your legs, pressing your thighs tightly together then pulling them towards your chest. You support your thighs with your hands, keeping your legs suspended in the air. Jaehyun’s eyes widen a little bit and he looks at you hesitantly, “You want me to fuck your thighs?”   “If you don’t want to, I can just go back to sleep.” Before you can even lower your legs, he grabs your waist and yanks you towards him so that your ass was flush against his pelvis. “I’ll take it.” He spits in his palm then brings it down to wet his dick so it wouldn’t get chafed in between your thighs. When he’s done, he pulls your thighs apart just a little to fit his dick between them before closing them again around him. He starts moving his hips, and you watch as his dick disappears between the flesh of your thighs when he pulls back, only to push through them, swollen and angry, when he thrusts forward. You stare in fascination as he keeps fucking your thighs, feeling a little stir in your core at the sight. So you’re a little annoyed when he stops. Grunting unhappily, he pulls away from you, and you yelp as you feel his hand at your pussy, fingers pressing against your entrance. “Oppa, I said no penetration.”   “I just need some of your sweet juices, angel.” He coaxes and pushes his fingers in. Your pussy quivers around his fingers, the feeling a little painful but he was being very gentle as he pumps his fingers inside you and you couldn’t deny that it felt good too. As he gets you more and more aroused, your slick coats his fingers. Soon, you lose your grip on your thighs and they fall open as you opt to clutch the bedsheets instead. Jaehyun presses a hand to your inner thigh, keeping it in place while also rubbing his thumb against your sensitive skin, soothing you as he continues to pump his fingers inside your pussy and smirks down at you. “Are you sure you don’t want my dick, angel?” Huffing, you hit his chest with your fist lightly, “No, you sly asshole.” He laughs, pulling his fingers out, and you find yourself biting down on a disappointed whine. “Ok, ok.” After slicking his dick with your arousal, he pulls your thighs together and starts fucking them again, moaning appreciatively at the newfound ease, “Ah, much better.” Hooking one arm under your knees to hold your legs up, he uses the other to push up your shirt all the way up to your chin, exposing you to him completely. He bites his lip as he cups your breasts in his large hand, playing with them. When your nipples harden under his ministrations, you feel his cock jump between your thighs.   “You really got a thing for boobs, don’t you oppa?” You try to tease him, but he thwarts your attempt with ease, shutting you up. “I’ve got a thing for you, angel.” He was doing it again. He was looking at you like you’re the only thing he can see and he’d be fine if you were the last thing he ever saw. “You’re so pretty, baby. My sweet little angel.” It petrified you and you didn’t know why, making your survival instincts kick in, screaming at you to protect yourself, to get away from him, but why? Why do you need to protect yourself from Jaehyun? He’d never hurt you. He loves you... “Hurry up, oppa. I wanna go back to sleep.” You grunt, trying to sound as off-putting as possible and it works. Jaehyun’s head shoots up to look at you, grimacing, “Way to get a guy going, babe. It’s so sexy how uninterested you are.” His words spark up your defensiveness, and your fear latches on to it, making it fester. He got you into this situation in the first place. You were sleeping in peace when he decided to wake you up and fuck with your mind. “If you don’t like it, you can jerk yourself off in the bathroom.” “I’m basically jerking myself off right now anyway.” He grumbles, but before you can snap back at him, he digs his fingers into your thighs and fucks you harshly. Gone are all the sweet words and revering looks; now he was using your body as nothing but a tool to reach his orgasm, which doesn’t take long. It’s childish to be mad at him for doing so when you’re the one who told him he can and made it clear to him that you didn’t want his gentleness, but you were mad anyway. And hurt. Making a meaningless grab at having the upper hand, you push him away from you right when you know he’s just moments away from cumming. He growls in frustration, scratching your thighs with his fingernails as he attempts to get between them again, but you press you feet against his abdomen, keeping him at bay. “Why? I was so close!” “I know but I don’t want you to cum on me.” You say flippantly. Jaehyun scrunches his face and cries out in frustration. Catching you by surprise, he grabs your foot and pushes it down towards his painful cock. He presses against it firmly and rubbing himself on the sole of your foot. You can’t utter a word of objection because the sight of him grinding desperately against your foot, trying to build up his orgasm again, triggers something in your brain. Suddenly, you get struck by a disturbing image, a near-exact replica of this moment, of Jaehyun sitting in front of you, your foot in his lap as his hands wrap around your ankle and his hips buck up into your foot. The sharp maturity that came with age like a distant memory on his face, replaced instead with the soft angles and pudginess of adolescence that had left his face years ago and now only resided in old images. His expression was pleading and helpless like it was now… and apologetic? You see the younger Jaehyun mouthing apologies to you over and over again while your face remains set in stone, implacability carved into it.   You emerge out of the phantom memory when Jaehyun cums, his warm seed branding your skin as it spurts on your foot. Spent, Jaehyun collapses over you, his arms braced on either side of you and his face mere inches from yours. Just like that, you’re submerged in the dark pool of disembodied memories again. Another image appears before your eyes, seemingly from that same night, again an almost mirror-image to the present; you’re trapped under his body like you are now, but his expression was vastly different, not only from the present but from the previous image. He no longer looked sorry. No, he was pissed off, yelling at you about something as you struggled underneath him and tried to push him away. To escape him or his words, you didn’t know.   “___, ____,” Jaehyun shouts at you, and you flinch, realizing you were looking at present Jaehyun again as he stared at you worriedly. “Are you ok? You zoned out.” “Um, yeah, I’m fine.” You frown, feeling disoriented. What the fuck just happened? What were those images? Were they memories? Dreams? A mere product of your uneasiness at his behavior? “Did I hurt you?” Dread was palpable in his voice. You shake your head earnestly, wanting to dispel his fears.  “No. no!” “Then what happened?” He looks at you like a puppy that got accidently kicked and now needed reassurance. But you didn’t know how to do that. You couldn’t even come up with an explanation for yourself so how were you supposed to give him one? Trying to deflect his question, you ask, “Didn’t you say you had a class at seven?” “Yes but this is more important than some class.” “There is no this, oppa. I’m fine. I’m just sleepy.” You try to be as firm as possible, needing him to leave so you can sort out your thoughts. “Go to your class.” “I can’t just leave you—“ “Actually, I’d rather you did.” You shoot him down. That wounds him even further but his protectiveness was making your anxiety build up. You felt trapped underneath him, his presence closing in on you from all around and triggering claustrophobia in you. “Just…” You rake your fingers through your hair and inhale deeply, taking in a big gulp of air to stop the feeling of suffocation but to no avail. “Just let me breathe, ok?” That did it. His eyes immediately glisten and when he tries to speak, his voice breaks. Clearing his throat, he tries again, “Ok, but if you need me—“ “You’re just a call away. Yes, I know.” You complete monotonously, already turning on your side and tugging the blanket from under him, forcing him to get off the bed so you could pull it over yourself. You feel him linger in the room for a moment longer before he grabs something from the closet, probably a fresh change of clothes, and leaves the room. Your ears hone in on his movements inside the small dorm, trying to divine from them what he was most likely doing. When you head the shower running, you know he’s in the bathroom. When you hear kitchen utensils moving around, you know he’s making himself coffee. After that, he’s quiet for some time and you start feeling anxious, worried he’d come back to check on you, but thankfully you hear his footsteps again, before the front door opens and closes, signaling that you were finally alone. Throwing the blanket off your body, you listen for any indication that he’s still in the dorm, but you hear nothing but silence. Silence. It was such an unusual thing, for you anyway. Something you felt like you hadn’t experienced in years. Was it usually this loud? You don’t remember hearing this pervasive buzzing before, but now you couldn’t unhear it. It kept getting louder and louder until you felt like it was coming from inside your own skull. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push out the pummeling noise and there, on the inside of your lids, you see those images again, so clear as if they were tattooed on your skin. Immediately, you dive into them, try to trace them back to where they came from, but it was like they were severed from everything, a pitch black pool existing in a vacuum of its own. You couldn’t even connect the two images together even though Jaehyun’s clothes, a white shirt and dress pants, told you they were from the same night. All you saw was Jaehyun, one moment sat on a chair looking apologetic and guilty then the next moment he was hovering over you pissed off and looking like he was hell-bent on something. Try as you might, you couldn’t find the missing link between those two images. The fact that you couldn’t place those images into a bigger picture—or even figure out if they were real memories or a mere fabrication of your mind terrified you. You had no clue why Jaehyun had looked so guilty in the first place and what he got so mad for. Could it be that those forgotten memories were the source of your newfound unease around him? No, no, don’t go down that road. You’re not even sure that these images are real. You can’t even call them memories. You’re not going to validate some baseless feeling with equally baseless images and make yourself withdraw further from Jaehyun. God, your head hurt so bad. The only person who could put your mind at ease and answer your questions was Jaehyun, but then again, did you actually want to know the truth? If they were real memories then there must be a good reason why Jaehyun never discussed them with you before. So either they aren’t real or something so terrible happened that night that he chose to never talk about it again. Both those options didn’t make the idea of confronting him about it any more appealing. To hell with those images, you wish to banish them back to where they came from. Lately, you’ve been having enough problems with Jaehyun as it is; you didn’t need long forgotten pains to worsen things for you when they’ve already been going from bad to worse. “Ugh, fuck it.” You groan, looking at the clock and seeing that it’s already ten thirty. Now sporting a major headache, you realize that there was no use trying to go back to sleep now. Your end-term exams were approaching anyway and you needed to catch up on your studying. So with a heavy sigh, you drag yourself off the bed and get ready to start your day. •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• If your day started off badly then it certainly wasn’t looking up now. The coffee you made yourself tasted like the watered down piss of a coffee addict, and when you got to the library to study, you found it jam-packed with students. Massaging your temples tiredly, you contemplate whether you should try to go back to bed, but a quick glance at time tells you that Jaehyun would be out of his lecture soon and he’d no doubt come looking for you in order to talk about what happened this morning. You had no desire to face him; an overbearing and pushy Jaehyun was the last thing you needed right now.   Deciding that you could use some space and a change of scenery, you step outside campus in search of a decent coffee shop you could settle down in and sip on some palatable coffee while you hopefully got some studying done. You send a quick text to Jaehyun to let him know of your plans so he wouldn’t worry too much before you put your phone on silent, intending to give yourself a forced timeout from him. You walk around the city for a bit, going down random streets, just observing the little things you never took the time to notice before, like the peculiar juxtaposition of modern and old architecture or the sudden change in ambiance you feel when you leave the main streets and head down small alleyways. It was strangely calming—taking note of every little detail you come across like the number of stories each building had or how worn or new the bricks looked. Filling your mind with these details pushed the bad thoughts out, at least for the time being, and allowed you to finally breathe again. It was in one of those alleyways that you find a quaint little coffee shop to settle down in. Heading up to the counter, the boy behind it smiles brightly at you, his pearly whites almost blinding you while his cheery voice drilled into your skull. “Good afternoon, what would the beautiful lady like today?” Oh, great, he’s a flirter. You roll your eyes, already feeling the precious small amount of peace you’d gathered on the way here getting consumed by the excitable boy, but unlike him, the place looked so serene that you think it might just be worth it to bear with him for a little while so you can stay. “I’ll have a macchiato, double shot.” You reply curtly, looking to shut him down but he doesn’t miss a step and says, smile firmly in place, “Do you want sugar with that or are you already sweet enough?” You take in a deep breath before exploding in his face, “Listen kid, I have end-terms coming up, I’m sporting a major headache, and I just suffered through a sudden recollection of something that could potentially threaten my relationship with the most important person in my life. I don’t have time for your bullshit. Just take my money and give me my damn coffee.” You regret the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. Seeing his single raised eyebrow and the challenging look on his face, you realize you fucked up. “You’re gonna spit in my coffee now, aren’t you?” You pout at him pitifully and he chuckles, “Normally, I totally would, but you look pretty hot when you’re angry so I’ll give you a pass.” “Ugh, spit in my coffee I don’t care, just please stop with the cringe or I might throw up.” You groan but he just laughs again. Cocking your head to the side, you observe him in the act. He had a peculiar laugh, the sound coming out controlled—a almost fake—but his eyes twinkled and his smile grew impossibly wide to show off his perfect white teeth in a way that made him look like he was shooting a damn toothpaste commercial. You hate to admit it but he actually looked kind of adorable. The boy tells you the price, smile still ever-present on his face, and you snap you out of your reverie. You hurriedly pay and leave the counter, getting away from the annoying, albeit strangely endearing boy. Throughout your stay, Jaemin—as you’ve come to know his name—frequented your table, dropping a quick pickup line each time before leaving, taking advantage of the slow traffic at the coffee shop at this hour. You get used to him surprisingly fast; even though he was super flirty, you quickly catch on that he’s just playing it for the laughs, each time dropping a line more absurd than the last, trying to get a smile out of you. He was a very intuitive boy. You notice that he only came by when you were stuck in your studies or were getting distracted by your bad thoughts. He would say his lines, adjusting the dose of grease he injected into them based on your reactions until you would crack a smile and then, satisfied with a job well done, he would nod to himself and go back behind the counter. In the quiet coffee shop, with Jaemin’s delicious coffee, absurd one-liners, and calming smile, you manage to get into a relatively quiet state of mind and actually get some work done. Before you knew it, it was already seven pm. Suddenly feeling apprehensive, you pull out your phone to see dozens of messages and missed calls for a worried Jaehyun. Seeing the sudden change in your demeanor, Jaemin approaches you again and instead of a joke pickup line, he asks if you’re alright. “Uh, yeah, perfect.” You smile but Jaemin looks doubtful. You pack up your stuff quickly, wondering what you were going to say to Jaehyun once you got back to the dorm. “Are you sure that everything’s ok? You look kinda pale.” “Yup, it’s all good.” You smile tightly. Jaemin remains unconvinced but he doesn’t push it further, choosing instead to return your smile and says, “Ok, take care, ___, and I hope you come back soon.”   •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• You do go back, almost every day actually. The little coffee shop and the annoying boy with the gorgeous smile quickly becoming like a sanctuary to you—a place where you could leave the rest of your life out by the door with all its good and bad. Unlike Jaehyun who has accompanied you every moment of your life and had his own fully realized notions and feelings about you, Jaemin knew next to nothing about your life prior to you walking into his little coffee shop, and you were free to be whoever you wanted to be with him. Sooner than you would’ve liked, your exams were over and you technically didn’t have any reason to keep going to his coffee shop this often, but you did anyway, pretending like you still needed to study just so you could see him for a little longer. There was just something so familiarly alluring about him that kept you coming back. A cup of coffee is set down in front of you. You look up at the boy with a raised eyebrow, “I didn’t order this.” “I know. It’s on the house.” “This is like the third drink on the house today. I think the house might get fired soon at this rate.” “No way, the owner of this place owes me a favor.” He laughs and you join him, knowing that the owner was, in fact, his own mother, and the worst he ever got from her regarding his flirting via free coffee are a slap on the wrist and whatever choice of embarrassing story about him she feels like sharing with you that day. “I think you’re trying to give me a heart attack.” You say, even as you press the cup to your lips and take a sip, moaning happily at the delicious taste. He really made the best damn coffee you’ve ever had the pleasure of drinking. “Nah, I’ll leave that to my devastatingly good looks.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, smirking confidently and you snort, a little bit of coffee coming up your nose and making you choke. Still you continue laughing through the pain, making Jaemin pout adorably. “You’re mean, noona.” He whines but then his expression changes back to a cocky smirk and he presses his palms on the table in front of you, leaning down so his face is close to yours and says, “Plus, I know for a fact that your exams finished a week ago. You ain’t slick, noona.” “What?” You exclaim, your entire face burning in embarrassment. “How did you know?” “The college you’re attending is the one I’m planning to apply to, and I happened to go there a couple of days ago for a tour. That’s when I found out everyone was already done with their end-terms. Face it, noona, my coffee isn’t the only thing you’re addicted to here, is it?” “Why, you little punk!” You shout, trying to mask your embarrassment with indignation. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to campus anyway? I could’ve shown you around myself.” “Hmm, wouldn’t you have liked that?” He insinuates disgustingly, and you stand up, slamming your hands on the table and play-threatening to leave his gross ass unless he apologizes. Which he does immediately, whimpering like a kicked puppy. “Noona, I’m just kidding. You know that. Unless…” He laughs at your outraged expression, “Ok, ok, I’ll stop. For now.” “Anyways, it was kind of an impromptu visit so I didn’t have a chance to tell you. Plus, I don’t even have your number.” He hints, trying to be subtle but his eyes were practically brimming with hope. “Jaemin, was this just an elaborate plan to get me to give you my number?” You raise an eyebrow at him and he gives you his best innocent look. “Maybe... did it work?” “Maybe,” You smile cheekily, knowing that it wasn’t a ploy or anything but you still give him your number anyway. When he has it saved, he does a little celebratory dance and a song. “I got noona’s number. I got noona’s number.” You roll your eyes at him, “It’s just a number, Jaemin. It’s not like you got a date.” “Not yet.” He interjects, “But I’m confident in my charms.” “I’m not going to date a high school kid.” “I graduate in a few months, though.” “Yeah, whatever.” You say, trying to hide your unease. Jaemin’s enthusiasm was so endearing that you didn’t have the heart to tell him there was no point trying to pursue you. Your heart already belongs to someone else.   •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• Jaemin’s peculiar familiarity continued to dwell in the back of your mind but you couldn’t quite place it. Until today. You were hanging out with him at the coffee shop like usual when a girl walks in wearing short shorts and a low cut top. Jaemin leaves your side to go to take her order, flirting with her just like he does with every cute girl or boy that come in, and she eagerly flirts back. She was obviously really into him, playing with her hair while she’s talking to him and leaning down to give him a better view of her rack. Jaemin though, ever the gentleman, keeps his eyes firmly on her own. When he hands her her coffee to go, she slips him a piece of paper and winks at him, telling him to call her. You snort and roll your eyes, watching him come back to you all smiley and shit. “Did you really have to make me watch that?” “What, are you jealous, noona?” He smirks, “I told you if you don’t date me, another person is going to come in and snatch me up. I’m a hot commodity, you know?” “Please, don’t refer to yourself as a commodity. And I’m not jealous,” You grumble, totally jealous. “I just can’t believe how slutty that girl was being. Doesn’t she have any self respect?” “What, how was she being slutty?” His face immediately turns serious, all playfulness disappearing. This was the first time Jaemin has ever remotely looked like he was judging you, and it made you suddenly unsure of yourself. Shrugging slowly, you mutter, “You know, she was all over you.” “I’m the one who flirted with her first. Plus what’s so wrong about her showing her interest in me? I do that with you all the time.” “Yeah but you’re…” You trail off, feeling very uncomfortable and hoping he’d catch your drift so you wouldn’t have to say it. But he just stares at you blankly and waits for you to explain. “You’re—you’re a guy.” You fret when you see his reaction. He looked stunned, and you quickly try to explain yourself but only end up making it worse. “Don’t look at me like that! You know it’s different for guys and girls. Only a dumb person would claim otherwise. The way she was acting—she was making herself a prey. Guys would see her as easy and take advantage of her.” “I don’t even know what to say. I never would’ve thought you felt this way. I’m shocked, noona. This way of thinking, of judging someone you don’t even know… it’s gross.” Jaemin looked so goddamn disappointed at you, like he didn’t want to believe what he’d just heard. “Is this what you really think?” That stops you in your tracks. Is it? It’s what Jaehyun thinks. It’s what Jaehyun wants you to think, but do you? “I don’t know.” You reply in a small voice, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. “Hey, hey, stop it.” Jaemin’s cups your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized were already falling. “It’s ok.” “No, it’s not.” You sob, shaking your head, horrified at what has become of you. You didn’t use to be like this. Jaehyun has changed you without you even realizing it. Even though Jaemin doesn’t understand why you’re crying, he cradles you in his arms and rocks you back and forth, cooing and stroking your hair so you’d calm down. “It’s ok. It’s ok.” He repeats over and over again until you stop crying. When you do, he pulls away, still stroking your hair and asks, “What happened?”   You see it now, why he seemed so familiar; he was Jaehyun, a younger, gentler, more accepting version of Jaehyun. Maybe it was their different upbringing; Jaemin having grown up in the big city with a loving, complete family while Jaehyun grew up practically orphaned in a small, conservative town. Maybe if Jaehyun had what Jaemin has he would’ve turned out very differently. Maybe he could’ve been Jaemin in another life. And for that you pity him, and yourself. “I feel like a horrible human being.” You confess, not trusting your own thoughts anymore. “You’re not horrible. You’re just misguided, and I think I know why.” You see his jaw clench. It was still so weird seeing the normally gentle boy so angry. But you can tell that he’s someone who is fearsome to behold if anyone threatened the safety of his loved ones, and that’s what Jaemin thinks Jaehyun is doing to you. You didn’t really get into many details with him about Jaehyun because of this exact reason. You’d sensed from the start that the boy didn’t look favorably on the older man and his view only got worse the more he knew about him until you had to stop mentioning him altogether so you wouldn’t upset Jaemin or have to deal with him giving you a lecture about how Jaehyun was bad for you. It wasn’t just childish jealousy either. He seemed to genuinely dislike him. You tried to steer clear from bringing the subject of Jaehyun up as much as possible, which was a daunting task considering how big of a part he played in your life, but you couldn’t handle the sour look that came over Jaemin’s face whenever you mentioned him or the scathing remarks he had to say about him and his behavior.   Jaemin was one of those people who were convinced that Jaehyun was in love with you, except he didn’t call it love. He called it obsession, maybe ownership. He said that Jaehyun believed you were his and that he should have the ultimate say over anything pertaining to you. You wanted to defend Jaehyun but you couldn’t, not when you’ve been secretly suspecting the same thing for a while now. It was an internal struggle for you. One the one hand, Jaemin’s words made a lot of sense and on the other, you didn’t want to accept them. You didn’t want to listen to him and have him ruin Jaehyun’s image in your eyes. You felt like an idolater being forced to watch their god’s likeness getting torn down before their eyes. Jaemin... he just didn’t understand. As for Jaehyun, he wasn’t even aware of Jaemin’s existence. You had given it much thought and ended up deciding against telling him about the boy, fearing that he’d get mad and somehow get you to stop seeing him one way or the other. No, you decided that an embellished version of the truth would work much better, and that first day, on the way back home from Jaemin’s coffee shop, you made up some bullshit excuse to explain your strange behavior that morning. When he asked where you’d disappeared to all day, you told him that you had gone out to study in a coffee shop outside of campus and just lost track of the time. When, on your next trips, he would ask if he could join you, you always told him that you needed the quality time alone.   Surprisingly that worked. It worked so well in fact that the reason Jaehyun wasn’t questioning you more was because he secretly knew all about Jaemin. There were some hints here and there that supported your little conspiracy theory, like how when you’d come back from hanging out with Jaemin, Jaehyun would be all over you, gushing about how much he missed you and asking you if you’ve been good for him. You didn’t know if it was real or if you were just imagining the slight edge to his voice, but you ignore it, convincing yourself that you were being paranoid. But then occasionally, he would also look you deep in the eyes and tell you that he loves you and trusts you, and that would flare up your paranoia all over again. •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• For some time you live in blissful denial, intentionally ignoring Jaemin’s warnings about your ‘dysfunctional’ relationship with Jaehyun, and turning a blind eye to Jaehyun’s increasingly erratic behavior as he flips between being loving and resentful seemingly at random, giving you whiplash. You ignored it all. Until you couldn’t anymore. You were casually talking to Jaemin about how much you’ve always wanted to get a pixie haircut but that whenever you mentioned it to Jaehyun, he would adamantly refuse, telling you that he loved your long hair and wanted you to keep it. You hadn’t meant to start anything by it. It just naturally came out when you saw a girl with a really cute pixie cut and wanted to gush to Jaemin about it. He, of course, wasn’t impressed by what Jaehyun had said and told you that if you wanted to get a pixie haircut then you should damn well be able to get a pixie haircut. “Until when are you going to keep obeying everything that guy tells you? When will you start making your own decisions? You’re a grown woman, noona. You’re the master of your own fate. Your life is yours and you need to grab it by the balls.” Jaemin proclaims grandly, but despite the humorous tone—for your sake more than anything—you can tell that he was serious. For once, you take his words to heart, figuring out that a haircut isn’t such a big deal and that Jaehyun would easily get over it. Wrong. Seeing yourself in the mirror with your hair shorter than it has even been since you popped out of your mother’s vagina, you had felt in control of yourself for the first time in your life. Maybe you were assigning too much importance to such a trivial matter such as hair, but this is the first time in your life that you’ve taken a decision on your own without Jaehyun. Yes, it was Jaemin’s encouragement that got you to finally do this and he was with you the whole time for emotional support and to laugh his ass off at you as you cried and mourned over every fallen strand of hair, but it was ultimately your own decision and you’ve never felt prouder of yourself. But the euphoria and freedom that buzzed around you the whole way back to the dorm left you as soon as you stepped foot inside and came face to face with a disproportionately angry Jaehyun. “What the fuck did you do?!” “So I take it you don’t like it?” You really didn’t mean to be so flippant with him but Jaemin’s words were getting to your head, making you see how ridiculous it is that Jaehyun cared so much about hair, your hair. “Is this a fucking joke to you?” “No, but it’s not serious either. It’s just hair, oppa, and I like it.”   “It’s just hair.” He laughs sardonically, reacting so dramatically that you think he’s going to launch into a monologue about the rich history of hair and how important it is to human expression, but instead he catches you out of left field with a sucker punch. “Is he the one who told you to do this?” “Who’s he?” Your stomach drops to your feet, he couldn’t possibly mean… “Him! Your fucking barista boy.” Chills cover your body as you’re hit with the realization that you were right. How long has he known about Jaemin? Is even your safe place not safe from him? “W-what? How do you know about Jaemin? Did you follow me again?” He snorts like it was the most obvious thing in the world and it was your own fault for thinking otherwise. “Of course, I did. I had to keep an eye on you! To keep you safe!” “Safe?” You repeat, your world spinning around you. “To keep me safe, oppa, or to make sure I’m not disobeying you? And for your information, no, Jaemin didn’t tell me to do anything. He doesn’t try to control me like you do. He respects me and treats me like an adult.” “That’s because he’s a fucking baby. Is he even in high school yet?” You bristle at his mockery. “He’s a senior. Not that that’s any of your business anyway.” “Who you’re whoring around with is damn well my business.” “Fuck you, Jaehyun.” You bite in contempt, feeling disgusted with him rather than with yourself for a change. All the guilt and disappointment you had felt that day you needlessly attacked the girl in the coffee shop because of his indoctrination was now turning into anger at him. “I’m not whoring around with anyone. He’s my friend. Is that a concept so hard for your sick brain to understand? That I can have friends and not have them wanting to bone me the first chance they get?” “Yeah, right. Is that what he tells you? That he just wants to braid your hair and sing you to sleep? He’s a guy, ___.” “So what? Guys aren’t predators, and girls aren’t fucking prey. Just because there are bad guys out there doesn’t mean that I have to be afraid of them all. If I view myself as a victim then I’ve already lost!” You say with conviction, feeling like you actually believe in your words for the first time in a long time. “You know what, it doesn’t matter anyway. Even if he wanted to have sex with me, who says I don’t want him to?” “___, we talked about this.” Jaehyun grits through his teeth. “You said I could have sex with someone if I’m dating them.” “I said if you’re in a long term committed relationship, not just having gone on a couple of stupid dates. Besides, you’re going to date him? Have you lost your mind?” “What’s wrong with him?” Despite you never actually having seriously considered dating Jaemin, you get extremely defensive. Jaemin is such a sweet boy, so warm and lovely and kind. His heart was big and soft and so, so vulnerable. You would do anything in your power to protect it and him. You couldn’t tolerate hearing a single bad thing about him from Jaehyun. “He’s a child. Will your dates consist of making him lunch and walking him to school?” “Stop being ignorant on purpose. He’s only two years younger than me. Next year he’ll be in college too.” “That makes him three years younger than me. He’s a boy. Do you think he can take care of you like I do?” Something about his question rings alarm bells in your mind, and you lash out. “Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t need someone to take care of me anymore? That I want to be my own person now?” Jaehyun laughs in disbelief, “I’m the one who got you this far, and now that you’re here you want to dump me to the side and pretend like you don’t need me?” “Why are you making this so hard, oppa? I did not and will never forget all you’ve done for me. I owe you my life. You’ve kept it safe all this time but it’s time for you to hand it over to me and let me make my own choices.” “You know I can’t do that. I need to make sure you’re with someone who deserves and appreciates you and he’s not that person.” “And you are?” You accuse, watching the color drain from his face. You tried to be patient. You tried to be understanding. You tried to explain to him that you needed your life to be yours, but he wasn’t interested in listening to you. “You know, it’s funny. I suspected for a while now that your protectiveness over me veered more into possessiveness than actual care. You just can’t bear the thought of having all your hard work go to someone else. You were not planning on ever letting me go, were you?” You were regurgitating Jaemin’s words at this point, but maybe he was onto something. You’re tired of convincing yourself that you were simply over thinking things, that it was natural for the man who took care of you all your life and loved you so much to not be satisfied with anything short of the best for you. You were tired of telling yourself that he couldn’t possibly be wanting to keep you away from men all together, that it was all in your head… but now you didn’t think it was such an outrageous notion anymore. “N-no, I’m just trying to keep my little girl safe.” His chokes, staring at the ground. You don’t stop to consider how disconcerting it is that all fight has left his body in an instant when he was ready to bite your head off a second ago. You were too angry to care at this point. “No, Jaehyun, you really don’t. I’m not your little fucking girl anymore. I’m not your anything. You’re just a glorified dildo for me to use until I find someone I actually love. You made sure of that.” That was a low blow, you’ll admit but his words struck a nerve. You would’ve given anything to be his girl, to truly be his girl and to love him and be with him in all possible ways, but you’re not, you never was. My little girl. What a fucking joke. “You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t try to grab you. He just looks at you, disappointed and forlorn and absolutely heartbroken. It makes you wish you could go back in time a couple of seconds and get struck by lightning before you could utter those cruel words. In this moment, you were willing to do anything to stop him from looking at you like you ripped his heart out and stomped on it. That’s when you knew you still loved him. Despite everything, you still do. God, how did things get this bad? It seemed like just yesterday that you two were each other’s biggest allies, now it was like you couldn’t even trust each other, and for what? Maybe you needed a break, some space so you could clear your minds and remember just why you’ve been together all this time. Yeah, you think that would be good for you. But when you try to suggest that to Jaehyun, he completely flips out. “No, no breaks! We don’t need a break. The year I was here without you was hell. I don’t want to even think about being separated from you again.” He was being so intense, it freaked you out a bit. “Calm down, oppa. I only meant for a couple of weeks. I’m not leaving you. I just think we could both use a bit of space.” “I’m calm.” He practically shrieks, and you flinch back. Seeing that, he tries to calm himself down, pacing around the room for a bit before sitting down. His right leg that keeps jumping shows that he wasn’t any calmer though. He takes a deep breath and repeats again slowly, “We don’t need a break.” “Oppa—“ “We don’t.” He deadpans, “I can fix this. You wanna date your barista boy? You can date him. You have my blessings.” “This isn’t about Jaemin.” You protest, but he interrupts you. “You want me to back off a little, I get it. I’ll give you your space. I’ll stop being so overbearing. It’s going to take some time, getting used to forcing myself to not check on you all the time but I’ll do it. Just please,” He gets up and comes towards you, wrapping you in his arms like you were a fragile little bird. “Don’t leave me.” Jaemin’s voice rings in the back of your mind, warning you to keep your head up and not get swept under with Jaehyun. But you couldn’t bear to see the love of your life suffering like this, knowing you have his lifeline in your hands and just letting him drown. “Ok, oppa.” •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• A/N: Next chapter will be in Jaehyun’s POV so we can finally get to see what the hell he is thinking, but for the time being I’d LOVE to hear your thoughts and theories and just generally what you think about the story so far :))

#jaehyun smut #jaehyun angst #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fanfics #nct smut #nct angst #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfics #jaemin fluff #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fanfics #jaemin imagines

[vannahfanfics]

May I request A current in-character canon-compliant, soft, angsty, romantic soowon x yona endgame fic please 🙏 thank you very much!!

Hello, dear! Very sorry it took a while to get this request to you; I’ve had a lot going on with the semester and my 200-follower event and such. However, at long last, here it is! ^.^ Enjoy!

Mad World

The wooden floor of her palace room groaned and moaned with her feverish footfalls as Yona paced back and forth, back and forth, back and back and forth and forth and back again. That was all Yona could do, was pace and think and think while pacing and pace while thinking. Back and forth, think think think, riddle on what the hell she was supposed to do basically imprisoned in her bedroom like this. No dragons, no Yoon, no Hak, just Yona. Yona, alone and pacing and thinking.

It was maddening.

With a sudden, deranged screech of lunacy, she whirled on her heel to tear into the curtains framing the large window overlooking the palace courtyard. Her fingernails ripped into the silken fabric, reaming into the threads and pulling them asunder as she yanked on the curtain with all her might. Little, angry screeches spilled from her mouth while she tugged and tugged, rattling the curtain rod mounted into the stone wall. The linear metal piece desperately tried to cling to the rough surface, but with Yona’s continuous and manic assault, dust began to rain down as the brackets began to wrench loose. Yona wasn’t sure why the poor curtain was the object of her ire, but nevertheless she tore into it like a mangy feral cat, dropping shreds of torn fabric around her slippered feet. Very soon the screws could bear no more and jumped from the wall; the heavy, decorative metal ball welded to the main body made the rod’s plummet all the hastier. Yona jumped violently as it collided into the wooden floor with a massive thunk! and the curtain slipped from her hands to puddle like white milk at her feet. She stared dully at the half-destroyed, dismounted curtains with burning red eyes. It was not satisfying at all; her fingers still itched to maim, to tear into everything in this room and leave it a maelstrom of silk and cotton and splinters.

“Princess! Are you all right?” Of course the noise would attract whoever happened to be nearby. Yona hadn’t much cared of the consequences of her actions at the moment; she was boiling with boredom and anxiety and frustration, and desperately needed an outlet. Normal people might cry, but Yona had elected that tears wouldn’t do. She was beyond tears now, or so she told herself. But…

Why did it have to be Soo-Won?

The young king stared with wide eyes at the curtain rod hanging at a diagonal angle from the wall, the one set of brackets struggling to support its weight, and the tatters of silk curtain surrounding the hem of Yona’s pink kimono. Her eyes were lidded and cold as she just watched him gawk. This was all his fault, really. Sure, Yona had decided to entire an alliance and come to the palace, but if Soo-Won hadn’t set off the chain of events that resulted in that alliance, this wouldn’t be happening.

Yona immediately regretted the thought. She knew better now. If none of this had happened, her people would still be struggling and Yona would be living in blissful ignorance. Sometimes, however, she just couldn’t help but crave that ignorance… Especially when the lingering flames of her love for Soo-Won decided to rear their ugly heads.

Yona’s mouth curled in on itself as her heart lurched in her chest just at the sight of him. It was maddening, the way her desire to dig her fingernails into his cheek mixed with her longing to softly caress it, the way her desire to rip every one of those flax-golden hairs out of his head mixed with her longing to run her hands through him, the way her desire to scream and yell and curse him in a thousand tongues mixed with her longing to throw herself at him and sob and beg and surrender. Maddening, yes it was. It was driving Yona to near insanity, and as she stood there, she was wide-eyed and teetering on an abyss from which there was no return.

“Yona.” His voice was soft and full of concern as he uttered her name. His eyes, still huge with the sight of Yona’s shredded prey, finally flickered up to meet her own fiery ones like dawn. To his credit, he did not flinch away at the inferno there; he just stared, measuring, waiting for her response. “Are you… displeased?” he said finally when she refused to respond. Really, Yona was still so embroiled with her own feelings that she couldn’t formulate a response. His question returned some sense of normalcy to her mind. The fire died in her eyes, cooled by the sheer incredulity at his question.

“‘Displeased,’” she echoed. Slowly, like water trickling from within rocks piled high, her wits returned to her. Her head dropped to do as Soo-Won had, stare numbly at the carnage she had wrought on the poor, innocent drapery. Her hands began to sting terribly with the weight of the own violence she had wrought, as if they were coated in hot, sticky, burning blood and insides. They were just curtains; it wasn’t like she had killed someone. Still, Yona’s stomach flopped about with the unsettling possibility that if someone had stumbled upon her in her mania, she might very well have unleashed on them like a woman possessed. It made the bitter acid of shame flood her tongue. Yona had never been so violent before. Sure, she had done violent things, but always with good reason. This was wanton destruction, and the fact that it was borne of her own hands rattled her to her core.

Well, it wasn’t entirely without reason, she rationalized. “Displeased,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. “Displeased” didn’t even scratch the surface of what she was feeling right now. She didn’t have a word for what she was feeling right now. Silent, teeth clenched, she just stared at the mangled curtains and lamented her own sorry state of being. How had it come to this? Cool, calm, collected, and strong to manic, deranged and mad?

“Yona.” His voice called her with maddening power. Of its own accord, Yona’s head rose to obediently meet his beckoning gaze. She hadn’t heard his footsteps, but he had closed the distance and was standing in front of her. She compulsively swallowed. His eyes were the one burning now, pulsing with a soft yet furious heat that made her tremble. It wasn’t anger, or disappointment, or disdain; it was something else entirely, and it both frightened and excited her. He tilted his head to the side slightly as he smiled that gentle reassuring smile that she missed so dearly but wanted to slap off his face. “Tell me what happened.”

 She wanted to lie. She did not want to admit that she had just had a psychotic fit and wrenched the curtain rod off the wall and destroyed the curtains like some kind of beast. Yona, however, felt the pitiful attempts at falsehoods dissolving on her tongue under Soo-Won’s gentle yet critical stare. There was no point in lying and he knew well enough what she had just done. “This alliance isn’t working out the way you wanted it to, is it?” he asked her with a degree of amusement in his voice that made her skin itch with fury.

“No. No, it is not, Soo-Won.” The steel in her voice was sharper than the finest-crafted blade. At the iron on her tongue, the king exhaled deeply and his body sagged sadly. The reaction disquieted her; was he acting for her benefit or truly displeased that she was going crazy cordoned off in this bedroom? His eyes shut for a second, and when they opened, Yona felt electric shocks pulse over every single one of her nerves. The way he was staring at her, apologetic and guilty, was a look she had imagined every day since she witnessed him drawing a bloody sword from her father’s limp body.

It was not satisfying, not at all. Somehow, she wanted more. The madness began to scratch and howl in her ringing skull again.

“How dare you. How dare you look all sad and guilty when I’m stuck here with nothing to do but pace and think and fret all day!” she screamed at him suddenly. She lunged at him, fingers clawing into his kingly robes like they had done the curtains, but rather than shredding them, she only clutched onto them with an iron grip. Her red eyes burned as they bore into his, as if a glare alone could make his combust. “How dare you. You want to know what happened? I am losing my mind! I can’t take it anymore!” A dam erupted inside of her, releasing long-held feelings and tears. They were like rivers of ice and fire as they flooded down her cheeks, and her voice cracked as she hissed again, “I can’t take it anymore. I don’t know what is up and what is down. My mind is reeling. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know what you’re doing, and the one single comfort I could be afforded while I’m all but your prisoner in here is barred from me!” Her head dropped, chin banging against her chest. Her quivering hands held onto his clothes like the were the lifeline preventing her from being washed out to sea. She hated herself right now, admitted all this to him. But if she didn’t release it to anyone, even if it has to be Soo-Won, she really was going to go insane. What was her country? What was her fate? What was Soo-Won’s plan and how should she respond? These questions plagued her, maddeningly so.

With the weight of her on psyche mounting on her frail body, her knees finally buckled. Soo-Won reflexively caught her under her elbows as her legs folded in on themselves. Sobbing and groaning, she just cried pathetically while he held her up. “And you know… you know what the worst part is?” she choked out between sobs. “I hate you, but I love you. I despise you for what you did but I love you still. I thought I had grown so much, but I came back here, and it all has come crashing down upon me. I’m still that naïve, foolish little girl who wasn’t worth killing.”

“Yona!” She did not expect such harsh bite from his voice. It made her head snap up to look at him with wide and watery eyes. His lips were drawn into a taut line and his eyes were their fieriest yet. “I did not let you go because you were ‘not worth killing.’”

“Then why?” she demanded in an agonized cry. Her fingers dug further into his clothes, probably bruising the skin underneath. “Why, Soo-Won, I don’t under-”

The rest of her words came out as a surprised squeak muffled by his lips crashing into hers. It was not at all kingly, the way he kissed it her; it was passionate, carnal, desperate and mad. If Yona’s legs had been able to support her then, her kneecaps would’ve been obliterated to dust the instant their mouths smashed together. Her eyes fluttered shut with a low, needy whine; as if responding, Soo-Won’s tongue pushed into her mouth and tangled feverishly with her own. She didn’t object. She got drunk off him like she was partaking in the finest wine in the world, her tongue savoring every little bit of his essence. She could vaguely feel his fingers in her dawn-colored hair, caressing and twisting, but most of her senses were dominated by the explosion of feeling fireworking over her body. Oh, oh, how she had wanted this, and how much she hated herself for it.

She lamented the loss of his warmth and touch as he pulled away, and despite herself, her lips involuntarily chased him. She wanted to spend forever in that kiss. In that hazy fog, she didn’t have to think about the circumstances or how wrong it was; she just had to think about him, her mouth on hers and his hands on her body. It was simple. Easy. Uncomplicated. He permitted her pursuit for a moment, giving her another softer kiss with more feeling, but pulled back again after a few seconds. He said her name and it pulled her out of the fog, back to her confusing and complicated and maddening reality.

“Does that answer your question?” His voice was breathy and laced with a fair bit of irritation. Maybe with himself, maybe with Yona- maybe both. She swallowed and licked her lips, mouth suddenly drying up. Was she supposed to be satisfied with that? A kiss that seals the deal and makes everything all right? The trouble was that she was one hundred percent satisfied with that.

She stepped away from him, trying to hide the tremor in her still-recuperating jellified legs. She felt that her hands needed to be doing something so she smoothed out nonexistent creases in her kimono. Her brain whirled desperately trying to make sense of everything, but nothing made sense anymore. That was her problem to begin with. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” He sounded amused, like he had expected it.

“What do you expect?” she huffed. The fight was dying from her voice and spirit, replaced with indescribable weariness. She was so tired. She was so tired of fighting whatever this fight was, but that was the only thing Yona could think to do was fight. Surrender simply was not in the meek, naïve, ignorant princess’ blood, apparently. Her hands continued to fix her perfectly fine kimono while she refused to look at him. “I just… I can’t…” God, she couldn’t even explain herself. This is not how she wanted to look in front of him, flustered and stupid. It was like her previous self had been taken captive and replaced with a bungling imposter, and she was trying so desperately to get it back with little luck. Her hand began stringing through her hair, which was crimping uncomfortably with sweat. All the while, Soo-Won watched her, thankfully without pity. “I hate you,” she grumbled finally, because it was the only thing that sort of made sense.

“I know.” Oh, hell, no, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t get that sad look on his face and think that it made it all okay. But it did. In Yona’s stupid, manic, mad mind, it made it okay. Defeated, she kicked the curtain rod aside and sank down on the cushioned seat that sat below the windowsill.

“I love you,” she simpered as she put her flushing face in her hands. She didn’t have to look at him to know he had that other look on his face, that soft, gentle smile that made her heart sing and wail simultaneously. That smile that carried a hint of sadness that never faded.

“I know that, too.” A period of silence settled between them. She peered through her fingers to see his own twitching, like he was trying to figure out how to comfort her but arriving at no conclusions. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t know what to do with herself, either. As she sat there, the moonlight cool on her back as it flood through the unshielded window behind her, Yona finally began to feel a sense of normalcy returning to her. She partitioned off the confusing kiss and focused instead on her situation and what she ought to do about it, and was beginning to feel that clear-headed determination return to her. I just have to keep fighting. That is all I can do. I will resist as long as I have to and find out what Soo-Won wants…

She felt the cushioning dip beside her and heard the slight ringing of the metal as it rolled over the wooden floor when Soo-Won seated himself beside her. “I wish things were simple.”

“You’re the one who made it complicated.” She kept her face buried in her hands because she didn’t know what would happen if she looked at him.

“I suppose that’s true.” His laugh was hollow and mirthless. “I wish I could explain it all to you. I really do. But if I did, I didn’t know if you would believe me.”

“Can’t fault you for that.” Another hollow, joyless laugh that rang through the quiet bedroom, followed by a slight sigh. “I’m not giving up, you know. Don’t think this changes things. I just needed to get it out of my system.”

“No, I expect you won’t.” She finally lifted her head to look up at him, finding him smiling as he looked at her out of his peripheral vision. “You wouldn’t be the girl I loved if that happened.”

Surprisingly, her body garnered no reaction from that bombshell of a statement. It felt more like she had known it all along and she was vindicated now. It made a funny taste tingle on her tongue, one she couldn’t quite place; possibly a mixture of things. He smiled more as he pushed himself up from the seat and began heading for the door. “I’ll send someone to fix that in the morning,” he said with a lazy gesture to the destroyed curtains. Yona watched him go with confliction and a heavy heart.

“Yeah. Sure.” Once the frame of the sliding door clacked against the threshold, she exhaled loudly and flopped onto her side; the cushion embraced her, sinking her down into its fluffy softness. With the adrenaline no longer pumping in her system, her muscles now felt the strain of torturing the curtains. Dully, she stared down at its wispy corpse spread out over the wood floor.

The Celestial Dragons. The usurper King Soo-Won. The displaced princess. The Thunder Beast. The unknown battle for the world as they knew it.

Maddening, it all was to Yona. Somehow, though, the one thing that should be the most maddening was no longer maddening at all. She smiled thinly to herself and rolled onto her back, the moonlight washing over her like enclosing her in a blanket.

You drive me mad, Soo-Won… But still, I love you so.

Enjoy this story? Here’s Part II! Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents! 

#yonawon #soowon x yona #soowonxyona #yona x soowon #yonaxsoowon #yona x soo-won #soo-won x yona #yonaxsoo-won #soo-wonxyona #yona of the dawn #yotd #akatsuki no yona #yotd yona #yotd soo-won #yotd soowon #yotd fanfiction #yotd fanfic #akayona #sooyona

[m0etenchandon]

Don´t you want me, baby? Reader x John Deacon smut

Pairing: Reader x John Deacon Requested: Yes, by a lovely anon Summary: Basically just angsty break-up sex with Mr John Deacon Warnings: angst, smut (18+), break-up, oral, unprotected sex (reader on birth control) A/N: Surprise upload I guess. Inspired by the song “Don´t you want me” by The Human League (loosly) – listen to it here. Also, this is my first attempt at a song-inspired fic so bear with me. Thanks for reading! Word count: 2.5 K

Gif by @mazzelloplots, thanks for letting me use it:)

Masterlist

5 years had passed since you first laid eyes on him. You weren´t supposed to work that night, having just picked up a shift from your friend, but at that very moment it felt like destiny. John Richard Deacon. He was there with the rest of his band, blissfully unaware that his life would change forever that night. As you approached the table he was sat at, that pretty little outfit hugging your body, he knew he had to have you. The way the short skirt showed off your thighs, your breasts almost falling out of the top, had his pants growing tighter by the minute. His bandmates had noticed the change in John´s demeanor, stepping up to help the sometimes shy and quiet bassist score the waitresses’ number.

You were internally squealing when he mustered up the courage to ask you. Your eyes were on him the entire night, determined to get his attention one way or another. That included bending over to expose your cleavage, as well as lingering your hand on his shoulder as you handed him his drink. You knew who they were, knew they could help you get your own career off the ground. The fact that John Deacon was an absolute babe, was an added bonus. You had never told him your initial plan, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

The years you had together since that first night, had been amazing. You had immediately clicked, igniting a fire within. After telling him about your dreams to become an artist, he had used his connections to get you a record deal as well. Your career sky-rocketed after he convinced the boys to let your warm up for them on tour. You had everything. An amazing career, wonderful fans and a loving boyfriend. Yet, you felt like something was missing. Not quite being able to put your finger on it. Which had led you to this situation you were in at this exact moment, sitting on the couch picking at your thumbs. Joe was due to come back from the studio every minute now, unaware of the conversation you were about to have. You were determined something needed to change, you needed to live a life on your own. Desperate to find yourself, knowing you had to leave him. Even if it would break your heart.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of keys rustling before hearing the front door slid open. A lump formed in your throat, heartbeat increasing. This was it.

John had a smile on his face as he entered the living room. He was not going to make this easy on you, already feeling your heart sink. Leaning down to give you a kiss, you turned your head the last second, making his lips hit your cheek instead. He pulled away, a deep frown on his face as his eyes met yours.

“What´s wrong, love?”

He was concerned, mind racing, thinking of what he could have possibly done wrong.

“We need to talk, John”

“Did I do something?”, he asked as he sat down next to you.

You closed your eyes, drawing in a breath before turning to face him. Grasping his hand in yours, you contemplated not going through with it all. His touch was so familiar, his skin so warm against yours. Never failing to make your heart flutter.

“I think we should break up”, you blurted out, not wanting to drag this out any longer.

The look on John´s face had your heart breaking into a million pieces. He was in shock, blinking several times to make sure he wasn´t dreaming, eyes welling with tears. You had caught him off guard, those words being the last thing he expected to come out of your mouth. He thought you would be together forever, the ring tucked into the corner of his underwear drawer proof.

Pulling his hand away from yours and turning away, you started crying. Not even managing to control your emotions any longer. John was everything, he showed you what love was. He taught you how to love yourself, how to love him. You hated yourself for breaking his heart, but deep down you knew it was the right thing to do.

“John, please, look at me”, you begged. You reached out for his hand again, but he flinched at your touch. Eyes red as they met yours.

“Why?”, he choked out.

“I think it´s time I live my life on my own. I´ve had the best of times with you, I really have, it’s just what I have to do”

“Do you not love me anymore?”

John seemed angry, his voice breaking.

“No, please, John. I love you so much, these past 5 years have been amazing, you have done so much for me, for my career”

“So this was all about the fame then!?”, John yelled as he stood from the couch. Your eyes went wide at his words, your own being caught in your throat. “It fucking was, wasn´t it?”. Tears of anger left his eyes, hands thrown above his head. Realization hitting him like a brick wall.

“It was at first”, you started softly, trying to calm him down. John only scoffed, eyes rolling. “The moment I fell in love with you, it was more than that”

“I fucking turned you into the person you are, you would have been nothing without me. Success have been so easy for you, Y/N. You literally have the world at your feet now! You would have still been a fucking cocktail waitress if it weren´t for me”

“Are you fucking serious? I could be whatever I want, with or without!”

“Don´t forget, Y/N, it´s me who put you where you are now”, John growled as he started moving towards you. His eyes were dark, boring into yours. “And I can put you back down too”

You gulped, eyes fleeting down to his lips before meeting his stare. “What the fuck, John?”

“Don´t you want me, baby?”

“W-what”, you voice was barely a whisper at this point. John had closed the distance, standing just inches away from you. His breath was hot on your face, knees almost buckling underneath you. His entire demeanor had changed, tears having dried up. Your thighs involuntarily clenching together at the look he gave you.

“I don’t believe you when you say you don’t want to see me anymore, love”, he whispered as one of his hands shot up to caress your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. Your head was screaming at you to step away, but your heart was aching for him. The warmth between your thighs needing his touch. “You need me, Y/N. You think you´ve changed your mind, baby. You´d better change it back or we will both be sorry”

“John, I-I, fuck”, you moaned out as his lips latched onto your neck. They were soft against your skin, tongue swiping over the freshly made love bite. “Shhh, Y/N. Please, I want you one last time”, he whispered against you neck. Shivers shooting down your spine. “We shouldn´t, John”. You knew it was a bad idea, knew it would make it that much harder to walk out the door.

“You´ll regret it if we don´t, I know you will, love. You´ll regret not feeling my tongue against your cunt one last time, my cock buried deep inside”

You let out an audible whimper at his words, arms clinging onto his neck as your knees went weak. This was bad. Really bad. He had you wrapped around his finger, and he knew it.

“Don´t you want me, baby?”, John repeated, pulling away to look into your eyes. They were still dark, but there was a hint of sadness laced in there. You didn’t have the heart to say no to him, you didn’t want to either. You wanted him one last time. Needed to feel him, his rough fingers against your clit. Screaming his name at the top of your lungs as you reached your high.

The second you nodded, John´s lips were against yours. His hands went up to cup your face, your tears running over his fingers. The kiss was slow at first, his tongue sweeping your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You let him in, your own hands finding the back of his neck. You pulled him closer, desperate to feel him against your body.

He started walking you backwards, guiding you to the bedroom. His lips left yours, trailing along your jaw before finding that sweet-spot just below your ear. Your subconscious was screaming at you to walk out, but his touches were so familiar. Leaving tingles wherever they grazed.

You pulled at his shirt as he leant away for a second, letting you slide it off his body. More clothes were discarded on your way to the bed, leaving you both in just your underwear as you laid down. You pulled him with you, hand sliding down his body and landing on the bulge in his boxers. John let out a moan against your chest as you started rubbing him through the fabric, stroking him to full capacity.

He sneaked his hand around your back, unclasping your bra and sliding it off your torso. His lips met the soft skin of your breasts, making you arch your back into his touch. He kissed the soft curve, before slowly making his way to your hardened nipples. He kitten-licked one of the nubs before taking it into his mouth, sucking lightly. His skilled tongue making your clit twitch.

“P-please, John, I need you inside me right now”, you whined, pulling his head away from your breasts. He gave you a half-smile, nodding before pulling his boxers down his legs. His cock sprung up to graze against his stomach, a drop of pre-cum drooling from the tip. With shaky fingers, he pulled your panties to the side before lining himself up with your entrance. His eyes met yours seeking approval. Your hands caressed his arms which were perched on either side of you, giving him a nod.

Sliding inside, John let out a whimper and leant down to press his lips against yours. He went slow, cherishing every thrust as your lips danced together. Soft whimpers leaving both of your mouths as his cock dragged along your walls, filling you perfectly. Your fingernails dug into his arms as he grazed your g-spot, mouth opening against his. It was so intimate, breathing into each other’s mouths, as John picked up the pace slightly. The rough pads of his fingers lazily circling your clit.

“I need to taste you one last time, love”, John muttered as he pulled out. Situating himself between your legs, he pulled your soaked panties down your legs. He placed kisses on the apex of both your thighs, before moving to your folds. His lips grazed over them, spreading your wetness before licking a stripe from your entrance to your aching clit. A moan left your throat as you twitched under his touch. John lapped at your folds, collecting your excitement, before pressing his tongue against your entrance. He circled his tongue a few times, nose pressing against your clit. You felt yourself nearing the edge, the intimacy and the emotion he put into his movements brining you closer. As he wrapped his lips around your clit, you whined, hands balling into the sheets. His tongue circled your sensitive nub as his mouth created a vacuum, sending electric bolts up your body. As his eyes met yours, your heart fell in your chest. they were full of sadness, full of love. You reached a hand down to caress his head, twirling a curl around on of your fingers. A tear escaping your eye. You were so close, not wanting this moment to pass, but still wanting to cum. Needing it desperately.

John pulled away, blowing hot breaths on your clit before latching onto it again. This time harder, pushing you over the edge. Your fingers pulled at his hair as the first wave of white-hot ecstasy hit you. His name left your mouth along with a string of moans, only encouraging John to let you ride out your high. He hummed against your clit, adding to the pleasure of your already intense orgasm. You had never cum this hard before, eyes rolling back into your head. Legs shaking, your entire body on fire.

Kissing his way up your body, John connected your lips again. You could taste your sweet and salty excitement on his tongue, whimpering into the kiss. He grasped onto your waist, pulling you on top of him, straddling his hips. You could feel his cock against your still sensitive heat, hot and heavy underneath you. Reaching down, you lined him up against you entrance, sighing contently as you sunk down onto his shaft. John let out a whimper, hands coming to rest on your hips as you started moving.

His breath was heavy as you leant down to press kisses to his exposed chest, knowing he was close. The fingers on your hips digging into your skin, his whimpers more frequent. “Let go, baby”, you whispered, moving your lips up to his. You completely melted into the kiss, salty from both your tears mixing.

John slid his arms up your body, hugging you to him as he came. His hips thrusted up to meet yours, moans leaving his mouth. You stroked his hair, letting him ride out his high. His cum was warm against your walls. He held you close as he came down, his hands rubbing your back. You snuggled into his neck, taking in his scent one last time. You shouldn’t, really shouldn´t, but you couldn´t help yourself.

“I should go, John”, you said softly, letting him slide out of you. His hand caught yours as you stood from the bed, eyes filling with tears. “Please don’t leave me, Y/N. I love you so much”. His voice was barely a whisper, cracking as his thumb rubbed the back of your hand.

“I love you too, John. But this is for the best, for both of us. This relationship isn´t going anywhere, we both know it”

You collected your clothes off of the floor, hastily pulling them on. John was left speechless on the bed, tears flowing down his cheeks. He had the ring, he could prove to you right this second that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. However, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His heart was completely broken but he had to respect your wish. Had to let you go if that´s what you wanted. Deep down he wanted the best for you, even if that meant he wouldn’t be there anymore.

“Bye, John”, you said, taking one last look at him. You drew in a harsh breath, leaving your heart in a million pieces on the floor as you headed for the door. It hurt, but this was the right decision. There wasn’t room for John in your life. At least not at the moment.  

Masterlist

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[honeymoonjin]

Chapter Eleven

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

A/N: This chapter is a little different, it’s in Yoongi’s point of view. I was going to make it Chapter 10.5 since it kind of occurs alongside Chapter 10 chronologically, but I didn’t want anyone thinking it wasn’t necessary to the plot, because it definitely is. Let me know what you think!

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"Can't you just let me go with you, hyung? I'll be good!"

This kid. Yoongi shakes his head firmly, hurriedly grinding some herbs together for a last-minute clarity charm. "You mess up enough here as it is. I can't leave something like this up to you. Besides, Y/n specifically asked for me to go, didn't she?"

The shaman tries to ignore the way Taehyung fixes his puppy dog eyes on his elder. "But what will I do when you're gone? I'll be all bored and alone."

Tipping the ground herbs into a small vial, Yoongi's voice is flat as he makes sure the vaguely green dust makes its way into the vessel. "Then go back to the palace and keep Y/n company. Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. Alright, I need to leave. Be sure to leave the portal door open, but lock the front door with the hex charm; do you remember it?"

Taehyung seems affronted at the suggestion. "Of course I can do a hex charm, Yoongi. I'm not incompetent, you know..."

Yoongi straightens up and stares at the boy who's pouting in the kitchen. Feeling a sliver of guilt, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Listen," Yoongi says, voice gruff but apologetic, "I'm just making sure. I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Forget about it," Taehyung mutters under his breath, studiously ignoring his elder as he grabs an apple for the road and shrugs on a coat. "I'm going, like you wanted."

Yoongi winces when the heavy wooden door slams behind his assistant, and he stands in silence, listening to the the light scrape of Taehyung’s fingernail against the door, paired with the muttering of an ancient Chinese spell. Most of the magic Yoongi used nowadays were more modern Korean methods, but for the more basic enchantments, it was common to use the original spells.

Finally, all was quiet again. Yoongi cleared his throat to try and break the melancholic gloom he had slipped into, and double-checked the minimal belongings on his person before he left. He was not going to be in the modern world long, would not even have to leave the confines of the house itself, but Yoongi never went anywhere without a small leather pouch of basic ingredients tucked into his belt, the glass vial of a clarity charm dangling on a cord around his neck, and a small blade in his boot. All things proceeding as planned, he wouldn’t need them.

The first thing Min Yoongi noticed about the future was how clean and bright everything was. Gone were his heavy curtains, dark walls and sooty hearth. He emerged out into a hallway (something only palaces were large enough to have in his time, but he was familiar with them nonetheless) with a strange spongy fabric floor and impossibly straight, flat walls that appeared painted uniformly. He couldn’t imagine the finesse it would take a painter to manage to evenly coat this expansive surface without leaving streaks. Perhaps magic was more commonplace in this day.

Yoongi had been here once before, to lure Y/n back to his time, but he had transformed into a cat, then, and it was the middle of the night, rather than the break of day. Unsure which direction to go, he followed the hallway left, until he made it to the very end. “She said the communication device was in her sleeping quarters. Here, she wrote down some instructions for its use.” Yoongi felt for the note again in his pocket, comforted by the crisp edge of the thick paper. He had read that note to the point of rote-memory, but was glad it was there anyway. All Yoongi had to do was locate a bedroom, and then the ‘phone’ would be on a wooden stand beside it. He was actually feeling some excitement unfurl within him to find this device; from Y/n’s description, it sounded like a very complexly enchanted item.

As Yoongi made his way from room to room methodically, ignoring everything that wasn’t a bed (even though he was desperately curious to try out the bath – something he recognised from his time, but seemed far more refined) he thought over his previous encounter with Taehyung.

Was there really such a need for Taehyung to take everything to heart all the time? That boy was too sensitive for his own good. It would get him hurt one day.

When Taehyung and Yoongi met, almost three years ago, the shaman wasn’t looking for anyone. In fact, he had sworn off ever taking an assistant again after… what had happened with the last one, but Taehyung was insistent. His parents didn’t want him working on their farm anymore, he had said, and the King’s Guard wouldn’t take him in. He would have nowhere else to go. Perhaps Yoongi should’ve seen that as a sign that the boy wasn’t a particularly capable worker, but instead he had opened his arms and welcomed him in. He never had been able to say no to a pretty face. Yoongi thought maybe that was his biggest flaw yet.

Behind the fourth or fifth door, past the small door in the wall from whence he came, Yoongi found a bed, wider and more lushly decorated than the modest shelf-and-blanket combination he had. Letting out a gasp of relief at the chance to distract himself from the memories of his assistants, he rushed forward into the room, scanning it for a wooden stand.

Directly to the right of the bed is a short, squarish cabinet. On top is a small metal box with glowing red numbers, a very glossy and crisp book, and a small black device. Yoongi consults with the slip of paper, and tentatively touches the tip of his finger to a protruding button. Gasping with wonder as the surface lights up, Yoongi realizes there are words on the screen, all gathered in small boxes. He takes the time to read some of them, having to re-press that button as the screen keeps going dark after a few moments.

   Jimin, 8:21pm: r you still busy at the house? can u please just text me back baby, if ur busy thats okay, im just a little worried out u, thats all… it’s getting late…

   Jimin, 10:49am: okay, im heading off to work, flick me a text when u get this xxx

   Jimin, yesterday 5:11pm:  we dont have to if you don’t want to

   Jimin, yesterday 4:28pm: date night tonight? xxx i feel like i havent seen you in ages baby xxx

There are more, but they disappear out the bottom. Yoongi frowns. He thinks he remembers this Jimin; if memory serves, it was the sleeping male curling up to Y/n when he briefly visited her dreamscape. Yoongi had been so caught up in making sure she fulfilled her end of the deal that he had almost forgotten she had a life outside of their time. Those messages were a sobering reminder of how much Yoongi was asking from her. How much she was giving up. He didn’t like that feeling.

Clearing his throat noisily in the early evening silence, he picks up the device delicately and places it on the bed, flattening out the note beside it. Y/n’s instructions make sense as he follows along, although it takes him a while to work out what she means by ‘text bubble icon’.

Once he reaches that screen, and clicks on the name ‘Jimin’, those same messages appear, but in a different format. “I’ve already seen these,” he tells the device. The device does not respond. “I seek to create one of my own.” He sighs. The magic on this glass apparently cannot react to voice, only touch. He reaches out and clicks on the small white box that says ‘iMessage’ in grey. “Yes, I do want to message,” he mumbles distractedly. A large array of small letters appears below. Y/n wrote down to tap each square to write the letter. It seems an awfully impersonal way of writing, and it takes Yoongi quite a long time to tap out what Y/n has asked him to write, as well as pressing a small blue arrow to the right, which pushes the message upwards, resting directly below those from the Jimin.

   omg im so sorry i missed these jiminie ㅠ ㅠ i hope ur not too worried.

   im ok, just not been feeling great so ive been sleeping a lot! im not sure yet if its contagious so pls dont come out, i know uve got that show coming up and i dont want u to get sick ok!

   love you lots baby!

Yoongi sighs once he finishes, resting back on the bed, but soon three bouncing dots appear in a box. He watches them dance, fascinated, wondering what this could mean, until they change into words. Y/n did tell him that Jimin would be likely to reply and had simply written on the bottom of the note, ‘no apostrophes, or capital letters, call him baby or jiminie, and make sure he doesn’t come out to the house!’

   Jimin: omg thank god ur safe i was worried!!! i can bring u round some fresh soup and we can have a night in xxx ive already had my flu jab so i wont get sick i promise lol xx

Yoongi swears, trying to speed up his reply, double-checking Y/n’s rules as he goes.

   thank you, baby, thats very kind of you. but please dont come out, im just going to go to sleep and hope that this sickness passes in time. i will notify you once

But before he can finish crudely dictating a message, a series of three hard raps echoes through the house. Yoongi stands up ramrod stiff. Surely the Jimin boy hadn’t arrived so soon? Although, Yoongi supposes transport must be more efficient in this time. He bites his lip nervously. Surely, it would be best to go ask him to leave. It was Y/n’s intention that Jimin did not come to the house, since she herself was absent, and Yoongi could not have the boy roaming around and discovering the portal’s entrance.

“Y/n?” a deep voice calls out, muffled through the walls. Yoongi swears under his breath and pockets the small device and the note, getting off the bed to go find the front door. “Are you there?” Hurrying faster, the shaman eventually locates a door with a clouded glass panel revealing a tall shadow. He fumbles with the doorknob, having to twist a key (thank God that technology hasn’t changed) to unlock it, and throws it open with a nervous huff. The man blinks once, furrowing his eyebrows. “Uh…hi?”

“Yes, hello,” Yoongi blurts out hastily, eyes roaming over the tall man. Although he saw Jimin in very dim lighting, it’s easy to tell that this is not the same man. “Who are you?”

The man is wearing rough-looking blue pants with a belt, and a tunic that’s cut at his hips instead of his legs. He holds a hand out to Yoongi. Yoongi stares at it until the man coughs and lowers it. “My name’s Namjoon. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m just here to speak to Y/n.”

“What-” Yoongi’s words catch in his throat when he lifts his gaze from the man’s odd attire to his face. It can’t be. A bolt of deeply-repressed hurt cuts through him. He recognizes those dimples, that smile, even the name is the same as his. It was a face he never thought he’d see again. But, no. It isn’t him. The more Yoongi looks at him closely, the man going a little red in the cheeks under the sudden scrutiny, Yoongi can see the finer details aren’t right. His Namjoon had a narrow nose, more delicate face. His Namjoon wasn’t as tall and was skinnier too. This man in front of him bore shocking resemblance, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his Namjoon. Sensing he had been silent too long, Yoongi blinks away the tears that threaten to well. “What for?”

“Oh, uh, it’s kind of private business, dude. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/n’s sick,” Yoongi says instead, “so I’m afraid you can’t come in. I’m more than happy to pass on a message.”

The man who looks so much like his former assistant furrows his brows. “I’m sorry, who are you? I’d like to speak with her. I’ve been doing some more research for her, you see, really cool stuff on-”

“I’m her doctor,” Yoongi says instead, “I’m concerned she may be contagious, so I’ve advised her not to have guests. If you have the research with you, perhaps I can bring it inside. I’m sure she’d appreciate you coming.”

The guy laughs awkwardly, then digs into a bag at his side for a stack of pieces of paper bound in some floppy, slippery pink material. “I didn’t have time to pick up a ringbinder, so the photocopies are loose, but I managed to dig up quite a bit of the history on the Jeon reign, as well as all the following generations. It’s interesting! Hopefully she’ll get some use out of it.” The man hands the research over, craning his neck to try and glance down the hallway. “Can you tell her hi for me? And that I’m sorry for stopping by without texting ahead.”

Yoongi nods, half in a daze. He doesn’t know this strange feeling in his chest; does he want this Namjoon-not-Namjoon man to leave and never think about him again, or does he wish he would stay so that Yoongi can see just how much similarity there was? The thought comes too late, as the man turns and skips down the gravel path, getting into his car and pulling away without a second look back.

The shaman shuts the door, returning the key to its previous position, and sinks down on the floor. First Taehyung acting up, reminding him of his last assistant, and now this. The fates were being cruel today.

Forgetting about the small device still in his herbs pouch, Yoongi quickly returns to the hallway and crawls through the doorway and back into his own time, trying to ignore the hot tears that gather under his chin.

--

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[bpd-seishi]

oof today wasn’t like. super great so naturally that means i wanted to write a short seishi character study(?) lmAO SO HERE TAKE THIS 

title: i was killing before killing was cool  summary: in a dream, seishi gets a chance to talk to his child self. they both get the chance to vent about a few things.  characters: yodogawa seishi, katagiri zen (basically just baby seishi ;o;)  pairing(s): briefly implied seiyumu because of course  warnings: references to child abuse, mental health issues, general things associated with being an assassin, super vague references to sa/csa 

“Why haven’t things gotten better, Yodogawa-san?” 

Seishi turns, grateful to have a distraction from the icy blackness surrounding him. A kid stands behind him, and it doesn’t take him long to recognize who it is. Seishi’s eyes widen for a moment, before they soften slightly, guilt and pain suddenly weighing heavily on his chest. 

“I don’t know, Zen-chan,” he says, a weak chuckle escaping him. “I’m trying to make them better, though, I really am. I promise.” 

Zen bites his lip, fidgeting in place. Seishi remembers those days, when he used to fidget and squirm freely without care of what people thought of him. The habit has since been beaten out of him, his superiors at the agency deeming it inappropriate for a highly trained, skilled assassin. It’s simply unprofessional, and honestly, he’s almost grateful for it. It’s hard to keep up his sleek, intellectual novelist act up when he’s wringing his hands and bouncing his leg like an impatient child. 

He still catches himself falling back on his old tendencies from time to time, though. Occasionally he still finds himself chewing his on his nails or his knuckles, or clicking his pen over and over again, or rocking himself slightly. A jolt of panic shoots through him every time he catches himself, even though nowadays he’s rarely watched so closely for his superiors to notice his little slip ups. The few times that they do, though, well... 

Punishments hurt. They make damn sure that he doesn’t dare to even think of disobeying them again. Seishi has to remain extra vigilant, be sure not to make any mistakes. As the agency’s youngest employee, they tend to ride him a bit hard to make sure he’s presenting a good image (even if said image is technically invisible from the rest of the world, their clients would still notice if he came off as weak or insufficiently trained) - 

“I thought that people would stop hurting us after this,” Zen says quietly, interrupting Seishi from his train of thought. “After we became dangerous. I thought that would be enough to stop them.” 

Seishi smiles bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, just because we’re dangerous doesn’t mean we don’t have people to answer to,” he mumbles, digging his fingernails into the skin of his arms. 

Tears well up in Zen’s eyes, and his face scrunches up from the effort he’s making to not cry. He crosses his arms over his chest as well, and Seishi wonders if he’s also scratching at his skin. 

“It’s not just them,” Zen says, shrinking in on himself. “Our coworkers too. More people are hurting us now than ever before.” 

A sigh brushes past Seishi’s lips, and he claws at his skin a little more harshly. “I think it’s because we’re so dangerous that...that people want to hurt us. They either want to hurt us before we can hurt them, or it’s because they’re jealous. Our coworkers are mad that we’re better than them, you know? Since we’re so much younger than the rest of them...” 

Zen sniffles, and a few stray tears stream down his cheeks. He quickly reaches up to swipe them away, but more continue to take their place. “It used to just be Mama,” he says quietly. “And she never did anything like that.” 

A lump rises in Seishi’s throat, and he swallows thickly. He immediately understands what Zen is referring to. “We don’t need to talk about that,” he says plainly, hoping that’ll be enough to shut this train of conversation down. 

It isn’t. Zen sobs, stamping his foot in frustration. “Even people who say they’re our fans treat us like that.” 

Seishi bristles. “Zen-chan, th-that’s different. I-I’m mature enough to handle that...that kind of thing with those women. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Please don’t make comments on things you don’t understand.” 

“You don’t enjoy it!” Zen shouts, taking a few steps closer. Despite himself, Seishi instinctively flinches back. 

“Zen-” 

“You don’t like that kind of attention! Why don’t you tell them that?” Zen takes another step forward, his chest heaving. “Y-you don’t have to lay down and take that, y’know! I-I thought we were strong now! I-I thought we could say no now! Wh-wh-why won’t you tell them to stop, you can-!” 

“It’s not polite!” Seishi snaps, wincing a little as Zen flinches, raising his little hands as if he’s going to be struck. “S-sorry, Zen-chan...” 

Zen whimpers through choked sobs, and Seishi once again finds himself swallowing back a lump lodged in the back of his throat. His hands shake, and he looks down at them with a very forced smile. He remembers being Katagiri Zen, how he would flinch at every single sign that someone was upset with him. He still does, if he’s being completely honest. He’s just gotten much better at hiding it. Weakness within himself was something to be reviled, after all, if his training has taught him anything. 

But it’s hard to be disgusted by it when it’s in the form of a child crying, isn’t it? 

“Oh Zen-chan,” Seishi whispers, the guilt in his chest sinking down to his stomach, making nausea boil in its pit. “I really, truly am sorry. I suppose I never came to be what we needed, huh?” 

Zen sobs softly, taking a few hesitant steps closer. “W-we’re famous. P-people care about us. B-but no one wants to stop bad things from happening to us.” 

Seishi swallows, and the queasiness pulsing in his gut only grows stronger. 

“They don’t care, Zen-chan,” he whispers, his voice breaking slightly as he says it aloud. “No one does. Not really. Not about us.” 

There’s a pause. 

“Ayumu-kun does,” Zen whispers finally. “Ayumu-kun cares about us, I can tell he does.” 

Seishi’s breath hitches, and he closes his eyes. “Maybe that’s true,” he mumbles, his forced smile quickly starting to fall apart at its seams. “But he’s our next assignment. I have to kill him. I’m scared of what they’ll do to me if they don’t.” 

You remember what happened last time, right Zen? 

Tears sting at the corners of Seishi’s eyes, and for once, he doesn’t fight it. There’s no one here to see him like this. There’s no one here to call him a crybaby or other, much nastier names. There’s no one here to punish him. There’s just two halves of one miserable, wretched person. He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around Zen, who immediately wraps his arms tightly around him in turn. 

“Yodogawa-san,” Zen mumbles, tucking his tear-stained face into the side of Seishi’s neck. “I-I want us to be okay.” 

“I do too, Zen-chan,” Seishi whispers, swaying the two of them from side to side. “I don’t think that I deserve it anymore, though.” 

He chuckles weakly, before his laugh is soon cut off with a sob. He clings a little tighter to Zen with an aching desperation (for his youth, for innocence, for worthiness), and oh, if only he were in the right mindset, he’s sure he could write thousands of beautiful metaphors about this moment. How weird is it to be embracing my younger self and actually be gaining comfort from it, he thinks, but as weird as it is, he’s still thankful for it. 

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, but eventually, Zen stops crying, and he pulls away slightly. His thumb has somehow found his way into his mouth, and a pang that’s equal parts jealousy and wistfulness strikes Seishi’s ribcage. 

“Zen-chan,” he murmurs, his eyes flitting over the kid’s tear streaked features. “I have to go now.” 

Zen nods slowly, pulling his thumb out of his mouth and resting it against his bottom lip. “I wish you could stay,” he mumbles, reaching up with his free hand to wipe at Seishi’s cheek. “It’s safer in here.” 

“I know,” Seishi murmurs, swallowing harshly. “It was nice to come here in a dream, rather than because...” He shakes his head. “Well, you know.” 

“Because you need to escape something,” Zen says softly. He drops his hand, and watches with a frown as Seishi gets back to his feet. 

Seishi plasters his usual smile back on his face, and he nods slightly. “Yes. That,” he says. Light starts to break through the darkness of the little dream world he’s created for himself, and he takes a deep breath in anticipation of facing the real world. 

“Don’t kill Ayumu-kun,” Zen suddenly calls out. “Please. He’s so nice to you. He’s so nice to us.” 

Seishi doesn’t get the chance to reply before his eyelids suddenly flutter open, the dark world around him fully disappears. 

#drrb #seishi yodogawa #zen katagiri #seishi writes #okay okay i know what you're thinking: #1) yes the title is a an mcr reference it's from 'kill all your friends' i'm reliving my emo phase sorry #and 2) you're probably wondering 'who the hell uses -chan on the past version of themself???' #honestly? probably no one but i had a reason for it i swear #i wanted to get across a sense of like. fondness y'know? #logically seishi knows that scared kid is him but he also feels like he's a different person because honestly in a way they are #he's changed so much over the years so when faced with a younger more innocent version of himself he can't help but feel a little #nostalgic and affectionate #ya feel? #anyway uhhh i'm sorry #character: evil baby boy. evil baby #WHAT A TERRIBLE PLACE TO PUT THAT HDLFJD

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper (Jimjeran Book 2)-Chapter 15: Hugs and Kisses

The days are becoming a blur for Claire...

Previously on Island Hopper: Chapter 14- Ache

To the Table of Contents

The days remained busy after that, stopping on Jeh in the Ailinglaplap atoll for more copra and field ship services on Thursday.  We spent two nights docked on Jeh, but Friday morning the ship sailed north to Kwajalein, the atoll with the largest lagoon, entering the lagoon through a channel and then docking at the southern island of Kwaj which happened to be an American naval base.  This was the reason we hadn’t been allowed to arrive there in the night time. The ship was able to offload the copra collected to this point and take on a new container with deliveries for the Ratak chain, but we weren’t allowed to exit the ship there because of Kwajalein’s designation as an active military site.

Although it was tedious to wait for the offloading to occur, at least there was cell service available so I was able to catch my parents and chat for a while during the transfer of containers.  I had to stay on the ocean side of the ship behind the offices on the main floor because of Kwajalein’s strict photography ban.  I also received a flood of incoming voice mails, including one from Joe naming his flight and arrival time on Guam.  It was exciting to think that in a week I’d be going home to Guam and then a few days after that I’d get to see him again.

A few islets north of Kwaj was Ebeye, the main island inhabited by Marshallese citizens in the Kwajalein atoll.  Again we provided basic services as we had on Jaluit.  Each of the more westernized islands tended to not need the services as much.

As the Field Ship headed east from Ebeye, I felt a sense of relief. There were still several days left in our journey, but now we would be heading in the right direction—we would be soon turn south and travel back towards Arno.  

“What’s the itinerary for the next few days?” I asked Dougal after dinner.  He had been in a conversation with the captain, looking over several charts.  

Dougal ushered me closer and pointed at the map, his finger following a path from one island to the next as he explained.  “We have three islands left to visit, provide services and deliver products.  First is Wotje, next is Maloelap, and finally is Arno.”

“Arno?” My hand flew to my chest unbidden. For whatever reason, I had thought we would go back to Majuro and I’d have to take the Jolok boat or plane to get back home.  “I’ll be home in three days?” I squeaked

“Yes,” Dougal said guardedly, “But you will still be serving in Arno Arno for a day before being allowed to head back to Ine after work on Monday.”

“Does Jamie know when I’m coming?”

“No,” Dougal responded.  “Perhaps we can radio when we are closer.”

After our brief moment of connection the previous day, Dougal had returned to being his typical acerbic self.  It made me wonder what Jamie’s life had been like those years he was living with Dougal and Moneo. No wonder he responded so strongly to my affection for him. I sighed as I thought of him, wishing I could just put my arms around him right then.

As I turned toward my apartment, I noticed a group of men seated around a small table holding cards.  John was in the group with a few crew members, Dr. Saul, and the Marshallese judge.

“Itōk, Ri-pālle,” John said teasingly, grinning at me affectionately as he saw me approaching.  “Are you any good at cards?”

John explained the rules, and soon I was focusing on the impossible task of remembering which cards had been played, which suit was trump and which ones I needed to discard first.  I could understand snippets of the Marshallese conversations going on at the same time as the game play, though I probably only picked out about 10% of it and by the time I’d translated and thought of something to say, they’d already moved on to a new topic.  Dr. Saul was perfectly happy to just play with the conversations as background noise.

When I accidentally made an amazing play and went out earlier than anyone else, the men threw down their cards with a chorus of good-natured complaints and laughter.

“I can’t do any better than that,” I exclaimed, standing to head toward my room and bed.

“Good night, Mrs. Fraser,” John said.  “May I walk you to your cabin?”

“I’m fine,” I retorted, turning and gesturing up toward my door, visible from where we had been playing.

“Some of the men are drunk,” he murmured.  “Let me walk you, just because.  You are Jamie’s wife, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

We paused outside the door of my cabin when we’d arrived upstairs.

“I should hate you, Claire,” said John.  His remark caught me off-guard. He furrowed his brows and tried to explain. “You’ve got the heart of the man I love.”

I was surprised by John’s bare honesty.  “Why don’t you, then?” I asked. “Hate me, I mean?”

A wry smile brightened John’s face.  “I don’t know, exactly,” he said.  “I admire you at your work.  And even though I’m not attracted to you, you are quite lovely.”

I blushed at the complement.

“I see that your sense of humor and adventure would appeal to Jamie.  And more than anything I can’t change his orientation, just as I couldn’t change mine.”

I paused, curious.  “You tried?”

“It’s only in recent years that the Marshallese have even acknowledged homosexuality exists,” John explained.  “Some experimentation between boys was assumed to be natural, but they seemed reluctant to label men who continued to feel that attraction after their adolescence was past.”

“Well, if it was considered natural, it seems like there would be less discrimination,” I remarked, considering the consequences of living in a culture that didn’t label homosexuality so stringently.

“Perhaps,” John responded.  “But if there’s no name for something, people will always just assume. And they did.  They assumed I should be getting married, assumed I must be too shy to find my own girlfriend.  I was a single young man after all.  Mamas and bubus would try to match me with their daughters and granddaughters.  Sweet, kind girls, but I couldn’t do that to them. I couldn’t just enter into a partnership that could of course be loving but wouldn’t be love.”

“Ouch,” I responded. John’s description was like a gut-punch.  “I can’t imagine that sadness.  But at the same time, thinking about my ex-fiance, Frank…we loved each other.  I have to believe that we did, otherwise I wasted seven years of his life and my own. But this, what I feel for Jamie…” My voice caught in my throat and I put my hand up to my mouth, as if I could cover what I was feeling.  “I’m sorry,” I shook my head in embarrassment, tears overflowing completely without my permission. I coughed, trying to distract my body, to stop this silly display of emotion.  “This is the longest I’ve been apart from him and everything seems wrong.  Just talking about him…”

John reached out his arms to me and gave me a hug.  Knowing what I did—that the Marshallese didn’t tend to show physical affection—made the gesture seem that much sweeter.  He patted my shoulder.  

When I’d finally dried my eyes and withdrawn, I could see John looking at me with utter compassion.  “I’ve shed many tears of my own missing Jamie,” he admitted. “Maybe that’s why I like you. Even though you have what I want, you’re the one person on the earth who probably understands the depth of what I feel more than anyone.”

I reached out gently and patted his shoulder, then turned and entered my stateroom.

I turned back to him before I closed the door.  “I have to believe that you will find love, John.  A love that is mutual.  A love that a wonderful person like you deserves.”

His eyes hinted of tears, and I couldn’t help but shed more after I entered my room, as much as I chided myself for being such a baby.

“You’re a twenty-freakin’-seven-year-old woman, Claire,” I scolded, looking at myself in the little vanity mirror, my eyes red and my hair attempting to escape from the knot I’d tied it up in. “Stop crying.  Now.”

Orders didn’t work. Finally I looked at the girl in the mirror with compassion. You’re lucky, I thought.  Lucky to have someone you love so much it hurts.  But especially lucky that he loves you the same way.

 After providing services in Wotje on Saturday, we arrived on Maloelap that night.

The next day for whatever reason, I had very few patients. Knowing that this was the last stop before Arno, I thought I might take some boil kits to the closest village and share them with any women I saw.  I had practiced my explanation so many times I could say it in my sleep.  This is a gift from the people of Arno. If your baby doesn’t get mosquito bites, he won’t have as many boils.  Use the antiseptic and wash cloth to wash his face and hair every night, and the fingernail clippers to keep his fingernails short.

I was heading back to the field ship having given away the last thirteen kits I’d brought, when in the opposite direction came two Caucasian guys. When they started talking I could tell right away that they were fellow Americans.

“Where are you going, honey? I didn’t think I’d see another white girl for a whole year!” The man with dark hair smiled at me.          

“I’m here with the field ship,” I responded, gesturing in the direction they’d come from. “I’m the Peace Corps nurse.”

The men exchanged a glance I couldn’t understand and came a few steps closer to me.

“I knew there was an American Peace Corps volunteer doing nursing this year.  You’re working on Arno, aren’t you?” the blonde asked. “That’s the dry island, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Are you Corps volunteers as well?”

“Yeah,” said the brunette.  “We teach here.”

“So,” posed the other, “You wouldn’t want to come have a drink with us, would you?  You must be desperate for one, if you haven’t had any alcohol since you arrived.”

Even though their accents felt familiar, their forwardness was making me uncomfortable.

 “Actually,” I smiled, “I don’t drink. Thanks for the offer, though,” I added.

“Come on, girlie,” the blonde one said. “Surely you’re not going to deny us your company.  We seriously haven’t talked to another American in… I don’t know… months.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “I don’t know you, and I just want to go back to the ship.”

I felt the rise of anxiety in my gut, felt my heart start to pound. I couldn’t understand why.  They were Americans.  And teachers.  How bad could they be?  But my intuition was just not comfortable.

“Just a little while,” the taller one said. “What harm will it do to hang out with a couple of guys from back home?”

“I’m married, and I don’t feel like it,” I responded, trying to pass by them on the path.

“Well, I don’t see your husband here,” the brunette said, looking around casually.

I stopped and stared at them, thinking that maybe appealing to their human decency would work. “I don’t know you, I’m a woman, and you are strangers. I’m not here to amuse you, and I’m not enjoying this.”

“You don’t have to be a bitch,” one said.

I was considering whether I should just blaze ahead, plan to run, or scream for help when beyond them I saw a familiar face approaching from the direction of the field ship.  Quickly gauging the situation from the men’s postures and my facial expression, John was fast to react.  He was typically soft-spoken, though he was of average height and muscular build, but the voice I heard sounded strangely deeper and bigger, yet somehow familiar.

“Claire!” he called out. “I’ve been looking all over for you, love.” The two men stepped backward as he passed between them.  He joined me, turning to face the two, putting his arm around me possessively, and pulling me firmly into his side.

“I’m glad to see you, babe,” I said, slipping my arm around his waist and hooking my finger through the belt loop on his shorts. “I was just heading back to the ship.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” John said, “We’ve got to be going.” He held out his right hand as if to shake hands with the shorter of the two men, who awkwardly paused a moment and then reached out in response.

“Have a lovely evening,” he said after he has exchanged pleasantries with the second man and then we walked away in the direction of the ship.

“Good timing, babe,” I said, when we were out of earshot. “Are they still watching?”

“Ayet,” John said, still mimicking Jamie’s deep tone and resonance.

I felt such gratitude, such relief, that I reached up to John’s cheek, pulled his face toward mine, and kissed him firmly on the lips.  He stopped walking, turning his body toward me. When he slipped me a little tongue, I hesitated, then slowly backed away from the kiss.

John was blushing when we turned again toward the ship.

“Sorry,” he said.  “I thought I’d try, to see if I felt anything.”

“And did you?” I said, near giggles.

He sighed.  “I did, but it was a vicarious something.  Knowing your lips have touched his…”

We continued to walk arm in arm toward the beach, the sea, and the ship, and that much closer to Arno and Jamie.

On to Chapter 16: Reunited (and it Feels So Good)

#claire x lord john grey #jimjeran book 2 #island hopper #marshall islands #betweenscenes writer #claire misses jamie #next chapter! #hugging and kissing the wrong person... #outlander #alternate universe #fanfic

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Distance (2/3)

Summary: Murphy decides to stay behind on the prisoner ship while the rest of the Space Squad goes to Earth. Emori feels separated from him in more ways than one. (Inspired by the trailer before the season aired; now a completely canon-divergent fic.)

Chapter Summary: The remaining members of Space Squad devise a plan to rescue their friends from the Eligius crew. Emori makes a decision. John and Emori try to sort themselves out.

Thank you all for the lovely comments and interest in this fic! It has now fully spiraled into something with an actual plot - so I've decided to make it 3 parts now instead of 2.

Also, all my love and thanks to @infernalandmortal for editing, showering me with love and support, and crying over this fic with me. You're the best!

Part One

Read on ao3

Part Two: Lapse

They trade stories as they make camp that night. John’s face tightens when he hears about Monty and Harper, and his hands fumble with the straps of his backpack, twitching and tapping at the worn fabric. They don’t settle as he tells them he’s been separated from Bellamy.

The tapping echoes deep within Emori’s chest; in her gut, anxiety churns like a sea snake. Her heart aches for Bellamy; beneath that, it aches still for Otan, in the way it always does.

Echo’s face hardens at the news; she becomes a ghost of her past self, the impenetrable and frightening Azgedan spy, her softness devoured by an icy mask. Emori places a hand on her elbow in reassurance, and, at her touch, some of the softness returns. The mask doesn’t retreat completely, but it splinters, and through the gaps Emori can read the pain in her eyes.

She hopes desperately that her family can be returned to all of them, safe and whole.

John’s fingers keep tapping. Emori wants to rip his hand away from the strap or silence it within her own, but the threat of the desert keeps her from touching him. She tries to ignore the sound.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees John watching her. He’s hardly looked away from her since he found them, and his eyes rest heavy on her back. Emori rolls her shoulders, as if she can shrug his gaze away. She looks everywhere but at him. Even as he speaks, she keeps her eyes on the ground or at his feet, and never at his eyes. She doesn’t know what she’ll find there. She’s too afraid to check.

They start making plans for a rescue. Raven seems more willing to risk it now, and whether it’s because John’s back or because Bellamy’s missing, Emori doesn’t know. She listens half-heartedly as the others discuss possibilities for attack, feeling as if she’s drifting far away from them, hearing the muffled conversation from a distance. It’s not that she doesn’t want to help save her friends, but she can’t seem to focus. Her mind keeps reeling and spinning, like John’s return sent it tumbling away from her.

It’s a relief when the others finally settle for bed, and Emori is quick to turn in. She keeps her back to John as she lies down and hopes that that alone can let her forget him for the next few hours.

Emori hears her name drift through the air a couple hours later. It’s still dark outside, and she had been half-buried in a fitful sleep before the voice woke her. For a moment, she thinks she’s imagined it, but when she doesn’t reply, it comes again, quiet and pleading. “Emori.”

It’s John. Her back is turned to him, but she squeezes her eyes shut tighter anyway, as if that will make him disappear. She’d cover her ears if it wouldn’t confirm she’s still awake. Instead, she holds very still and keeps her breathing even, faking sleep.

It’s strange. She’d missed him desperately while he was away, but now she can’t stand to be close to him.

John sighs behind her. It’s a sad and lonely sound, but it fits him now. “I know you’re awake,” he whispers, careful not to stir the others. “You snore.”

“I do not,” she argues before she even realizes she’s speaking and wants to hit herself. The game up, she pushes herself to a sitting position and turns to look at him.

He looks like he would be smug if he had the energy for it. Instead, he just looks brittle and drained – a withered husk wrapped around a failing frame.

Her chest aches in the space marked for him.

“What?” she hisses when he doesn’t speak.

John avoids her gaze, looking towards the ground in front of him instead. He scratches at the dirt with his fingernail, drawing meaningless lines just for something to do with himself.

“Shit, here I was worried about you, and you’re ready to bite my head off,” he mutters. His voice is soft – softer certainly than hers – but only the kind of softness that comes from bone-deep exhaustion. When he glances up to see her answering glare, he sighs and looks back at the lines he’s drawing in the dirt.  “I really thought – I’m glad you’re okay.”

No thanks to you, she manages to keep herself from saying – but just barely. It sits hot and bitter on her tongue amongst a hundred other words she wants to say. If she opens her mouth, she’s afraid the torrent of hate and blame and hurt will never stop; she’ll drown him in the depths of it – maybe she’ll drown them both.

And after it’s all spilled out of her, who will she even be? What will be left of them if she lets it go?

“Emori,” he says. It hangs in the air like something heavy. She’s tired of being a burden he seems to carry. She’s tired of hearing her name spoken like a weight. She almost wishes he would stop saying it at all, with the same desperation. She sometimes, bitterly, wishes he would disappear completely and take all the hurt he’s caused her with him.

It is exhausting to weather the seasons of his moods. If his goal was to whittle her down into tired bones so they could match like mirrored images once more, he’s nearly succeeded.

Emori decides she doesn’t care what he has to say anymore. She’s done. She can only care so much before it ruins her. “It’s late, John,” she tells him, then lays back down and turns her back to him. The movement feels reminiscent of the closing airlock doors – and she thinks that if that wasn’t their conclusion, maybe this will be.

Eventually, she promises herself, the grief will fade.

They hear their enemies before they see them. Their powerful weapons have made them overconfident in their safety, and they’re loud, unafraid of enemies overhearing them. Then again, Emori figures there isn’t much reason for them to be afraid – there hasn’t been a single sign of the 1200 that made it into the bunker since they arrived and the seven, now four, of them alone aren’t much of a threat.

Echo forces them to stay hidden in the trees and scouts ahead. Emori holds her breath while they wait, listening for Echo’s scream or a sign that she’s been spotted, but it doesn’t come. A few minutes later, she reappears and motions them silently towards her. The four of them duck behind a small snow-covered hill, close enough they can observe their enemies, but hopefully far enough away they won’t be spotted. Emori’s familiar with this; she’s certain Echo is too.

The clearing is filled with people, all of them in similar clothing, most of them large and muscular, some tattooed. Almost all of them look like they would put up a good fight even without their high-tech weapons, though there are a few that Emori thinks she could manage to take down alone.

Their ship is parked behind them, a great behemoth that likely holds all sorts of rooms and hallways – and no way for them to easily locate where Monty and Harper, and potentially Bellamy, are being held. One of them will have to find a way inside.

They head back into the forest to make camp and discuss their plans. Raven passes around the last of the rations they brought down from the Ring; it isn’t much, but Echo was hesitant to start a fire so close to their enemies and Emori had agreed.

“I will sneak inside,” Echo volunteers immediately, keeping her voice quiet. “I’ll have the best chance of getting in undetected. I just need you to draw their attention.” She draws out a basic map of the area in the dirt between them as she talks.

They have the gun that Emori managed to pull off their attackers when they first ran into them in the forest, along with her knife and Echo’s sword. It’s not enough.

“So we’ll create a distraction,” Raven says.

“Where’s the rocket? Is it still intact?” John asks. When Emori glances at him, she’s surprised to find his eyes brighter than they’ve been in a long time.

“It’s a couple miles away, but still in one piece,” Raven explains. “They must have spotted us while we were coming down. That’s how they found us when we landed. We put some distance between us and it immediately.”

John nods along as he takes that in. “How much fuel is left?”

Raven catches on immediately. She grins. It looks sharp in the shadows of the forest. “You want to make an explosion.”

John grins back. It’s still lacking the energy he used to have, but it’s more than any of them have seen on him for a while. It hurts more than Emori would care to admit that it wasn’t directed at her; she tastes bitterness on her tongue, then swallows it down and scolds herself for her foolishness. “You set some bombs, the Eligius come running, and I can pick them off with that.” He motions towards the stolen gun at Emori’s side.

Raven’s grin gets even deadlier. “Move positions often. I can create at least four bombs from the fuel we have left. I’ll set them off whenever they get too close to you.” She turns to Echo. “Between the two of us, that should hopefully buy you enough time to get in and find the others.”

No one brings up Emori’s role, but she’s certain of what she’s going to do. John and Raven will have the distraction handled, and she isn’t letting Echo risk her life alone.

She’s going into the ship to find her missing friends.

They head back to the rocket the next day. Luckily it seems to have been abandoned where it landed and doesn’t appear to have been messed with. By the time night is falling, they’ve stripped it of everything they need and headed back to their enemies’ camp. Raven works late into the night building the bombs; by morning, she has four of them just like she predicted. As the sun rises, they return to the snow-covered bank they hid behind two days ago with their bombs in tow.

“I’ll set up over there,” Raven motions towards a spot far from the ship entrance. “But I’ll move after I set off the first one.”

John slings the gun strap over his shoulder. “I’ll make sure they don’t have a chance to find you,” he promises her.

Raven turns to Echo. “You ready?”

Echo nods, and before anyone has a chance to move, Emori says, “I’m coming in with you.”

Everyone startles, but John’s the only one to object. “What? Emori, no.”

Anger flushes her cheeks. “I’ve already decided, John,” she snaps. “She needs someone with her in case she runs into trouble.”

“Are you crazy?” he snaps back, and his voice raises enough that Echo and Raven cast wary glances over the top of their hiding place. Echo shushes him angrily, but he ignores her, eyes locked with Emori’s. She can see fire in them again. “That’s too dangerous. Stay out here, and – and I’ll go in with Echo.”

“I can’t shoot a gun,” she argues, and he flounders.

“She’s right. She’s the most useful with me,” Echo says. John jerks his head to glare at her, and the fire burns brighter. Underneath her own anger, Emori’s glad to see it.

“This is the best plan,” Emori says. John looks back at her, and she thinks she can see desperation in his eyes. Fear, maybe. She hasn’t been able to read him in a long time – he hasn’t given her the chance – and she wonders if she’s out of practice. “I can take care of myse-“

“I don’t want to lose you!” John nearly shouts.

The silence that falls after his outburst is deafening. No one moves. Echo and Raven throw quick looks at the Eligius crew, but they don’t seem to have heard – the loud music they’re blaring in the clearing is giving the four of them an advantage.

Emori feels like a supernova exploding. She’s spitting when she answers, “You have no right to say that.”

John clenches his teeth like he’s bracing himself against pain. Good, she thinks. Hurt. It’s your turn.

“Echo,” Raven interrupts. “Come help me with these explosives, would you?” Echo looks confused for a brief moment, before her eyes light with understanding. She glances at John, then Emori, then follows Raven to the explosives a few feet away. It doesn’t give them much privacy – just the illusion of it, but Emori appreciates the effort. She’d rather not have this fight with an audience.

Emori blinks furiously against the tears building in her eyes. “You don’t get to – when you – I.” Her words stumble, caught in the anger and hurt and utter confusion that has been suffocating her for months now. She’s never been able to understand who he’s become, why he does what he does now, how he even feels about her now. She’s no surer now than she used to be.

“You left me,” she manages.

“I came back,” he says desperately.

Emori shakes her head wildly. “No,” she gasps. “Before that. Not when you stayed behind. You’ve been leaving me for years.” Her voice breaks on the last word. “Years, John.”

If he asked, she doesn’t think she could pinpoint when it started. It began slow – every once in a while, he’d just shut down. Stop talking to her. Sometimes he’d even disappear, and she wouldn’t be able to find him anywhere on the Ring. Eventually she stopped looking.

He stopped wanting her, and no matter how much she tried to pry at his walls, he kept them up. He built more. There was a fortress around him so well built she couldn’t find a crack to slip through, and it hurt her the more she tried and failed. So she stopped trying. She pulled away from him the way he’d pulled away from her. The space between them on their bed grew larger with each night. Their room grew colder with each day. The desert grew between them in the broken spaces.

Emori reads her own anguish in John’s face as he stares at her, her own confusion in the twist of his eyebrows. How can he possibly be confused when he was the one to start it?

“I didn’t,” he gasps. “I never left. I was right there.”

And he was. Right there in their room, right there at her side, a silent ghost she couldn’t shake. And maybe that had made it worse, because she’d never been able to sever the dead weight their relationship had become and it’d dragged her down with him. She’d been trapped at the edge of the desert, hungry and thirsty, but unable to leave.

“You stopped talking to me. You stopped caring that I was even there.” It hadn’t been just her, she knows. It had been everyone. Everything. And maybe that should make it easier to swallow, but it doesn’t – because even if he turned against the world, how could he ever do that to her? What happened to damn the world but the two of them? What happened to them against everything? When had she become just another part of the world he hated?

“You stopped loving me,” she chokes, and there it is, the one thing she’s wanted and feared to say for so long – the thing she fears most of all.

When had it happened? She’s spent hours going through her memories searching for the clues, the signs she missed. When hadn’t she been enough anymore?

John looks like he’s been hit. “No,” he gasps, more a moan than a word. “No, I didn’t. Never.”

“Then why couldn’t you talk to me? Why did you push me away?”

“I don’t –“ He shakes his head, at a loss. “I don’t know,” he confesses, and it’s honest.

Confused and broken and so honest it stings.

It hangs there in the silence. Emori doesn’t know if they’ve solved anything. Are they any better off than when they started? I don’t know either, she thinks. I don’t know why it happened. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know who we are anymore.

John chokes out a laugh full of bitterness. Neither of them can find the words for anything else. Emori still doesn’t have the answers she wants, but she knows now he can’t give her any. Maybe they’re both lost and clinging to something they can’t get back. Maybe it’s best they stop trying. Rip the arrow out and then the wound can heal, she thinks, like she thought when he stayed and she tried to mourn and bury him. Leave it in, and it never will.

“We should get ready,” she says quietly.

She can’t read the look John gives her – something sad and fragile and heavy in a way that feels…she’s not sure. Important? Hungry? Final?

Is this the end then? Not the closing airlock doors or the turning of her back – this?

“Survive, please,” he begs, echoing her words from days ago – and from years ago before that, when they both still knew how to fit together.

“I will,” she promises, and he nods, like he’s assuring himself of her words. He breathes in deeply, and they both ignore the way it catches in his throat. His eyes are rimmed with red, shining with unshed tears; Emori knows hers are the same. “You too.”

When Raven sets off the first bomb, Echo and Emori wait to see the Eligius crew members turn their attention to the sound, then bolt across the clearing towards the doors. They slip inside the open entrance in minutes without being spotted. Emori hears the sound of gunfire from outside and forces herself to ignore it, even while her heart leaps into her throat with fear.

Echo leads the way, communicating silently with head nods and hand gestures as they make their way through the halls. They’re careful around corners, looking out for any Eligius crew members that might have stayed behind, but they see no one. They move fast, but the ship is big and unfamiliar; they haven’t found any sign of their friends by the time another explosion sounds.

Emori and Echo lock eyes, and neither of them needs to voice what they’re thinking. That’s two down – they need to move faster.

Eventually they come to a locked door deep in the ship. Echo glances left and right, and, seeing no one, stops to put her ear against the door. After a moment, her eyes widen, and she looks at Emori with a grin. Emori puts her own ear against the door, and though the heavy metal muffles the sound, she hears a feminine voice that she recognizes instantly as Harper. Relief crashes over her like a wave.

They turn to the door. Echo tries to shove her weight against it, but it doesn’t budge. Before she can try again, Emori grabs her arm and shakes her head. The door is solid metal; all Echo will manage to do is break her own arm.

She gestures towards the control panel on the wall beside the door, then pulls out the small kit of mismatched tools she always carries with her now. Six years in space with Raven Reyes has taught her a lot, and she puts all those lessons to use as she pulls the control panel apart and triggers the correct wire to open the doors.

Monty and Harper are sitting against the far wall in a small room that might have once been meant for storage. They look worn and tired, but relatively okay – the only injuries Emori can see are a few bruises, though there are thick, metal collars around their necks that look ominous. Both of them perk up immediately at the sight of them.

“Emori! Echo!” Harper gasps as she stands up, excited and relieved all at once.

“Quiet!” Echo hisses, but there’s a grin pulling at the corners of her lips, and she steps easily into Harper’s hug.

Emori goes to check the collar around Monty’s neck, but he grabs her in a hug as soon as she gets close. She grips him back just as tightly, weak with the relief that her friends are alright. Well, all of them except –

“Where’s Bellamy?” Echo asks, realizing at the same time as Emori that he isn’t in the room.

Harper and Monty exchanged confused glances.

“He’s not still in space with Murphy?” Harper asks, words tentative, as if she’s afraid to hear the answer to her question.

“No, they made it back down. John says they got separated when they ran into these people,” Emori explains, her agitation making her words short and almost harsh. It’s like losing Otan all over again. She feels sick.

A third explosion interrupts her thoughts. She turns quickly to Echo. “We need to leave.” Echo looks back at her, and her expression is conflicted, tight and worried. She eyes Monty and Harper, then the door, then looks back at Emori to nod. Together the two of them lead Monty and Harper out of the room and back along the maze of hallways towards the entrance.

As the near, Echo comes to a halt. She locks eyes with Emori, and Emori knows instantly what her plan is, and she feels her fear rising like a scream in her throat that she cannot voice. “Echo, that was three. We don’t time,” she says before Echo can speak, but it’s not use.

“Get them out of here and regroup with the others,” Echo tells her. She doesn’t hug Emori – likely because there’s no time and they’re too exposed in the open hallway – but she grabs Emori’s hand, her mutated one, the one that took Echo years to be comfortable touching, tight in her own and squeezes.

And then she’s gone before Emori can say another word, slipping around the corner with her sword held at the ready, back into the belly of the beast and the countless enemies they’d been lucky enough not to meet on their way in. Emori’s stomach pitches like a ship in a storm. She feels fear and frustration in equal parts, as angry at Echo for going against the plan as she is concerned for her safety.

But there’s no time. She gestures for Monty and Harper to follow. As they near the exit, she breathes a sigh of relief to see no one standing guard out front. The chaos of gunfire and screaming is loud outside. Raven and John are doing their part. The crew is still distracted, and the way out is open for them.

She makes her decision and steadies herself on it before she can second-guess it. “Head out and to the left. Make a break for the woods. Raven and John are keeping them distracted. I’m going to get Echo.”

This family of misfits she found in space is the most important thing Emori has ever had. She refuses to lose any piece of it. With a deep breath, she heads back into the ship.

#john murphy #emori #memori #memorifics #memori fic #the 100 #the 100 fic #dailymemori #emori fic #john murphy fic #my stories #otp: who'd you steal the boat from #distance