#*Hits them with the low empathy beam*

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

Do I headcanon this character as low empathy because they’re a bad person? No. Do I headcanon them as low empathy because I relate to them? Yes. Do I relate to them because I believe that I am a bad person? Yes.

[thatsafuckeduptale]

Finally making refs for the swap and swapfell skeletons. unfortunately, i am a fool and will fall to hubris.

[fanaticsnail]

Kind And Gentle

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,100+

Synopsis: Your shoulders and back ached with a pain you had attempted to cast aside as you went about your duties. The ache turned excruciating, your focus now being taken hostage between the gripping pain. Fortunately, the grip of two firm hands found your body and eased you through the torment.

Themes: Benn Beckman x reader, Friends to lovers, confessions of love, suggestive dialogue, massaging - reader receiving, pain, aching, yearning, small kiss, Shanks is a meanie, swearing, teasing, Beckman is a softie, Beckman is a gentleman, term of endearment "Darlin'" used - it's just what I associate him saying.

Notes: Pure self-indulgence fic, procrastinating while I should be going through my WIPs. My shoulder hurts, guys. Needed this to get out of my system and get through the pain. Art link.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @carrotsunshine @i-am-vita @gingernut1314 @mfreedomstuff @missbeckman @tiredemomama

Pain. White and hot, swelling and encumbering. This was what you were experiencing in the middle of your spine; just a little to the right side of your body.

The ache never eased, no matter what position you slept in, nor adjusting your posture throughout the day. It was unending, the torment which knit your muscles together and cemented them in place. 

You clenched your eyes tightly shut, bracing yourself against the wooden hallway wall as you rotate your neck in a circle atop your shoulders slowly. Arching your back, you winced as the knot continued to integrate itself in a woven entanglement of painful muscle beneath your skin. 

Biting back a whimper, you tried as you might to reach the cursed divot beneath your flesh, whining quietly as your fingertips barely brushed against the surface of the painful coil. The ache called to you, the burden causing a small tremor in your lips from the electric heat of the hidden wound. 

Shaking your head, you huffed out a breath as you attempted to soldier on about your daily chores. Ignoring the tight ache beneath your skin with a deep grimace written on your lips, you finally gave into your pain and balanced your hands against the wooden beam atop the deck of the Red-Force. 

The sea breeze hit your nose, relaxing you briefly before the pain eclipsed all your senses. Brain foggy with anguish, lips parted and panting, eyes frantic and wife: you could bear it no longer. You muted a cry, muffling it within your mouth while you tried to release the elastic coil in your back by twisting your torso. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you curse in a soft whisper, your brows rising in a pain-riddled peak in your forehead. You moaned out in a soft whimper, praying nobody could hear your weakness as you tried to reach for the spot a second time.

The band was bordering on excruciating, your mind contemplating whether or not to seek out Hongo for medical attention due to the intensity of the pain. Just as you began to turn on your way, two strong hands clapped over your shoulders: thumbs moving in rough circles against your skin. 

“I got you, Darlin’,” the gruff voice Shanks’ first mate whispered in a calming rumble, “Just tell me when I'm gettin’ close to it.” 

Benn Beckman. It was always Benn Beckman. Any time any of the crew needed anything, no task too small, no feat too great: Beckman was the champion you had all grown accustomed to rely on. Leaning back into his touch, you hung your neck low to grant him greater access

“Oh-... mmmf-... -‘kay,'' you whimpered, curving your back down to expose more of your spine to him, “It's not-... Hhah-... It's not normally this-...fucking, shit-... -this bad.” A small click of his tongue snapped at you in empathy as his thumbs brushed against the coil of pain. 

Although your friendship with Beckman ran deep, you had never engaged with him physically before. You respected one another, adored one another, and were as close as two crewmates could be. Two sides of a coin, twin edges of a blade, the gunpowder and the spark that lit the fuse - this was how you were described by your red-headed captain. 

But as his thumbs sought out your deepest pain, all your thoughts escaped you. There was nothing else, just: Beckman, his focus and his expert touch. 

“Just a touch to the right-... ahh, Becks!” you cried out as his digits flicked over the painful swell beneath your flesh. Huffing out pants of breath, you sobbed in strained relief as he continued massaging your body. 

“Oh, fuck. It's there, isn't it?” he whispered, the thumb of his right hand pressed firmly against the tight knot as his left hand braced you against the side-beam of the boat, “There it is, Darlin’. I found it. There's the spot.” You arched your back within his broad hands, your arms stiffening in firm pillars against the deck as he prodded the painful peak in your back. 

“Oh, that's it! Right there, that's the spot,” you mewled out, crying and gasping for him as he untangled your muscles with his rough, practiced hands. Just as he pressed his strength further against you, you winced out a strangled, “Fuck, not so rough! Be kind and gentle with me, Becks!” 

“Darlin’, this is me being kind and gentle,” he bullied his thumb into your skin, stapling you to the wall of the ship by his hips and holding you steady with his hand perched on your left shoulder, “You need a bit of rough treatment. Hold still, let me coax it out of you.”

“Becks,” you whispered out his name, lulling your head back on your shoulders as he continued to pry, paw and claw the knot apart with his right hand, “Becks it hurts.”

“I know, I know,” his gruff voice reassured you, the gentle hold of his left hand against your shoulder contradicted the right hand that bruised your muscles, “It'll all be over soon. I'm nearly there, I can feel your body moving it with me. Just hold on.”

His thumb pressed an intentional swipe up, directing the pain up your back and into the peaked corner of your shoulder. His brows knit low in deep concentration, prompting him to suck in an empathetic breath in anticipation. 

“Ohh… You're gonna hate me,” he whispered in your ear, kicking your feet apart with his heavy boots before anchoring his pelvis against your glutes to hold you firmer against the ship's wooden railing, “You need an elbow.”

“No, no, no! Not an elbow!” you cried, just as his right elbow drew itself against your spongy flesh, “Becks! It's-... nnmfph-... too much! Ahh! Too much!”

Attempting to break from his grip, you shook yourself away from his hands, only for your body to immediately betray you. Bent over the railing, your back immediately became unraveled by a firm grip and a strong elbow to the point that ailed you. 

“Oh hush, you need it,” he barked in a soft tone, eclipsing your concern with an intentional rotation of his elbow against your shoulder, “Be a good little thing and take it.” He was moving the vines of the entanglement away from the source point, breaking it down beneath his body and flushing it out with heavy swipes. 

Benn Beckman was experiencing the toughest battle he had ever had the displeasure in engaging with. He was trying to tune out how good you sounded calling out his name in pants and whines, his own empathetic huffs and groans mixing harmoniously with yours as he gripped your flesh.

“Benn Beck-...fuck-... It's right there. Right there, Becks! Don't stop!” you whimpered, your voice high and your desperation showcased in the soft pants of your breath. The release of your entangled flesh was just within Beckman's grasp, prompting him to switch back to using his fingers to expel the pressure beneath your skin. 

“I got you. There ya’ go,” he confirmed again, expanding the heel of his palm against the binding presence of the last of the entanglement, “Breathe through it with me, I'm not gonna stop ‘til you're done.” 

“Oh, fuck Beckman,” your eyes glazed over, your lips parting and crying out in bliss as his skillful ministrations cast out the pressure in your shoulder as a priest would cleanse unholy ground to make their sanctuary.

“Th-That’s it. Oh m-my fuck-,” you whined back into his hands, “You're so good. Your hands feel so good.” As the last of the knot fled your shoulder, a warm chuckle rumbled from behind you. Beckman's laugh brought you comfort, his softness depicted in this small moment as he held you in his arms. 

His firm hands turned soft, caressing your shoulders in tender, gentle touches. He molded both of your shoulders within his palms, your body becoming jelly beneath his rough and calloused hands. You moaned softly as he maneuvered your body in a perfect arch against his chest, the rumble of his chuckle reverberating within your back to vibrate within your chest. 

“Better?” he whispered in the shell of your ear, easing his body back to enable you to escape his broad cage. Instead of breaking away from his body, you relaxed into his arms, sighing out a warm breath of contentment. 

“Thank you, Becks. You're bloody amazing at that,” you praised him, feeling light and free of the bonds that confined you, “Why did you offer to help me with it?” 

“There was something in your face that told me you needed it,” he shrugged, huffing a small chuckle out of his nose and leant down to rumble out a whisper in your ear, “Always wanna help you, Darlin’.”

“Oh Becks, I could kiss you,” you turned in his arms, gazing through half-hooded eyelids up at him, “Can I?”

He smirked down at you, a small pink due flushing his cheeks with a subtle dust, bobbing his head in a soft nod to grant you permission. As you circled your arms over his neck and began to draw him closer to your lips, a chorus of barked laughter and an uproar of cheers echoed along the hull of the ship. Clapping hands, whistles and hoots erupted from your crew now surrounding the two of you. 

“Oh, Beckman,” your captain cackled at you, his right hand clapping over his heart, “In public, big guy? And you,” he pointed his index finger at you, his wolfy grin painted in a drawn-out taunting smirk, “You sly little fox. Gettin’ the big man to take you right on the deck?”

“What?” you questioned your captain in a warning tone, floating your eyes between the rest of the crew gathered on the deck beside him. Shanks’ playful twinkle fluttered beneath his weighty eyelashes. 

“Be gentle with me, Becks,” he mocked in a needy moan not too dissimilar from your own, before hardening his features and deepening his voice in a grunted, “You need a bit of rough treatment,” he commented gruffly. The color drained from your face, eyes widening and lips parting once again in bashful horrification. 

“Oh right there, Becks, don't stop,” Shanks continued his performance, a small warning began to rise within Beckman's throat in a rumbled growl. Breaking out of your embrace, he grimaced at the red-head in front of him. 

“Enough, Cap’n,” Beckman snarled, reaching within his pocket and pulling out his lighter with his left hand, fishing out a cigarette to follow, “Got out a knot, s’all. You know how shit they are.” Beckman ignited the end, taking a lengthy drag and exhaling a puff away from your face. 

“Really? That's all?” Shanks cried out a laugh, the crew echoing his unashamed and carefree joy at the notion, “I thought I saw some hips moving together, Becks. You were letting some of your own groans out too, mewling like a wh-.”

“-Or should I relay half of the bullshit you curse out when Hongo releases the knots in your own shoulder?” Beckman smirked, his eyes daring his captain to say another embarrassing quip. After a pregnant pause, silent tension only momentary before another uproar of laughter barked out amongst the Red-Hair pirates. 

“Yeah, yeah. I'm done,” Shanks waved his hand in the air, shooting you a small wink before turning to face his crew, “What say we make port, huh? Resupply with some fresh drinks, a hot meal, some good company, and a comfortable sleep on dry land?”

“Aye, sir!” the crew echoed in unison, your own confirmation falling from your lips as you began maneuvering around the first-mate to resume your duties. Just as you passed Beckman's shoulder, a firm hand shot out and gripped your forearm to hold you in place. 

“Beckman?” you asked, turning to meet his eyes. You floated your own between his, hovering your attention to fixate on him completely, “Everything alright, Sir?” 

“Goin’ back to ‘Sir’ again, after all that,” he murmured, barely above comprehension. Your quizzical feeling never left you, still hovering between the lenses of his glassy orbs. 

“How you feeling?” he asked as he pressed down the filter end of the cigarette beneath the pad of his thumb, placing the butt-end in the small drawer attached to the hull of the ship, “I get it all out, or the ache still hangin’ in there?”

Humming in thought, you rotated your right arm and felt the ghost of your prior pain simmer down and flee from your form. The small pinch only remained behind in memory, but the small remnants of the ache threatened to return. 

“It's gone for now, I think,” you uttered with a small shrug, “It'll likely begin the slow journey back up my spine in a pinch.” Beckman hummed in thought, nodding along as he checked over your body for any changes. 

After a small lull, you held your ground as the atmosphere once again fell into awkwardness. You shook your head to stifle your nerves, sucking in a breath to elevate your courage. 

“Can I buy you a drink or two when we get to port?” you ask him, eyes dropping to the ground and hands laced behind you, “An expression of my gratitude for you helping me out?”

“You askin’ me out on a date?” Beckman disguised his growing smile by arching himself away from you, loosening the tie in his hair and beginning to restyle it.

“And if I am?” you ask, still avoiding his gaze by holding your eyes firmly against the floor, “What then?”

“What then, Darlin’,'' he smirked, his eyes softening as his hands found your hips, “Is that I'd accept.” He pulled you flush with him, prompting your eyes to widen and search his gray orbs in your shock, “I wouldn't mind spending an evening with you, havin’ drinks in a quiet corner for a change.”

“It would be a nice change,” you confessed, eyes again falling soft for the first mate. He leant his hips back on the wooden railing, reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. His index finger lingered on your chin, holding your eyes against his. 

“What was it for you? To have you finally make a move after all this time?” he asked, his eyes turning playful as he looked down at you through half-hooded eyes, “The hands or the elbow?”

“I think it was the words,” you confessed with a small laugh, “Not used to having the Great Benn Beckman whisper: ‘be a good little thing and take it.’ Wouldn't mind hearing that again, if I'm being honest,” a small choked pause fell from Beckman's lips, your own question now posed to him.

“What made you accept a drink with me?” you searched his eyes quizzically, pursing your lips as you continued, “We've served together for so long, what made you consider it now?”

“Oh Darlin', I've always considered it. More than considered it,” he huffed out a chuckle, bringing your face closer to his with the curl of his index finger, “Just didn't know how much I wanted it ‘til you started sayin' my name like that.” He hovered his lips over yours, his breath still scented with the sour, smoky tang of his last cigarette as he beckoned you in. 

“Wouldn't mind hearing that again, if I'm bein' honest,” he parroted your words back at you before finally claiming your lips beneath his own in a chaste kiss. The attention he gave your lips was brief, ending contact almost as soon as they touched. 

He pulled away from your lips, noticing your pout and slight agitation at the hastiness the kiss ended. Chuckling, he leant over your ear and confessed his intentions further. 

“Cap’n’s watchin’,” he nodded over to where Shanks’ taunting eyes and winning smile wordlessly teased you both, “Don't wanna give him more ammunition to tease you with, Darlin'. No matter how much I really wanna kiss you.”

“I owe you more,” you hummed up at him with a soft smile, tucking the loose strand of hair away from his forehead and behind his ear, “Anything I can do to repay my growing debt to you? More than a couple drinks later, a little kiss, or taking care of your duties for you today?”

“Just the promise of your company later will do for now,” he chuckled, leaning into the heel of your palm with his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your skin.

“Aye, Sir,” you smirked at him, giving his cheek two gentle taps before returning back to duty with a newfound rejuvenation. Your limbs felt lighter, your body felt freer and your head felt less foggy with the prior pain you felt. 

Shanks sauntered over towards his first-mate, smirking and kicking up his feet all along the way in a playful dance. Beckman shook his head, reaching for another cigarette and lit the end. Shanks leaned his head against Beck’s shoulders, uttering not a single word as he fluttered his eyelashes, wiggled his eyebrows and clicked his tongue at the broody, larger man. 

“Don’t even start,” Beckman growled under his breath. Shanks smiled wider, jolting his right index finger into Beckman’s side as he hummed up a playful mock at him. 

“But you finally made a move, big man,” Shanks chuckled, nudging him with his left shoulder, “How long’s it been now? Two, maybe three years of longing, yearning and lusting from afar, hm?”

“Four,” Beckman commented gruffly, inhaling a deep breath of smoke in his mouth and holding it still behind his lips, “And I remember saying: ‘don’t even start’.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going, I’m going,” Shanks held his right hand up in defence, an extra buzz in his step at the knowledge that Beckman and you had finally allowed a small crack in the door open to engage with one another this way. A small chuckle erupted in Shanks’ voice, his own amusement adamant over his features.

“Right there Becks, don’t stop,” Shanks’ voice whined again in a needy moan, before growling out a rumbled mock of, “I’m not gonna stop ‘til you’re done,” he laughed, turning back over his shoulder, “Honestly, Beckman. Show a bit of composure, man.” 

Beckman’s blush scorched scarlet on his features, prompting him to thrust the butt of his cigarette into the drawer and begin to charge at his Captain. Shanks shrieked out a giddy cry of amusement at his first-mate.

“Be kind and gentle with me, Becks!” Shanks laughed, turning tail and began running away in glee from successfully taunting his first mate. The barrelling boot heels of the first mate almost managed to catch up to the Captain immediately, but Shanks continued successfully darting away from Beckman’s disciplinary grasp.

[sillybillydx]

BF + GF Headcanons

Originally they were gonna be separate but. I can't split them apart so they're together now!

BF

Boyfriend is his full name. Atm, I don't have a nickname for him. "Friend" is lowkey a surname with a majority of his siblings (i.e. Bellefriend)

I'm not exactly set on this, but usually I think of BF as Filipino

BF has an INCREDIBLE amount of siblings. Family gatherings go crazy. Don't ask how he remembers them all.

BF is transmasc nonbinary! He uses any pronouns and doesn't really care what terms you use, but leans to masc. I feel like he has some xenogenders too but idk what exactly

#no top surgery for him. He kinda layers enough to not look noticeable but also he doesn't care that much. Also he's so hot shit

Woah they're bisexual i didn't know that ! (Quote) i also like the thought of grayro bf

BF having AuDHD + low empathy is canon but I wanna layers one more thing. NPD BF. Because I Say So.

I think this came mostly because of Guy, but I HC BF being lactose intolerant. That doesn't stop them from trying to eat dairy. (GF there for BF in emotional support as beeps fighting for beeps life in the restroom)

GF

Her full name is Girlfriend Dearest! I don't really have a nickname for her either

I really like the idea of GF being Afrolatina

She has a large extended family!

She's transfem! She/it + fem terms

Bi (fem lean) + aroflux! ^_^ i ♡ hitting characters with aro beam

Canonically has auDHD! I think she also has smth clusB abt her too. Trust me on this.

GF selfships with Senpai, and has been for several years! Even after Week 6. Her love for BF triumphs over, though

Her SpIn is Hating Sim! ...Although it's all about Senpai. She doesn't know of the catboy Senpai in other routes........

It's BAD with faces. Unless someone's pretty memorable + talks to it a lot, it will not recognize them

BF + GF

BF and GF have fanfic nights sometimes where they read x reader fanfics for Senpai, sometimes judging them

This might actually be from a post about them, but there's this one post where it's like "my partner doesn't like pickles, so whenever they get them, I eat them for them. I don't like pickles" and then someone is like "JUST DON'T GET PICKLES." Anyways that post is bf + gf and the person responding is Pico

Contrary to DD and MM, majority of BF's family LOVE GF. They like to hog it whenever GF comes over. BF gets jealous

I can't see them having a kid on purpose. They'd be those cool aunt + uncle couple who lets you do fuck all

They have matching rings AND matching nail polish! They're cute ^_^

They're HEAVILY and ANNOYINGLY all about PDA

[siriuslystargazing]

You know that moment from Arcane where powder is sobbing calling out for Violet, what if. And hear me out.

It’s Sirius and regulus.

Regulus thought he did the right thing by borrowing explosives from Barty and using them on death eaters. He didn’t think about the order members and the poor muggles that were trapped in the building. All regulus wanted to do was save his big brother.

Debris and fire consumed the warehouse bodies of innocent people and death eaters littered the floor. Sirius managed to peel himself away blood and tears smeared across his face. He’s 19 for fuck sake why is he fight a war! Sirius looked over at the body of an order member, he didn’t know his name yet he only turned 18 the other week. Sirius couldn’t help the tears that bubbled up in his eyes at the thought of it being Regulus lying there until that familiar voice came through, that naive voice “Siri! It worked!” Regulus cheered from the warehouse entrance he skidded over his face dropping at the aftermath of the bomb, he scanned Sirius he was clutching his ribs the same way he did when Walburga had finished punishing him. Sirius felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of regulus, he had a small cut to his temple but he was otherwise unscathed, unlike him.

“What?, what are you talking about” Sirius voice was low he was trying to piece it all together, “did you see me! The bomb me and Barty worked on finally worked!” Regulus beamed with pride. Sirius could feel the heat of the fire ranging around them his face remained neutral has everything hit him at once. This was Regulus’ fault.

“You did this? Regulus looked at Sirius confused, why wasn’t he proud or happy that he helped them shame crept it’s way through like cold dead hands, Sirius clutched his chest a little tighter wincing slightly “why? Why did you do this Reg?”

Regulus could feel the shame tear at him, it felt the prick of tears in his eyes. He’s done it again he messed up, regulus recoiled into himself clutching at his bag like a safety blanket “I-I was saving you” Regulus looked down at the floor still holding onto his tears, he looked over to the blood spattered glasses next to the body Sirius was standing over… surly it wasn’t James? Regulus felt his chest go tight a sob wracked it way though him “I only wanted to help” regulus felt his body go limp. “I only wanted to help!” Another sob came out, his bag hit the floor his knees felt weak. The tears finally spilled he new he was an ugly cryer so why wasn’t Sirius consoling him like he did when he was five?

Sirius held on tighter, he was angry. He said he would never get angry at Regulus but this was different “I told you to stay away!” Sirius promised himself he would never raise a hand to Regulus. But he did, it happened in a flash. One moment they were standing there the next regulus was on the floor his cheek stinging. Sirius couldn’t think couldn’t do anything he only felt hatred and anger towards his little brother.

Regulus choked on another sob, now isn’t the time for something like this “why did you leave me!” Regulus couldn’t control his emotions anymore, sob after sob came out. Tonight the past would resurface surrounded by the fires of consequence. Sirius grabbed his brothers face, it was like his the same nose and almond shaped eyes but his cheeks were rounder with adolescence, Regulus was 17 still in school it’s not June yet. “Because your a Jinx regulus! Your a fucking Jinx, a black cat in a human skin! Peter was right about you!” Sirius spat the words out at his brother, anger had finally taken control. Sirius was exactly like his father, passive until provoked to blinding rage.

Regulus continued to sob unable to draw a proper breath he kept muttering No like a mad man. “Please siri!” He choked out again and again until he saw his fathers rage within Sirius dissolve into regret, one of the many things that spectated the brothers from their parents was the fact they still had empathy and compassion for each other. Sirius moved his hand Regulus face, he just stared his his palm. Flecks of regulus blood were sneered over his palm from when he hit him. Regulus was properly ugly crying he balled his hands into fists pulling his jacket over to wipe away the tears and snot. “Sirius Please”

Sirius didn’t feel in control of his emotions or body, he thought the best thing to do was leave. He braced himself against debris and limped out of the wear house leaving regulus on the floor calling out to him.

“Sirius! Sirius please come back! Please, I need you” more sobs shot through him his breathing was erratic, Sirius let the please ring out as he hid behind the wall as he finally let the tears fall. Regulus was finally having the breakdown, everything that was pent up over the last 10 years was coming out and Sirius wasn’t there to help him though it.

——

I wrote this in the train to uni so it’s not been checked, it was just an idea okay if anyone wants to improve on it be my guest lol

[growling]

could you perchance elaborate on npd squirrelstar because i think i see the vision

ohhhhh absolutely anon, and as I don't get many asks about warriors: hi :3

Honestly it kinda started out as a pure vibes thing, like I just thought "hmmmm which cats to hit with The NPD Beam.. squirrelstar hhholy shiit i think i just had a vision. i didn't see anything in the vision but I had a visionnn" and it stuck. Mostly headcanon stuff, maybe some slight au territory (but wc canon is already flimsy as it is anyway, so really, it didn't change much from the originals) but the longer I though about it the more it just kinda fits in lol, especially with her torment gauntlet storyline but not entirely because of it, either -

(I do not know how coherent this'll be, or if I even say everything I wanted to, as I am. so sleepy rn) Honestly the first thing I thought after initially coming up with it is. her relationships with Brambleclaw and Ashfur gsfdsghsd. It's very common to just believe that the abuser must be The Narcissist (or that just, all people with npd are automatically predestined to be abusers no matter what) while it's actually way more often that people with npd are more likely to stay in those relationships, or get abused because *shocker* mentally ill people actually way more likely to be treated as subhuman by society and the like. And I've already saw one or two people just proclaim that Brambleclaw is a narcissist because um, *checks notes* he's controlling of his wife and extra sensitive of (oftentimes valid) criticisms of his leadership or something idk man which. uhhhhh. no can we not please + shut up forever + now I'm gonna do the opposite nobody can stop me (also happened with rainflower. and clear sky. and sol. but mostly rainflower. lord help me)

(on a sillier note though....... nothing much to say about Ashfur as of now but after his Squilf/Ashf breakup if he was a human he'd become a self-proclaimed tiktok Dark Empath)

And lastly the headcanon stuff, which I completely made up while stirring the muffin batter but they might or might not have canon basis too, I don't know, I'm not gonna look for it and I don't really care either;

Does the right thing not because it's "what you're supposed to do or whatever idk I have no idea how any of you define it anymore", but because it makes her feel good. And even if by the end of the day she doesn't get any praise or reward for it, even if she gets shunned for it, what matters to her is that she did the Good Thing and therefore she is Good and that's what matters, and everybody else is so stupid for not seeing it. Really, why does it always have to be her that actually bothers with helping people nowadays. She's got a so much better grade at Good Person than like 99% of her Clan, StarClan bless

Leafpool was always consistently her equal person, she deserves the world and maybe even more than she does because she's just that great, it's her an Leafy against the world <3 we're eating soft tacos later <3 hold on Squirrelflight's Hope just called and- oh god, oh fuck

neither low nor high empathy but a secret third thing: really fucking weird ever changing empathy that also varies on whoever it is for some unexplainable reason. Based off what I have and how do I even explain this in simple, not-10-paragraph-post length....... just trust me on this. What I'll say rn is that she tends to personally care about nearly exclusively towards people relevant to her, or those she considers "interesting" regardless if she actually likes them.

always sets her goals either incredibly high (because naturally she's gonna achieve this exactly as she imagined and wait what do you mean-), or very low (so that she can do the woohoo!!! whenever she succeeds)

she splashes water everywhere when drinking she spills it so much she puts all her paws in that damn stream then puts them all over the kids and now they're all wet they all shake it off directly at Brambleclaw

> gets criticized once > fucking dies

I'll add onto this if I have time maybe, and don't completely forget about this whole post

[the-official-account]

Episode 1 liveblog

Mixing it up B) I want to know more things about this podcast and have friends in the earlier eps. So back to the start we go!

If you are said mutuals in the early episodes THIS IS NOT SPOILER FREE! You havd been warned. Also a lot of this is notes to self. So.

THE DOG THINGS WITH JACK WAS FORESHADOWED IN THE FIRST TEN MINUTES? Oh come on

WAIT for some reason I thought spar was the other person with 18 years in suits but no ofc it's jack!

Oh shit vellum scars right eye. I need to fix that in his art

"vellum is taller than spar and vellum's is a trans man" I may not have caught either of these details for like........15 more episodes? Maybe I don't speak English .....

HCODGSODHDKDDIDBE okay so vellum instantly thinks spars pretty but also *unreadable* (inch resting) and spar NOTICES I forgot how gay this shit starts off. I forgot about this package joke. 😂

Oh Spar is a bit of an asshole <3 "one of does imply there are other top agents as well"

AH JASPER AND JACK WERE WAR BUDDIES I keep being surprised the show is consistent, it's a mystery idk why I'm surprised

"vellum has no points In empathy so he may not be the best at reading people" hmm...hitting him with my autism beam.

"I think that vellum doesn't fully understand emotions and how they all work and conflict with eachother sometimes" HITTING HIM WITH MY AUTISM BEAM

"THE OTHER NAME IS MAXWELL BUT YOU CANT MAKE OUT THE LAST NAME" HEY WHAT THE FUCK.

I'm so curious about this flashback mission

I forgot how much spar did not want all of this to happen holy fuck dosgsksgsjdbd he's so rude <3

No wait why am I only just thinking the vellum autism thing??? Memorizing encyclopedias ass.

"it's signed with his signature handprint" JORDAN.

"I must be thinking of a different nephew. (He only has one nephew)" WELL FUCK. This one may not have been intentional but like. Whew.

In my brain there is nothing but 🥰low empathy autism vellum yayyyy 🥰

I REMEMBERED JORDAN ASKING IF VELLUM MENTIONED CLOVENHEART TO GREY AND I WASNT AT ALL SUSPICIOUS AT THE TIME

knowing what the plot cards jordan drew are and how they turned out is like !!!!

Gah sorel and spar can be so <3<3<3

jack was talking to thorne about spar going to clovenheart....HMMMMMMMMM

oh yikes I really did forget how awkward spar was about going back at first.

"are you gonna talk to anya" [looooong meaningul pause] HOUGH.

"good at what?" JHKLAJSHDKLSDFAKLSFH i love sorel i love sorel so much.

"she's blind" "Yeeeah but like she'll know" is SUCH a funny thing to hear when you don't know anya's deal.

so vellum likes apples and spar likes vintage musicals.

"I'll have a fucking normal to babysit"

"and maybe...you can use the normie to make anya jealous"

There's a lot about this situation which, knowing what I know, i hate, but I UNDERSTAND why spar would think and feel this way and on one hand i'm like YEAH THIS IS yeah this is relatable. on the other hand, i would THROW SO MANY HANDS for vellum.

JORDAN INTRODUCED DIAMOND SO FAST AFTER DRAWING THAT CARD??? WHAT??????

Man <3 early vellum and spar. I love them. I love them SO much. but holy SHIT this show is so well written what the fuck....

and ping! @threeheartscast

[lynnbeck-smithingtable]

Fuck it, Shambler/Warden comparison post.

For those who aren't aware, I have a bit of a running gag going on here about Warden Minecraft bearing a heavy (mostly visual) resemblance to Quake's Shambler enemies, so here's a long list of their various traits (again, mostly visual), with shared traits highlighted in green and marked with a ✓, and differing traits highlited in red and marked with a ×.

Wardens:

Eyeless, with a single large mouth as its only facial feature✓

Thicc 'n' chonky✓

Some kind of eldritch nasty✓

Very expressively animated✓

Indeterminate bodily texture, not helped by the pixellated artstyle and block-based models✓

Said bodily texture - and, by extension, the texture of Sculk - is a matter of interpretation with no canon texture other than "corruption", and doesn't seem to be the cause of much conflict in the fandom; I have seen people drawing the Warden as slimy, furry, furless, and possibly even insectoid (I can't remember lol)×

Has both melee and ranged attacks✓

The melee attack deals either 16, 30 or 45 damage per hit depending on the difficulty, which - when compared to the player's health - can be impossible to survive without late-game items, and the ranged attack is a homing projectile that travels through walls and deals 10 damage (in Java Edition, which is the only one I care about); it also has 500 health×

Make your surroundings darker×

Dark-blue with white highlights×

Attacks if it hears you✓

An intentionally-difficult obstacle to incentivise sneaking around it, and only spawns under certain circumstances×

Fan-depictions make it a lot cuter-looking and friendlier✓

Shamblers:

Eyeless, with a single large mouth as their only facial feature✓

Thicc 'n' chonky✓

Some kinda eldritch nasties✓

Very expressively animated✓

Indeterminate bodily texture, not helped by the low-res, unfiltered textures and incredibly low-poly models✓

[Insert way-too-long summary of the Quake fandom's decades-long "fur vs. skin" debate; the former seems more popular - and it's also the one I personally support - despite the latter being the official explanation]×

Have both melee and ranged attacks✓

Actually have two melee attacks, specifically a claw-swipe and a ground-smash, that deal 80 or 120 respectively; the latter of which can be lethal, but only if you aren't overcharged, wearing any colour of armour or under the effects of the Empathy Shield, Pentagram of Protection or Power Shield powerups; meanwhile, the ranged attack is a beam that only hits one spot at a time, can be dodged easily, can be cancelled by leaving the Shambler's view, and deals 10 damage per hit; it also has 600 health×

Have no bearings on your surroundings, other than taking up space I guess×

Off-white with dark-red highlights (although do note that the Warden was originally supposed to have a similar colour-scheme according to its concept art)×

Attacks if it hears you✓

Fairly-standard enemies that first appear in either the third or fifth level of the first episode (not counting secret levels), depending on the difficulty×

Fan-depictions make them a lot cuter-looking and friendlier✓

[previousloversandmuses]

Slow Burn - Prologue

Part I | masterlist

A/N: This is a “must read” precursor to the whole series. Please read it to know what the origin story is. 

Pairing: Y/N x Obi Wan Kenobi

Words: 2048

Warnings: None. Brief mentions of violence. Low self esteem.

I am always one to experience emotions at a heightened frequency. Dangerous for a Jedi in training I know, but the council never took it as a sign of caution, just a minor set back. Happiness is bright, and beaming, even painful. My cheeks hurt for days after, smile lines sculpting my skin too early in life. Anger is powerful, my skin becoming vicious, and hot. Ripping through me like a silver bullet, and tearing my already unrelenting gut apart. I am loud, I am violent, and most of all, passionate. I would later become grateful of this curse, turning it into a blessing. Sadness is so deep. Tears crash like an ocean, and my heart would ache in my chest. The physical symptoms of my despair become overwhelming, and make me sick.

A fresh eighteen myself, my graduation is only a year or so away. Compared to other padawans, ones that don’t deal with the same struggles as myself, have already been graced with knighthood. They make their masters proud, and have already completed more missions at sixteen than I think I ever will in my entire career. 

I had the choice to become independent, to take my morals by the throat, and shove them deep down inside me, never to be seen again- but it really just isn’t that easy. See, I’m taking this time for meditation, or even a “behavioral therapy” of sorts. I have meetings with other council members, more powerful, and more prominent than my own master, who is often off tending to matters elsewhere. A mighty general he is, but they see me as someone who would cause more of a distraction, so I stay here at the temple left to my own devices. Sometimes I think it may be because I’m a woman, and other times I just take a good look in the mirror and recall the outburst that has stained my face only minutes before. 

Today was like any other; wake up, meditate, exercise, study, combat training, study, try and find time to eat something, and study. I walked down the main hallway with Master Yoda. He spoke to me about how he once struggled with his emotions as well, but with enough meditation, learned how to keep them at bay. Looking down at him and his vacant expression, I was surprised he had ever even felt an emotion a day in his life. That was until seconds later…

Stopping in my tracks, my hand flew over my heart. I recalled feeling out of breath, like my heart had physically stopped beating in my chest, or at least was trying to catch up with the rest of my body. I was shaky, yet somehow managed to take a knee. Something was off, that feeling in my chest grew and grew until I was faced with the blackest black I had ever felt. The darkest emotion to ever run through my body, as cold as ice, and heart stopping. It was deep, I felt it within the darkest abyss in my soul. It wrapped around my insides and nestled itself a home deep within the most shielded corners of my subconscious. That’s when Master Yoda felt it too. His hand flying over his heart, and steadying himself on my own shoulder. His face morphed into a snarl, gasping at the sudden pain that now infected his unwavering calm aura. 

...

After a painstakingly slow recovery, I sat on the edge of my bed. My quarters were neat and tidy. My bed, usually made up in the morning, because I have always been one for a routine. My walls weren’t bare, in fact they were almost completely covered in photographs I have taken from my travels as a Padawan. I'd go to the library, and butcher borrowed books, clipping photos of different words, and alien fauna. But today, those bright colors capable of producing fantasies for hours and hours, seemed black and white. 

I had been staring at the floor for sometime, desperate in trying to heal the ache in my chest. It felt as if I had a cold, like the burn after a deep cough. I felt so tight, so tense, an actual living embodiment of rigor mortis. Yet, at the same time, I hardly felt all there. It was as if my existence was floating all around me, and my shell was sitting vacant on an uncomfortable mattress. The knock on my door was enough for me to engulf myself again. 

“Y/N, are you decent?” The voice asks. 

“Yes,” I reply, rolling my shoulders back. 

“The council has requested an audience. Please report downstairs within the next few minutes.”

I nod my head, as if whoever was behind the door could see me. 

“An audience,”  I think. “Let’s add another year to that training plan, shall we?”

...

Walking downstairs to the council room, I can’t help but feel that all eyes are on me. They cut through me like a hot knife, slicing me thin. I feel so vulnerable. Like everyone around me can feel what I feel, and if I’m being honest, they probably do. A good Jedi who is in tune with the force, and especially in tune with others, can sense an intense emotion from a mile away. I’m sure at this moment I pretty much equate to an open book. No reason to try and hide it, force knows I struggle with concealing even an inkling of agitation. 

Seeing the council room in sight, I take a deep breath. This is it. I’m done for. This reaction was way too over the top. I’ve scared people, I’ve scared Master Yoda. Might as well just turn in my saber now and call it a day.

I walk into the door. Only a few masters sit scattered around. Master Yoda of course perched dead center, Master Windu waiting patiently to his right. But my master was nowhere in sight. You’d think if they were going to terminate me, that maybe my own mentor would be among them? Shaking his head, sending me glares that one could only compare to fucking daggers. He was tough on me for sure, maybe he was too ashamed of what I’d done to even bear to see me in this moment. 

“Coming here so quickly you did,” Starts Master Yoda. “Grateful we all are.”

I smile and bow my head. 

“Y/N,” Master Windu starts. “We’re here to discuss the events that happened earlier.” 

Oh god here it comes. This is it. I’m totally done for. I can’t even keep myself calm now. My face, getting hotter and more red by the second, is going to be the biggest tell. At least let me go out with some dignity. 

“Your reaction, what you felt at least, was not just brought on out of the blue. Master Yoda had the same experience, as did all of us on the council, and most Jedi and padawans in the temple.”

“I don’t understand.” I say. 

“At around 1 Coruscant time, an enemy bomb was detonated on Nal Hutta.”

Then it hit me. My heart sinking, I began to shake my head. 

“Unfortunately, Unit 505, and Master Cato were all killed on impact.”

My ears ring. Slowly, I move over to a chair, bracing myself. 

“That’s,” I start, trying to find the words to say. “He would’ve felt it, all of them would, I don’t understand.”

“We have a feeling it was planted by a Sith. That’s the only way it would’ve clouded any judgement.”

I slump into it, my vision going black, my head spinning. 

Master Cato has been with me since I was a very little girl. Although rough, tough, and brutally honest, he has done nothing but be a father to me time and time again. Everything I do is a reflection of him. He had been so busy at war, fighting day in and day out, I caught myself missing the commands, and demands I once so passionately despised. I took our whole relationship for granted, and now, is this the price I have to pay? The last time we spoke he told me how disappointed he was in my outburst in my Alien Fauna lab. I was being stubborn, I was bratty, and rolled my eyes. We had argued that entire call. He didn’t even attempt to say goodbye. Now, for an eternity, I will have to face the catastrophic guilt of my actions. Live with the fact that I never, ever told him how much I appreciated him. And even, how much I loved him so. The closest thing to family in my life, gone, in the snap of a finger. 

Both Master Yoda and Master Windu continued to talk but it all felt like empty words. I couldn’t hear them anyway. 

“Although this situation isn't ideal, we and the rest of the council applaud you for being able to feel something most of us haven’t been able to experience yet.” Claimed Master Windu.

I don’t listen. I stand up again. 

“What am I going to do? I don’t feel comfortable with being knighted yet. I had- we were working on so many things I-,” I stumbled on my words. 

“You’ll get placed with a new master.”

“There are no new masters. And even if I had been trained a certain way, I don’t know how to learn otherwise.” 

There is silence. 

“The force works in mysterious ways. Meant to happen, I feel.” 

I scoff. “Meant to happen,” what an evil thing to say.

I begin to walk off, stopping of course, only to get in the last word. 

“Not only have you told me that my master has been killed, but you lack any empathy. There is no emotion in your eyes. Nothing.”

“We mourn your master y/n, just as much as you do. You know what we stand for. You know our view on attachments.”

“He's like-,” I choke. “He was like my father.”

I can’t even begin to explain the pain I feel. Disgust in myself, I should’ve been better. I could’ve been better. The last few years of our relationship I’ve just been behaving poorly and rebelling, and then getting angry at him when he made me face the consequences. Like I wasn’t aware of the job I was made to do. I should’ve been nicer, I could’ve been nicer. It’s all going in a circle, all the things I should’ve done just morphed into things I couldn’t do. Maybe I was too emotional. Maybe my tears that fell leading up to this moment was all part of the plan, the final kicker to show that I wasn’t apathetic enough for this job. My empathy, my burning passion will always be my biggest flaw. This hole that gapes inside of me will never be filled, and now it grows bigger. It’s like a disease. Am I enough? Will I ever be enough?

“Put you with Master Kenobi, we will.” States Master Yoda. 

Master Windu is quick in turning his head. He glares at him. 

“Master Yoda, General Kenobi has just finished his training with Anakin. It is far too early to give him a new Padawan, if at all.”

Yoda nods, almost giggling. 

“Yet so freshly knighted, a Padawan Anakin already has. Obi Wan will have no problem with taking on a student. Graduates soon, she will.”

“But General Kenobi and I have two completely different methods of combat, let alone ideals.” I scoff. 

“All Jedi have the same ideals.” Adds Windu. 

“He is a Jedi guardian, I am a Jedi sentinel-“

“Train with General Kenobi you will. Not long ago he also lost his master too soon.”

Master Yoda nods to me. He stands up and walks over to the large windows behind him. Looking out over Coruscant, he takes a deep sigh of relief. 

“Master Windu,” says Yoda. “Get in contact with the 212th battalion.” 

I watch on as my fate now rests in a stranger's hands.

[boogiewrites]

Burning Star

Chapter 1

Characters: Din Djarin/The Mandalorian / Reader / You

Summary: Din Djarin is a long-time associate and friend. When faced with the truth about the creed he's taken, doubts begin to grow in his mind about his choices. He comes to you, looking for a confidant and he finds more than he bargained for. Begins latter part of S2, porn with plot. A growing romance between two characters that thought of themselves as solitary creatures now wanting to no longer be alone. But with The Mandalorian being who he is, things can never be so simple.

Warnings/Tags: Sexual Content. Dry humping. Confessions of feelings. Hurt/Comfort. Touch Starved. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

You couldn’t recall the exact BBY you’d met The Mandalorian. But then again, you weren’t even sure of your birth year, so dates tended to blend into one another in your memory. You recalled every encounter though, every mission he’d asked you to assist him on, the times you’d healed him and his ship, and especially the time he’d come to your planet for refuge with a strange but endearing little green creature. Your small, backwater planet didn’t have much. But that was one of the main things that had drawn you to it. Your parents were nomads, and you’d adopted the same after their death. So you made yourself a home on a green little planet after years of travel. It homed tiny hubs for weary travelers dotted along with the mountainous surface. But the one they called Mando always came to yours.

You had entertained the idea of becoming a Mandalorian after your parent’s death. They were prospectors, planet-hopping and hoping to make a fortune. On one expedition the Imperials decided the planet you and hundreds of others were on was now theirs for the resources. If you want to call it luck, you did live. You were taken in by an orphanage, one of many overrun with children just like you. You were full of anger and hurt and wanted revenge.

You were caught one night, trying to leave, and a woman fatefully saw you and brought you back in, having the first real heart to heart you’d had in your life. With tears in your eyes, you said you wanted the people who killed your parents, dead. You didn’t see this as unreasonable and you still didn't truthfully. You had read about The Mandalorians and were going to join them you’d told her. You were going to learn to fight and be a warrior and take your revenge. Young and full of rage, this was the only thing that made sense. But this woman, who had been watching you knew better than you did. She saw your softness, that capacity for love and sensitivity, and stopped you.

“Do not let their hate make you hard. It’s what they want. You will act recklessly and in their interests with hate in your heart. The only way to defeat evil is with kindness and love.”

It didn’t make sense at the time and when you were in a heated mood you liked to act like it still didn’t. But she was right.

You had previously spent your days reading and learning, drawing the various landscapes your parents took you too and trying to befriend the local fauna. You were a curious child that grew into a curious adult and you had fought hard to keep that sensitivity the woman told you of. So far, it had served you well.

This didn’t mean you didn’t fight. You had to to survive, but when the opportunity for kindness arose you always gave the other being a chance. But if they betrayed that trust you killed them. It seemed fair when it all came down to it. Philosophically speaking, anyway.

You had settled a store for supplies on a long-abandoned mining planet where a nearly extinct mutated species of Nexu lived in the caves under the planet’s surface. You’d protected them for generations now and they trusted you. But they were deadly to anyone else. There were rumors of the mines not being empty, of treasures left behind because they were too tricky to extract. You knew this wasn’t true. You and your toothy, furry associates had explored every bit of the caves that you could find. But that didn’t stop the desperate from trying. This was unfortunately the root of most of the violence in your life. At least you were protecting others in the meantime.

Maybe that’s what drew your Mandalorian to you. He had taken one way, The Way, and you had taken another. You saw in each other what you could have been. He’d given in to his anger and rage when he was young, and you had learned to see past yours. You had the empathy that came from years of self-reflection and control. You had taken different paths, and you both found what was missing in each other. You had the excitement of helping him on quarry hunts on a handful of occasions and he could hide and mend when needed. It was a balance, much like the force you’d read about, and it fell into place without much effort.

Wasn’t it the way that days that began like any other would lead to things you’d never expected? This day was no different. You had previously been most excited about the stew you’d been brewing for the second day, taking your sweet time with an old recipe you’d found in one of the books one of your neighbors had given you. The term neighbor is used loosely as it would be a day's walk, at the least, to the closest person.

The excitement sparked inside your chest as you went out to greet whoever happened to be landing in the field by your settlement. Then you saw the relic hovering above the broken blades of grass. You hadn’t seen a Razor Crest since his and it was easy to know who was going to come off the ramp when it happened upon your humble patch of the planet. You shield your eyes from the burning sun, close this time of the year as the glint off his Beskar armor sends a shock to your eyes.

It was a relief to see you, he thought. Something familiar, consistent, and warm to come back to after the turbulent journey he’d found himself on with the child.

“Hey, stranger!”You call out loudly, waiting for him to be closer so you didn’t have to shout and scare the foul in the surrounding trees. “I know it’s not repairs bringing you in. Your ship is shining like the Bright Star it’s in such good condition. You been on a vacation or something?”

He knew you were joking, his eyes relaxing under his helmet even though you couldn’t see. “Just got back.” his voice hits your ears, the gritty muffle of mechanical filter making it feel remote. You let him approach you, before reaching to hug him. It was something he’d had to get used to, and something you insisted on. After growing close during your time spent on his ship, the trauma bonding of violence and high stakes forced intimacy between two otherwise solitary creatures. For as long as you spent apart, the time picked up where it started when you came back together. Almost dying is hard work, and saving another from it tends to fasten the bond between people with surprising speed.

You had never shied away from him, he’d never given you a reason to. You approached life with an open heart and only shut it to protect yourself when needed. The contact felt soothing despite his hard outer layers. Both physical and figurative. A wrap of strong arms around his helmet, the weight of someone against him, a slight tug down from the height difference. It all felt very sincere, very human to him. At the moment that’s all he was certain about. The helmet hid the troubled eyes that would’ve given him away, and he found himself thankful for it.

“Always good to see you, Manny.” you give him a good squeeze, a kiss to the helmet that you polish out, cooing up at him with attentiveness. You’d refused to call him Mando any longer after one particularly heinous mission. Calling him something everyone else did, something so generic, didn’t fit. So a pet name it was. He’d never had one before. He secretly preferred it. “This Beskar keeping you safe?” you ask, buffing the spot with your sleeve and then patting his chest plate.

“Yes.” he nods. “Except for all the people trying to kill me for it.” You laugh and pat his hard head.

“Can’t blame them. Stylish... strong... beautiful. Just like you, huh?” you give him a wrinkled nose snort and you hear the grunt of amusement and note the subtle nod.

“What I’m best known for. My looks.”

He spoke with such a monotone delivery that his jokes might’ve not landed to someone more fearful and not as knowledgeable of the Mandalorian's personality under all that flash. “Where’s your little guy?”

No sooner than the words were out of your mouth than a gurgle and chirp from a perfectly him sized sack hanging off his shoulders appeared the little green wrinkly friend. “Always close by. Except when I tell him to be. Then he prefers to wander.”

“This goo ball wouldn’t be bad would you?” he tilts his oversized ears and blinks at his father figure as if he’d brutally insulted him. “Never.” you coo and give him little rubs under his jowls. His eyes shut and he happily soaks up the affection. “C’mon. Let's get inside. I bet you’re hungry.”

“He’s always hungry.” a slightly disgruntled Mando grumbles behind you.

“Sounds like you need to eat too.” you retort, hears his heavy footsteps behind you as you enter the humble building you’d built. It was made from the trees that used to fill the little clearing where the landing pad and accommodations were now. They grew fat and had many low, heavy limbs, perfect for construction. The floor was wooden, the walls a mixture of found metal, clay, and beams, same as the roof which made a lovely sound when it rained and kept the harsh seasons out. Dried flowers and herbs hung from low rafters, all part of the long list of things you did to keep yourself busy. You loved making, and your space reflected that. Despite it not being used by anyone but yourself that often, you kept it clean. Shelves and bins as you entered, a small counter for business off the side, a few small tables and chairs on the other side of the large square space with a small kitchen and refresher through doors on the far wall. It wasn’t much, but you’d made it all and it’d served its purpose thus far.

You sit the child down on a table with a cushion in it, letting his round head reach just over the tabletop. He reaches for the flowers in a bottle while you speak and Mando keeps the child's hand from breaking anything.

“Here you go. Been simmering for two days. Broth, meat, and some herbs and veg from the garden. Doesn’t get better than that little one.” You hand him a tiny spoon you’d carved for his equally tiny hands and he makes a confused sound.

“She made that for you, remember? Be nice, use your manners.” he motions towards it with a nod. You watch the child struggle for a moment before giving up and raise the small bowl.

“That works too.” you grin. “You want some? You could get the broth through that absorption accessory I made you.”

“It was destroyed during a mission recently.”

“Ah.” you nod and purse your lips. “I think I have parts to make another.”

He was used to paying for things being made for him. But you and your hobby of tinkering in a little bit of everything had led to a few things that were one of a kind. You’d made a long device that could fit under his helmet to allow liquids to be consumed without removing his helmet. He thought it was thoughtful but it was purely selfish as you were tired of him not eating your food. Before, you had bartered to eat together in separate rooms so you could get feedback. He wasn’t very good at it. Eating to live was his main purpose of doing it at all, not like you that lived to eat.

“Thank you.” is his quiet reply. There’s an easy silence watching the child burp and gulp and making a mess of himself in the process.

“What brings you in this time? You need me to open up the hut? I’ve still got fuel.”

“I’ll refuel before I leave.” You were used to his pauses, but something felt different, you could feel the consideration for his words churning in the silence. “I came to speak to you about something.”

“I can’t tell if this is good or bad.”

“I’m not sure myself.”

Your brow furrows and you lean across the table to engage him. “In trouble again?”

He is still and quiet for another beat. “I found other Mandalorians.”

Your eyes grow wide, “Oh.” you process the information, your surprise clear on your face, you had never been good at keeping control of your expressions. “Is that... not good?”

“We found a common ground and helped each other. But I feel as if I have more questions than I did before. I was so certain before of my standing within the Mandalore creed. I was raised by it, swore to it. And now...”

“What happened Manny?” you reach across and put your hand over his, the child coos at the action. The child could feel emotions, pick up on non-verbal things others couldn’t, and he knew when you were around, his protector was much happier.

“I come from a segment of Mandalorians that broke away from society. They have very different views of The Way. They told me I belonged to a cult of religious zealots.”

“Wow. They didn’t sugar coat that at all did they?” you pat his hand and try to not come off as condescending about it.

“I was not aware of this. This… difference.” you give him a sympathetic smile even though you aren’t sure if he’s looking at your face.

“What do you mean differences?”

“As soon as I met them they removed their helmets.”

“Oh well, yeah that would…” you nod, “That’s a big difference.”

“Have you read about the Children of the Watch? I know you were fond of reading of Mandalore as a child.” he asks with a touch of warmth to his words, as if it made him proud to say it about you.

‘A bit yes. There’s not much about them out there. They’re very strict and secretive. They didn’t want the progressive Mandalorians corrupting what they saw as the true Way. You all believe in being warriors and protecting what’s yours. The helmet thing seems to be the biggest deal.”

“It’s given me… concerning thoughts.”

“Do you mind if I give my opinion on it?”

“That’s what I came for.” his words made you feel special, like you mattered. They didn’t have the tainted burn of someone that wanted to use you or what you for their gain. He came to you to talk. You were flattered.

You turn your body to face his direction, both hands on top of his large, still armored one that he stared at for a moment while you spoke. Watching your hand's flowery movements to accompany your points broke his concentration on them. “I believe this equates to my discovery that I’m not human.”

His attention is grabbed, head swinging up and the child taking notice.

“I am mostly, but I have Cathar in my bloodline....”

It made sense, he thought, he pieced things together, your angled golden eyes, the large swell of hair you styled in various ways, sometimes wild and free and sometimes braided for more function when fighting. Your nails were long and sharp, your teeth a bit pointed as well, he’d never noticed if you could retract them, he thought you’d styled them in that way. Most importantly he could see the strength your ancestors had instilled in you. Even now. You were fierce, proud, loyal, and passionate. It explained your quick temper for those who harmed others for their selfish benefit. If someone had only glanced at you, human would be the general assumption. But if someone took the time to know you as he had, it was easy to believe there was something else in your blood.

“I grew up with what I assumed were humans, but I’ll never know that now. I could’ve been a foundling for all I know. So I had this loyalty to them, what I thought was a bond, a call to be a part of that. But once I came of age and... things started to appear a bit more complicated I went to someone to see what was wrong with me. Turns out nothing, I’m just not human.” you chuckle and shrug, recalling your awkward memories. “I was then left with the questioning of where my loyalty lies. Who was I? Was I Cathar enough to call myself that? Was I human enough to remain within that species, to live and love and fight with them? I was missing such a large portion of who I was, in my blood, I was someone I’d never known. I had so many things I might’ve missed out on you know? Hunting, hierarchies, mating, having family, a pride. We were known for litters, did I have siblings?” you sigh and you feel the sadness well up as it always did when you ponder the unknowns of your existence. “I digress… what I have concluded, and you may take into consideration is that you are in fact, both. Neither is more or less important. They are born of the same thing, they were once one single unit and all future and past components of Manda. You have your war gods, so do they. You have your morals, your duties, your... Way. Even if you were not a Child of the Watch, if you broke those creeds they specified, you are still a Mandalorian. You are not what you speak after all, you are your actions. Both sects believe neither to be a part of the other, but yet they helped you? You help your fellow Mandalorian. It is only a title, The Way is beyond titles, Manny, you know this.”

“I did not know that about you.” was his response.

“There’s far more we don’t know about our fellow man than we do know.” you smile at him and pat his hand. “You are usually quiet and prefer not to discuss frivolous matters. So I don’t bother you with trivia about myself.”

“I don’t believe that you or your beliefs are frivolous.” He pauses a moment, looking at your hand before placing his on top of yours. Both of his now tentatively trying to comfort yours. He didn’t show physical affection, it wasn’t natural to him. You took notice but kept your eyes on the way his hand gently stroked your own as he tried to elaborate the best he could. “You are... very well-read. An… admirable warrior of high morals. Your ideas have helped me with this. I still have concerns...questions. But for the first time since I learned this I feel… better understood.” You could almost feel the pain of him pulling those words out himself to give to another. This wasn’t his strong suit and you knew it. Was it some of the most endearing conversation you’d ever shared? Yes. Did it make your chest ache just slightly with the sweetness he was presenting even though his eyes were hidden? Also yes. He must be hurting, truly upset, and overwhelmed to try to share the burden of it with someone else.

You look back up to him and hold his hands tightly. “You’re very welcome.” you share a connected moment, eyes to the dark void of his visor as your hands move softly and slowly within the others’. “Would you prefer to continue talking about it? Or would you rather us take one of our walks? I think a break might help clear your head.”

“I think you're right .”

--------------------------------------------------------------

You took the opportunity to carry about the child, stopping to let him feel leaves and touch branches, pinching tiny bites of native fruit for him to experience. It was lovely, the scenery and the company. You kept the conversation light, talking about the books you'd read, the things you’d made, how the local Nexu’s were doing, and what the former guests had been up to. He’d met many of the foundlings that had eventually found their way to you. They had been in the same orphanage as you had. He’d scared most of them, and you couldn’t blame them, but he had always asked how they were when you spoke regardless. The child to him was the first foundling he’d taken in, lived with, cared for, and protected. You had helped with the younger children at the orphanage as you grew up and had taken in a handful over the years. And as children did, they would leave once they felt they were ready or the itch to be free came. You were concerned about how your Mando would take losing his little guy. You could tell they had a strong connection. You walked back both holding one of the outstretched arms of the very slow child, you could see how it was easy to be swept up by the little creature.

You had him care for the child, readying him for bed and getting what was needed out of his ship before locking it down and coming into the small clay and brick temporary home next to yours. It was modest, like yours, built from the clay in the hills you’d gathered yourself and decorated with various stones and tile. It was more than enough compared to what he was used to. A small room for the child to sleep, tucked away safe and cozy and you once again held the father figure and wished him a goodnight up against the cool metal of his helmet. He thanks you for your help, as he always does.

You tell him not to mention it, he’d do the same for you, as you always did. The parting goodbyes were always rather special and tender to you. He would tell you he hoped you found yourself in the favor of the maker, to be safe, vigilant, and that he would see you again. He’d always kept his promise.

---------

Going without sleep wasn’t something new for him. So sitting in the light of one of the four moons in the sky wasn’t exactly unexpected when you saw it from the dark interior of your home. He knew you were there. He had detected the movement in the building with his helmet without even looking in your direction. He sat on the stone stoop outside, helmet slowly shifting between looking down to the dirt path in front of him and up into the bright sky. It was the only glint off him from the moonlight, he was without his usual covering of Beskar armor on the rest of his body. He was in his black fabric shirt and pants, odd to see him without the visual breaks the shapes of his armor made. He still had his boots and his helmet on. You had yet to see him without them. You put on a robe to cover yourself in your summer-light sleeping shift and decided to see if you can be of any help.

He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or more anxious at the sight of you. He felt naked suddenly, despite all of his body being covered except his hands. He became hyper-aware of the small patch of skin around his neck that was uncovered, the wind tickling and reminding him he was in his most exposed state around someone in decades. You looked soft as you take slow steps towards him across the grassy garden between the buildings. It wasn’t just your loose hair, the free, flowing fabric showing skin he didn’t recall seeing before. The glow of the moon lent him to think he could see the energy around you as you approached and it bounced off your skin. But unlike The Way he was taught, he didn’t think less of you for appearing delicate. He knew better, but it seemed to help make him feel more at ease in his state of what he would call undress.

“Hey Manny.” your voice was considerate like a mother's and full of affection he didn’t feel he deserved. “Would you like some company?” you ask, tilting your head and holding out a small cup of cold liquid down to him. “Brought tea.” you mumble before moving to stand near him, the edges of your robes reaching out to caress the shaft of his boot on occasion.

With his head low, shielding his chin from your view he takes a sip. At this point in his inner monologue, he didn’t have it in him to ask you to turn away while he drank, hiding in the shadows was good enough.

“Put the kid to bed but you forgot to put yourself down too?” you give him a sleepy smile. You hear a long exhale from the filter in his helmet. “Still too much going on in your head to sleep, huh?” you say with a nod, already knowing. You sit your cup on the corner of the small stone landing in front of the door. You kneel before him, settling in and studying him dutifully. You’d never seen him look so vulnerable before, and you were mixed on your decision about how to approach him.

“Yeah. Still too much.”

“I’m all ears if you want to spill.” you offer with upward palms.

“I don’t want to keep you up. You should go back to bed. You were resting before you saw me.”

“And now I won’t be able to go back to sleep until I know you’re okay.”

A small grunt of acceptance comes from the helmet. “I feel angry and it confuses me. I shouldn’t be angry. I’ve made my decisions. Most a long time ago. But I am. I’m trying to practice humility, acceptance. But there’s only anger and this feeling of being betrayed.”

“That sounds normal to me.” you nod in support, thankful he was finally sharing with you what was going on in his mind. You’d had glances inside before, stories he’d told, where his morals lie, but this felt different. “They did help you. Maybe it’s good to focus on that?”

“I’m not angry at them.”

Your brow shows your confusion.

“I’m angry at the Children of the Watch.”

That was different. You understood him being angry at those that called him a zealot and dismissed his beliefs. Despite them being so similar.

“No matter how small of a part of my creed may have been a lie. It was still a lie. Now I wonder what else was a lie. None of it? All of it? I’ve given my life to this.”

“It’s not... simple.” you offer gently, eyes to the ground, not wanting to antagonize him.

“No. It’s not.” you let him think, studying his bare hands. It gave you plenty to do in the downtime. You’d seen bits of him before when healing him, but you couldn’t recall if you’d seen his hands. The warm brown skin was marked with light and dark scars alike from the years of abuse his body had taken. They were bigger than yours, more square and sturdy in comparison. “The things I’ve sacrificed for a lie.” it was almost a hiss, and you feel the burn of it in your chest for him.

“I know it’s not my apology to give,” you say quietly, rising on your knees to touch his forearms, suddenly aware of the softness and warmth underneath your hands as you touched him. There were no bracers to block you or worry about activating, there was just a man under there after all. “But I am sorry about how much this is upsetting you.”

“You are never a source of upset, Jaira.” Your name came off his lips like a whisper. He had so seldom used it. He wanted to reach out and touch your hands, but the thought of skin against his made him more agitated in multiple ways, both good and bad. Your expressive face told him you had known this but thanked him for the kind words all the same.

“Nor you to me, Manny.” you said his name in the same tender way, making it feel almost vulgar as you rest so close together.

He looks away, you can see the gears shifting from his subtle body language. “I believe it’s long overdue… in the interest of exploring the things I’ve sacrificed... you’ve earned my real name.” Your eyes go large, a quick jerk upward as he moves, bravely so, to place his hand over yours. His skin felt as hot as the sun. “My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

“Din.” you say with an unintentionally sickeningly sweet sigh of revelation. You give a smile that grows larger slowly, feeling it reach up into your eyes. “Din. That’s such a… gentle name. I like it.” you insist with a nudge forward of your chin.

“Yours reminds me of a phrase we have in Mandoa.” he looks down, now preoccupied with his decision to touch your hand. It was so giving, warm, and feeling distinctly feminine when paired with his.

“What’s that?”

“I think it would translate best to luck… destiny. Bright stars that light the good course to take.”

Your eyes went wide like a forest animal. You couldn’t help it, it was one of the sweetest sentiments anyone had ever given you. “Say it for me, Din.”

He felt his chest jerk at the word. He wasn’t used to being affected by them. Certainly not his name. “Jate’kara.”

“I’ve not been able to find much about your language. Would you be willing to teach me someday?”

“Of course.” he sounded borderline offended at your statement.

“Did I say something wrong?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

“No, no.” he shakes his head. “You don’t have to ask things of me like they’re favors.” he clarifies. “Whatever you need of me...I’ll do it.”

It sent a flip to your insides. This felt like a lot of responsibility. You could just... request things from this myth-worthy Mandalorian? It was an odd power rush you weren’t truly capable of dealing with in this rather intimate setting. You were close, almost between his knees, hands clasped together and speaking quietly into the warm night air. The condensation ran cool on your skin, the wind leaving bumps over your skin in its wake. The buzz of animals and insects was loud but faded when you were so close and so deep in conversation. If he said you could ask anything of him. Then perhaps you would. Why sit on the intensity of the moment? Strike.

“What is it that is bothering you? You feel... different. Not angry. I’ve seen you angry this is more subtle more...deep. I feel like you’re holding back. What is it that's making you so angry? You are so logical and reasonable in your approach to things. What is it that's so distressing you can't sleep?”

He takes a deep breath. He hasn’t wanted to say and be thought of as simple or even crude. But you'd asked and he was left with no excuse. “There are things that men want...even need that arent considered with The Way. I am a Mandalorian. But I am also a man. I've given so much of myself to being Mandalorian that I've had to deny myself things that are a part of that human side of me.”

“And with learning of the lies, you’re angry because you feel like you've been suffering for no reason.”

“Yes.” a stern answer and a strong nod to accompany it.

You almost lost your nerve, but with the way his thumb kept sweeping across your skin and the voltage it felt like it created with every touch you would’ve cursed yourself if you didn’t ask. “What have you sacrificed unwillingly, Din?”

Your eyes gave you away if your tone hadn’t. His helmet doesn’t move, he is as still as stone, gray, and shining like a polished river rock as he bores into you. “That is a bold question.”

“You have given me bold answers. I return the earnestness with the things I want to know.”

“You want to know these things?”

“I want to know you.” a direct answer and a slight leaning forward to keep him close as if he might run away in fear. Which was the most ridiculous imagery you could imagine. “I always have. I’ve been witness to your good and the bad actions. I’d like to be a bearer of your thoughts tool. I can’t help but want to understand what makes you, you. Of all the creatures and people I’ve met, you are the only one to hold my attention so completely both with and without his presence.”

Your words made for the most interesting combination of occurrences in his chest and stomach. It was fire and ice, a pull to the man in him, and a calling of praise for the life he led. His cheeks burned, a rare occurrence. It had all been a fantasy before now. But you with your fond words and their heated meanings were making them feel more real by the second.

“You do know how to appeal to both sides of me that I’m talking about.” he pauses and observes your face a moment, and no sign of retreat is within your eyes. “There's been no place for the… physical intimacy that men can crave. I am not one to pay, and I don't have the time to put into such efforts that I believe are needed for such… intimate things. They’re as sacred as an oath. I might've not acted that way when I was young. But clarity is gained with experience.”

“I share the sentiment.” a touch of sadness he understood well was in your eyes and it made his chest ache. A being like you shouldn’t know these feelings. A flash of anger lit within him for the injustice in a universe where a woman like you would ever feel lonely in such a way.

“You’ve taken no oath to hold you back from such things.”

“But I have not had the time, place, or person to swear such sacred oaths.” you give a subdued laugh, throwing his words back at him. “Or… at least I didn’t think I did… because I wasn’t sure if they could.” you look away and he sees it. You meant him.

“They can,” he answers, a deep fearless voice emanates from the helmet that holds your entire body at attention. “There are… obstacles to overcome. But they can.”

With a rush of confidence, you move closer, your chest against his legs and your hands on his knees. “Do you know of any obstacle I have yet to overcome?” a smirk that catches him off guard appears, a playfulness to your eyes bright and doting on him makes him catch the fever you were trying to spread.

“No.” a breathy answer through Beskar.

“Then let me help.” you offer. “I have grown so fond of you over these years. I wasn’t convinced you felt the same.”

“I do.”

“We can approach this issue together and… overcome it the same. As we have before.”

“As we will again.” He recites part of the toast you liked to give before leaving on missions. He remembered it. He did care.

“What obstacles are there? You know you have my silence with such things.”

Where did he even begin? He didn’t feel prepared and ironically he was unprepared for such actions to take place and feelings to be felt. “I know. I trust you.” There was nothing but the truth in his words and you reach to put your hand to the side of his helmet as if it were his cheek. You had always accepted this part of him, treating the helmet as if it WAS him and not an external thing. Which is how he thought of it most of the time. There was never a wish for him to remove it or invasive questions. You were knowledgeable about the Mandalorians and knew their armor was sacred to them, and you assumed as such about this man and his helmet. He places his hand over yours, the warmth between them registering on his helmet display and building condensation on its surface. “Let’s go inside.” he instructs, taking your hands, a flush of warmth through his bones at the touch of another.

“Is the child-?”

“Fast asleep.” he quickly answers, leading you to the small bedroom in the earthen home.

He stands at the long side of the bed for a moment, hand in yours and trying to get his bearings, it had been so long since he’d done anything like this. You saw his head moving and taking in the room and then you and back again, you could sense the uncertainty. “Din, relax.” a warm smile comes across your face, taking the lead, and that was fine with you. You almost coo his name, your hands moving to his upper arms to rub them reassuringly.

“Hard when it’s been so long.” he regrets it as he says it, thinking it might sound a bit pathetic.

“Believe me it’s been a very long time for me too.” you console him, standing chest to chest to start. You follow the hills and valleys of his arms, strong and lean under the pliant fabric to his bare hands, lacing your fingers together, feeling him hide the twitches and jerks from the sensation of touch. “Sit down on the bed. Let me get close to you.” he sits down, sat up far too straight. “Put the bend of your knees against the bed... there we go.” he feels your hands on his thighs and an audible gulp hits your ears that you ignore. “You know I’m not going to judge you. I want this… I want you too.” He feels you close the space between you, your legs sliding between his naturally wide splayed ones. “Now tell me what obstacles did you mean before? Talk to me and let me know what you need.” your hands trace the dark lines on his helmet and a shiver runs down his back.

You were being far better about this than he warranted. It made him want you more, a hunger in his lower stomach slowly growing past his anxiety. “Helmet stays on.” was his first thought, spoken almost too quickly.

“Of course.” you keep your voice quiet and soothing, hands making their trek up and down his arms, waiting to feel them lose their tension. “Do you have to leave everything else on?” you coax him with a squeeze to his biceps, putting one leg up, now visible from beneath your robe over his.

You can’t see it but you get an actual grin out of him. “No.” a more confident response, feeling more relaxed with your unintentional playful humor. You see him look down to see the bare skin, the touchless friction between your bodies growing hotter by the second.“But let’s not get carried away.”

You hear the laugh this time, he sees your expression shift, a triumphant smile for getting him out of his own head. “I know I can be sensitive when I’ve not... been touched in a long time.”

“Yeah?” he liked the sounds of you talking about it a little too much. He wanted to hear anything you’d tell him about your body.

“Yeah.” your breath catches, “Are you?”

He nods, he didn’t have the confidence in this area yet to own what he saw as shortcomings.

“I want to sit in your lap. Can I?” You wanted to take it slow. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off. There is a fine line between indulgence and going too far when it came to dealing with a man like him.

“Yes.” another quick nod, and you are happy to give in, your hips settle well on his strong thighs, feeling secure. To him, it felt it took forever and didn’t last long enough. The drag of your bare skin against his thin clothes was a lot. The weight of what felt like a lifetime of neglect to himself and his needs weighs as heavy on him as you do. He had known touch only through violence for decades now, the tenderness you were offering him willingly was almost overwhelming. He was taught the ways of war and violence since he was young. The ways of more fragile things; of love and intimacy he’d had to learn on his own.

“I’ll go slow.” Slow was the opposite of how your hearts were beating. Your fingers wanted to touch that strip of skin unveiled around his shirt collar, but you only stared at it for the moment. His head pauses just above your chest, your arms resting on his shoulders, fingers light on the edge of his helmet and hungry to move farther down.

“Thank you.” a simple but honest answer.

You’d been close before, seen large spaces of bare skin and carried one another, slept shoved into a single space too small for you both but it had never felt like this. Everywhere your bodies met was warm and giving, both now very aware of the gap between both your hips in this position. You took the time to study him up close, the metal of his helmet was unbelievably smooth as your fingers traced invisible lines and doted on the hard surface separating you from him. Did you want his helmet off? Yes. You wanted to know, to be the only one to know, to touch and feel and savor every inch of him. The more you thought about it, the closer you got to him, the harder it was to recall a time you didn’t think of him this way. Repressing your wants and needs was something you were both personally familiar with.

“It doesn’t bother you when I touch your helmet like this does it?”

“N-no. I like it.” his face a melted mess under the guard. He watched you so close, your bright eyes glowing with the light the moon beaming down. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew everywhere you touched, spots lighting up red with heat, pulsing where more pressure was applied. It was a good introduction to being touched again. You push forward, a single kiss to where you believed his cheek to be. When you pulled away, he answered before you could ask. “Go on.” a heated hiss through the filter deep and dark and heavy as it hit your ears. You place another to the other side, tilting his head you give him another to his forehead. His eyes would close when you were near, a happy sigh, a weighted exhale is let out, feeling his shoulders slumping with each dot of affection. You hold his metal cheeks, a faint kiss to the tinted part of his visor. You press your forehead against his, barely a measurement worth noting separating you as he gives in to your touch, wanting to fall into you, to give you back what you were giving him.

You move your hands slowly, giving him time to register and adapt before moving on, your arms wrap around his helmet, holding him close before leaving a trail of smaller kisses behind, bringing his head only slightly down into your chest. Underneath he was a slack-jawed puddle. Your arms made their way down his shoulders to his back, you could even feel the raised skin of scars you’d helped suture, fingertips light along them, exploring new ones. After your flat palms explored his back, finding his breathing steady and deep you tried something new. A drag of your nails against the fabric drew a deep groan from him. “Good?”

“Ung-” a deep enthusiastic grunt escapes the helmet pushed to your collarbone. “Yes.” You continue, you scratch his back and he swears he could cry at the sensation. You didn’t move away or avoid his scars, the patchwork he felt his body looked like. You embraced it, all of him, and it was hitting him harder than he expected it to.

You take a deep breath, another kiss to soothe to the cold metal. “Do you want to...see me? Or- touch me back?”

He hadn’t even thought about it, his brain hadn’t moved past the feel-good moments you were covering him in.

“Yes.” a simple but hungry answer. As you see his helmet tilt downward towards your chest.

“I want you to too.” Your sincere tone struck him, he watched your agile fingers reach for the belt that held your robe in place. It fell silent, blood in your ears as it was your turn to feel the taste of nervousness on your tongue. Your body was something that did things for you, it wasn’t something you often stopped to consider the aesthetic of. The quiet noises that he let escape as you took off the robe left any hesitation behind with it as it laid on the floor abandoned. His hands didn’t move, his chest did noticeably, as yours mirrored, picking up speed as you moved forward. You take one of his hands, thumbs rubbing circles, leaving small kisses on his fingertips as the sounds beneath the Beskar grew louder. The rhythm of his breathing was now audible, helpless sounds you never expected to hear from anything but pain brushed against your ears and touched you in places no one had in ages. You kiss him palm, nose nuzzled into the only slightly trembling fingers. After you felt the skin-to-skin contact was enough to calibrate him, you meet what you felt to be his eyes, taking his hand and placing it over your breast. You were still covered with the thin sleep shift but it was made for breathability in the heat of summer and didn’t leave much to the imagination. You take him by the wrist of the awkwardly avoidant hand and put it on the curve of your hip. “Is this-?”

“Yes.” he rushes out and sees you smile, causing another kiss to be given to his helmet where you were aiming for what would be his mouth. He groaned, feeling your nipple harden against his palm, the other feeling the silky slip of fabric as he let himself give a firm grip to your fleshiest parts.

“Go on, Din,” you whisper into his visor. “Touch me,” you ask of him. A strangled noise breaking through bitten lips is your answer. You place your hand gently on top of his, showing him it was okay, reminding him how to, helping him give in. Your hand forces his to cup the weight of your chest, the exhale of pleasure fogged up his visor as you had your head rested against his. “Like that, yeah.” you wet your lips and his hand begins to move on its own. Soon his hands are kneading at you, a simple brush of thumb over your nipple forces an inhale he drinks up the sound of.

He fondly recalled this now, that static in the air, the shared breaths and the power he felt with a woman in his grip. He relaxes his head against the bend of your neck, mouth open and watering, hidden from view but the sound of his breathing was enough to tell you he was giving over to it now. The tentativeness leaves, his hand pulls your hips closer to him, both inhaling at the feeling of touch against the places your arousal was spreading from. You let out a small whine at the feeling of the seam of his pants, pressed against by his growing erection.

“Fuck.” you hear exhaled into your shoulder and you shudder. “You feel...so good.” his hand grips you firmly, “Like velvet in my hands…” his lips brush against his helmet and he wishes it was your skin. He was famished for touch, for this connection and lust he’d repressed for so long. But here it was, in his hands, in his lap asking him for more. His hands ran up your bare chest, feeling the pulse under your skin and the slick your sweat had created. “You’re as hot as a star under my hands.” he groans.

You audibly swoon at the comment, feeling that distinct masculine roughness of well-worked hands as his palms moved into your hairline. “And you’re as hard as Beskar under me.” You move your hips, a grind against his, and a fully formed moan escapes, neck going limp and the heaviness of the helmet resting on your shoulder now. You whine, the friction feeling even more delicious against your glossy wet center. He encourages you wordlessly, a hand on your ass to keep a slow rhythm, a painful drag of your engorged clit against the perfectly fit shaft of his cock. Such a thin piece of material between you, you thought. You reach between your legs, a wet mess on both of you and it’s no surprise. “I’m as wet as Kamino, Din.” you hum and smile, the front of his helmet against your neck again. You feel the vibration of his groan against your skin. “Look what you’re doing to me,” you whisper, mouth pressed against his helmet where his ear would be. He sees the light hit your fingers as you raise them. “See that?”

“Fuck...yes little star I do.” he groaned heavily, his chest heaving a bit. You get bolder, your hand moving from your lips to the painfully hard throb in his pants. Another long groan, a jerk of his hips as you palm him, a back and forth against the pressure, feeling him jump against the confines. “Unf - I - I won’t- “ his hips jerk and his hand moved faster than you can register to your wrist. A firm hold that makes you moan and stop. There was that strength you had wanted to be obedient to. “That might be a bit… much for me.” He stopped you out of fear of not being able to stop. He didn’t want to scare you, unleash something he wasn’t ready for or couldn’t control. It was a concern he’d cum too soon and embarrass himself, this wasn’t something he could just jump back into and impress anyone.

He was thankful you weren’t disappointed, “Do you want me to make you cum, Din?” Every time you said his name with such lust in your voice it made him moan. But he didn’t feel the least bit weak for it.

“I wanted us both to...enjoy this.”

“If you think I’m not enjoying myself you’re welcome to put that hand between my legs and find the contrary.” Another moan that makes him slump comes heavily from him. “If you do want to...enjoy this…” you let out a small breathy laugh he raises his head to. “I can arrange that.” you offer, your nose gliding affectionately against the center indent of his helmet. “Relax and enjoy this with me, Din.” you give him a reassuring smile, lining your hips up again. You grind back and forth, his hands finding their place on your body quickly. You straighten your back to give him a view of you, and you finally let your fingers dive under the neck of his shirt, feeling the slightest glimpse of hair at the base of his neck, your fingers go as far into his helmet as they can. You start that back and forth against him, over and over, lazy growing more urgent as each time he gives a harsh drag across your clit, the stimulation you needed. “I’ve thought about you like this, you know.”

A small “Ungff.” was the only response he could manage.

“Wanted my hands to feel your skin, just for pleasure. Wanted to know how you’d feel... thick and throbbing beneath me like this.”

With a deep grunt, his hand holds your hip sternly, the other moving to the back of your head, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes-keep talking like that, fuck.” The demand was thick in his voice, his hands no longer gentle, giving away the need they were trying to find an outlet for.

“You’ve turned me into something I’m not for anyone else. Some needy young girl, hungry for a taste of flash and flesh with a man.”

“You’re so, fuck you’re so soft.” he moans, helmet pushing back against you like a bull, and you were happy to ride. "Your so good at that."

You let it build, focusing on the feeling between your legs, you let your breathing take over, every grind a release of sound, and a step climbed together towards your peak. “I knew you would be impressive. You had to be. Look at you.” You pant and you feel his fingers sink into your hair, a fistful slowly tightening as you held onto his back and head, leveraging and letting your hips do all the work. “No man’s ever made me such a greedy woman with only his hands before Din. No one. Only you.” The filter slips and your mouth falls open, breath fast from exertion, both sets of hands now with a white-knuckled grip against each other's bodies.

It was hot and fast and what you needed to satiate your needs. His hands and sounds told you everything you need to know for now. He wanted you, needed you, craved you. He was giving you the power to make him weak, a rush to your head that wasn’t just your impending orgasm.

“Fuck Din I’m close.” you admit, your mouth open and panting, tongue shamelessly lapping at his helmet, your lips kissing him as if he could kiss back. Once again, he returned the kisses with his hands, switching grip one went to your back, the other back to your breasts bouncing out of their thin confines.

“Fucking do it.” he bites out through gritted teeth, fingers tugging your top down to expose you and give your nipple a pinch.

“Mmmph!” a slight whine but a plea for more. “Yes fuck I love that Din, harder.” your words rush out and he eagerly follows.

“Cum for me. Cum on me. Please.” he growls, and it ignites something in you. Something primal. “C’mon little star, fuckin burn for me.” he commands, a barked order, caught up in it all, the heat, the friction, and the haze of lust around you both he cums. Unexpectedly but it didn’t matter at this point. With that solid thrust against you, a hand gripped into the flesh between your shoulder blades, the masculine energy you’d craved washes over you in the grunts and expletives that leak from the helmet.

“Yes, fucking cum Din. Give it to me.” you moan shamelessly, head falling back. A yip of “Yes.” building from whines to full roars overcomes you as you do as he asks and explode into a white bright hot light that consumes you. You try to keep the pace, the contact but your body stutters and begins to shake. The now warm metal of his helmet presses between your bouncing tits as your head tilts back and he holds you up with both hands, you never felt fear of falling when his hands were on you. At least not falling into the floor.

It was as if his mind cleared, and he was left soaking in this gleaming woman cumming hard in his arms. He held you up, seeing your chest heave, the pink flushing your skin, how much desire he felt in his growled name as you gnashed your teeth and came on him.

Fuck he felt good.

He got to scoop you up, a trembling and panting shadow of the primal goddess you’d just been, arms wrapping around your waist, one hand moving to see your face as it fought to regain its bearings.

"You glow like a star when you're like this." He isn't sure if he's overstepped, he doesn't know if the shine in your eyes is from the recent orgasm or his words. “Fuck you are… beautiful. You know that?” your mass of hair falls forward as you look down at him, chest still finding its normal pace.

Your eyes blink, a flutter of disbelief and, if he read you correctly, a slice of fear for only a second. “Beautiful?” you ask, feeling a bit bewildered.

His hand stops its gentle stroking against your hair and face. “You act like you’ve never been called that before.” You can feel the subtle laugh in his chest when he says it.

When your face remains still for a moment, eyes bright and full of memories he wishes he could access you reply almost sheepishly, “I've not.”

With the simple, quiet answer he was given more information about you than you knew you'd given up. You'd never let anyone in like this before. No one had ever held you and told you the things you longed to hear from another you cared for. You were like him after all.

With a light hand, you rest against his helmet again, stroking it as if it were his hair. "It means more coming from you than it would anyone else."

Now you've taken his words from him. You managed to make him feel special. Something he had denied his entire life. Something he wasn't sure he even believed anyone could be. In the same sentiment as your confession, he was glad it was you that was changing his changing his mind about such things. Learning the truth about the Children of the Watch, and the questions it brought up about his life was the first in a wave of realizations he'd face. Perhaps it was time to reevaluate how he lived his life if it meant missing out on things like you.

I tagged those who wanted in my Javi fic and interacted with my posts about making this fic. If you want to be added or removed just let me know.

@jaegeeeeer​ @likedovesinthewnd​ @inkededucatednnerdy​  @biharryjames @ladamari68​ @past-romantic​ @weliketomoveit @shikin83​ @ookamikuro​ @anglovesthis​ @swol-bear @louist91syndrome​ @guiltylitpleasures​ @nfnoofiii​ @hellothefriend​ @beatha-dubhach @l-e-i-n-t-h​ @firehart9​ ​

[missinghan]

back to me ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : dynasty au; angst; fluff

❖ word count : 12,6k.

❖ warning : mentions of death & violence

❖ summary : you were supposed to avenge the fallen by taking the crown prince’s life but one wrong tug from fate and all your effort has gone to waste. 

❖ a/n : read chan’s spin-off here!

prologue.

Life can’t possibly get any worse for you, not when you meet the right person at the wrong time. 

When you’re too busy staring at the ground, this boy - who claims to be the crown prince of Goryeo - keeps asking General Bang if he can come out and play in the rain. As if he’s wondering what it feels like to stop time and walk through every single droplet, to suspend this watery gift from Mother Nature and peek through each one. As if he’s questioning what if he can sit inside of them, taking a gravity propelled ride. 

He smiles at you when he catches your intense stare, completely ignoring the fact that you might be judging him for his questionable demeanor for a royalty.

You don’t smile back. 

A guard hollers aloud, drawing a line with his sword above the crowd, “Make way for His Majesty!”

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty!” A woman shoves her way through the crowd full of people who are kneeling down on their knees, her eyes frantically peeking over the king’s shoulder. Finally, when she spots your shuddering figure next to the young prince, her eyes soften. “May I have a word with you?”

“Bow down, peasant—“

“Hush,” the king waves his hand dismissively. “Let’s see what she has to say.” And the guard scoffs, stomping away with his hand clutching onto his sword, his jaw clenched. 

The woman sighs in relief, getting down on one knee and explains calmly. “Your Majesty, my husband and I can barely make enough to eat but after some time of adapting and working hard, we’re sure that little Y/N can come and live with us instead.”

The king laughs lightheartedly and pats her shoulder, “That’s very kind of you,” and he scans around only to see everyone holding their breath, waiting for his next words. Once he’s determined to do something, it’s either going with the flow or having their head on a chopping block. They can’t even fathom how much courage this woman has mustered to speak up like that. “But I can assure you that—“

“Her father and mother were good people, Your Majesty,” she cuts him off almost coldly, cautious not to appear as discourteous because the last thing she needs is one of the guards running their swords right through her throat. “Do you have what it takes to raise this child? As your own? Will she be able to blend in with your people?”

“I-“

“Your Majesty, I’d hate to be disrespectful,” the woman’s tone grows louder, practically spitting into his face. “But we’ve known Y/N for her entire life. We know what’s best for her and we can manage to take care of her. She’s such a good child and deserves nothing but the best. And we don’t think it’s a good idea for you to—“

The king inhales sharply and clears his throat. The woman cowers almost immediately and the noises from the crowd go dead, knowing that she just messed with someone she shouldn’t. He turns around to see his son tugging the little girl by her sleeve, his eyes filled with concern and empathy. “She will only get the best with me,” the king snaps and the woman is shoved away by another guard, clearing the road ahead for him. 

“Let’s go,” the young prince grins at you brightly and somehow, manages to put a weak smile on your grim expression. Like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day, he outshines everyone else as if he’s glowing from within. “Your name is Y/N, right?” You only nod at that, feeling slightly suffocated in the black silky robe that they put you in earlier. “It sounds very pretty. My name is Jisung—“

“Come on, we don’t have much time left, Your Highness,” General Bang tells him firmly before tugging the both of you away from the village along with his own son. 

You surprise the royal family by staying relatively calm and unfazed throughout the burial ceremony, your expression only wavers slightly at the end when it finally hits you that they're really gone. Things are never gonna be the same again. And you’re determined to utterly destroy the royal bloodline so that they’ll know how it feels like to have a loved one taken away from them forever. 

You screw your eyes shut to prevent tears from spilling, holding your head low so that no one will be able to witness your vulnerability. But as you feel another pair of eyes on your back, you snap your head back on instincts and the young prince’s eyes hold yours. And they flit away just as quickly as when you meet his. 

The prince bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic smell making him cringe. His heart twists uneasily into a knot when he sees your shoulders shuddering. You lost your parents at such a young age and suddenly you’re being pulled into a place full of people that you don’t know with rules that you’re not supposed to be tied down with. You didn’t choose this life, yet you’re staying strong and trying so hard not to break down in front of all these strangers. He’s never felt his heart so heavy before, and he wishes he could do something to make you feel better. 

“Go,” Chan, the General’s son nudges him with his elbow. “Don’t just stand there,”

“What?”

“Go, she needs you,” the older boy encourages him. “She knows no one here, and you were holding her hand back there, I think she might feel less ashamed to cry in front of you.” 

The prince mentally thanks his friends with his eyes before walking over to you, a gentle hand on your quivering figure. “Hey,” he says softly, only to be met with your wide, teary eyes. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“I-“ you choke out, breaths coming in short as your heart continues to shatter inside your chest capacity. “I’m not- I’m not crying, I’m really not,”

He shakes his head and squeezes your shoulders in reassurance. “It’s okay, to cry. I can protect you, no matter what.”

“No! Don’t touch me!” You yelp stubbornly, you’re not giving into a stupid damn prince just because he has a cute smile. “I’m okay- I’m okay, it’s just-“

“Y/N!” The prince shouts unintentionally and immediately regrets it when you take a step back. “I mean it when I said that I’d protect you. Just cry, it’s okay.”

You sniffle, “You’ll protect me no matter what?” 

“Always.” And he nods. “You have my word.”

“But why?”

He smiles at you fondly, “I just feel like I have to,” your heart skips a beat, out of impulse when he gives your shoulders a squeeze of reassurance. “I’m not crazy, I know in my heart, that it’s right.” 

Then, the dam finally breaks. Before he knows it, you’re already throwing yourself at him, your arms wrapped around his neck as you cry into his chest, tears streaming down on your cheeks uncontrollably. All he did was smile and your heart is already going on a rampage. You can’t believe that you’re crying into the crown prince’s embrace, whose life you’ve sworn to take when you get older. 

You don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment. 

one.

Chaos. Solitude. Fresh air. 

Every once in a while you would drink in the atmosphere, the aromas of the local market like elixir, far different from the suffocation inside the palatial and magnificent palace. A lost child wails for his mother, a man frantically looking for his missing bag, shopkeepers screaming at the top of their lungs, throwing out offers left and right while customers are shoving and pushing each other to bargain for the best price possible. It’s practically impossible to even find an empty stall. Though you don’t thrive on interacting with the stallholders, you can feel the lively aura and the raw happiness in their eyes despite not having much. 

But the moment you step foot onto the gritty stone surface, the smiles fall from their faces as though you’re Death’s incarnate, disgusted whispers along with hushed gossips spread like wildfire. You’re used to it, sadly, because if you were them, you’d probably hate yourself too. You’re merely nothing but a child from an average family, your parents could barely make enough to eat and then suddenly one day, you got to live inside those cold, monumental walls of the royalties, enjoying some of the delicacies that the higher class has to offer. They have every right to detest you, and you accept that. 

You raise a brow when a little girl brushes past you, pushing you a little too harshly for your liking. You shake your head in disapproval and brush it off as normal behavior for a kid but soon, you realize something doesn’t feel right. Your pouch of money is missing. 

Eyes grow alarmed, you easily spot the tiny figure weaving herself through the crowds, edging through the dense flow of people and easily slipping away without catching any attention. A sly little thief. But she can’t get far considering how you know this town like the back of your hand. It’s still the same, not very tranquil or quaint, especially when spring is coming along and everyone’s too busy preparing for the upcoming festival. 

Soon enough, you find yourself in a dark alleyway - it’s like a completely separate realm from the outer world. It’s nothing but the eerie silence, darkness and the sour relics of thrown away vegetables along with something as disgusting as dead animals. As you walk between the walls that are too high for you to seek for any source of light, your nose scrunches up and your eyes narrow down into a glare. A weak beam of sunlight casts your shadow over the ground like painting black on the deepest shade of charcoal, and soon it bleeds out. 

“You’re a fast runner,” From your lips, a sharp warning slips out, not as much of a threat but it’s all the scarier when the narrow space is oddly quiet. “But not quite fast enough.”

The little thief slumps against the wall, murmuring, seemingly uninterested. “What do you want from me?”

You immediately grit, anger flickering at the back of your eyes, “You have what belongs to me. And I’m gonna need it back.”

“No can do,” she responds in a rather calm demeanor, almost sarcastically. “It’s mine now.”

Her expression remains unfazed even when you take a few steps forward, mere inches from her tiny figure. “It’s not right, to do what you just did. I don’t want to hurt you either,” you try to explain calmly though your insides are seething with nothing but pure rage. You never knew a child can tick you off so easily when the enemies don’t. “So just give it back, and I’ll get you home. Where are your parents?”

“What’s not right? Stealing? Then what am I supposed to do? We barely have three meals per day thanks to people like you. Moreover, my parents don’t care about me.”

“Don’t say that,” you shake your head. “I’m sure that no matter what, they’ll still love you very much.”

She counters and your heart freezes for a split second, “What do you know about family?” It’s no surprise to everyone here that you’re an orphan, a damn lucky orphan on that note. 

You kneel down to match her eyes’ level and sigh deeply, “Now, watch your next words very carefully, kid,” and she scoffs at you as if a subtle ‘what if I don’t’ is being hinted at you. “I’m a very bad person, okay, I’m barely the age of your parents but I’ve killed twice as many people. And I don’t want little boys and girls like you to follow my bloodied traces.”

“So you’re not happy inside the palace?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” you smile bitterly. “It’s just that, pain is an old friend.”

A single footstep rings through your eardrums and your hand automatically reaches for the dagger in your pocket as you grab the uninvited guest by the neck, slamming their skull to the wall. You’ve done this motion so many times that you can’t even count, your muscles just move on their own. You can physically see them gulp in hesitation, the corners of their mouth twitching when your blade misses them by a strand of hair. From underneath their black hood, you’re met with a pair of doe eyes, and an audible gasp leaves your lips. “What-“ you drop your weapon momentarily, “Your Highness, what are you doing outside all by yourself?”

“Care to explain what you are doing here without the guards then?”

“Your Highness? Guards?” The little girl questions with her brows knitted together. And you mentally facepalm yourself. No one’s supposed to know if the prince wants to sneak out of the palace. 

Jisung takes off his hood and frowns at you furiously, tucking a strand of hair to the back of your ear. “I was looking everywhere for you, Minho said you were practicing with Chan but he’s going on a work trip with his father for the following days. So I sneaked out by myself, I need to talk to you.” To your dismay, betting your trust on Minho was a horrendous mistake, mostly because he’s not that good at lying. Not like you have anyone else to cover you up when Chan’s not here. 

“You shouldn’t be outside by yourself!”

He immediately whines, “Why? I’m not a kid!”

“You’re not, but you sure act like one,” you quirk a brow. “Careless, whiny, and not to mention, Chan had to spend the night with you whenever there are thunderstorms.” 

“I was practically a child!”

You assert slyly, “Why yes, a child who decapitated his grandfather’s statue instead of practicing properly.” And you’re also quick to change the topic, you don’t have much time left for this seemingly never-ending conversation, “Aren’t you supposed to be by your father’s side the entire day? Didn’t he ask you to help him with resolving the mess in court?” You ignore the way your heart is hammering deep down, and try to counter as indifferently as possible. 

He grabs you by the wrist and your heart dips in your chest cavity. “I sneaked out, obviously,” he rolls his eyes to the moon. “For the love of God, Y/N, you need to tell me what you are doing. Why are you here? And who’s this?”

“I don’t know. This little brat stole my money and now I’m stuck with her!”

The little thief exclaims as if you just insulted her, “I’m not deaf!”

Jisung regains his composure and says firmly, “Y/N, I really, really need to talk to you.” 

“That can wait,” you whisper harshly, warm breath fanning his face. The prince’s breath hitches in his throat when he realizes how close you are, and his stomach turns every time your nose brushes over his. “I need to bring you back to the palace before sunset or His Majesty is going to ask for my head.”

The girl raises her brow, “Uhm, I’d hate to interfere, but don’t you think you ought to look out for that?”

Immediately, your hand clasps firmly onto her mouth when the other is on Jisung’s, he struggles to form a proper sentence, squirming but you don’t bother to move an inch when all you can focus on is the rather familiar voices of the guards you went through training with since little, their heavy footsteps scratching against your nerves. You can’t afford them seeing you with the crown prince outside the palace, along with a suspicious-looking little girl. 

As soon as they’re long gone, blended into the sea of people, you let go with a long exhale. Jisung exchanges wordless stares with you and you notice how his cheeks are slightly flushed, almost like he’s blushing before he averts his gaze, finding a sudden interest in the pile of garbage in the dark alleyway. You clear your throat before outstretching one of your hands towards the girl, “Come on now, do I look to be in a gaming mood?”

“Fine,” she grumbles and fishes your pouch of money out from her pocket, dropping it into the palm of your hand. “But you’re gonna have to do me a favor.”

You roll your eyes, reluctantly nodding. I’m never having kids. 

As if on cue, her stomach rumbles loudly and she tilts her head to the side, “I’m kinda hungry..”

two.

You’ve never really considered Manwoldae Palace your home, it still feels as though you’re an outcast whenever you’re walking along the pavements at night, or when you’re gazing listlessly at the moon from your quarters. You often stare at the astronomy tower where the royal astrologists spend most of their time analyzing and studying the alignment of each constellation, making sure that everything stays in their respective positions. Hence, your curiosity for astrology naturally grows over time because you feel like no one knows your concerns and struggles like the stars above. 

More than ten years of training to be a part of the royal military regime definitely shaped the skills and deadly techniques that you possess right now. The idea of the royal family’s safety being top tier priority has been etched to your mind like it’s been there all along. Sometimes you feel used, as if they’re just taking your skills to their advantage, seeing you as nothing but a weapon for their own good. But then again, you’ve learned not to bite the hand that feeds you. 

And it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.

Minho follows your footsteps when you exit his private palace grimly, “Don’t fuss over this! You know better than to hold grudges.”

“You had one job! One damn job!” You throw your hands up and pry out of frustration. “What a tremendous idea. Let’s tell Jisung that I’m training with Chan, who’s obviously going on a work trip with his father. Absence announcements exist for a reason! Did you think that Jisung wouldn’t know just because he’s always busy with conducting court affairs? It’s brilliant, it’s truly brilliant.”

“Then what was I supposed to say? That you’re dead?” The physician immediately puts his hands up when you turn around, the tip of your dagger slightly hovering over his throat. “It’s not my fault you’re overly fond of sneaking outside! Don’t you think if you weren’t acting so stubbornly and hot-headed all the time then this wouldn’t have happened?” he yelps.

You retract your weapon with a scoff, tucking it into your back pocket, “Since when am I stubborn? And hot-headed?” With every word, you jab your index finger towards him, irritation bubbling up under your skin like fire. Okay, maybe he’s not entirely wrong. 

“How did you two get back safely anyway?” Minho questions, curiosity sparkling in his brown eyes. 

And you internally grimace at the thought, shaking your head profusely. “I don’t think you would want to know.”

“Y/N— ow!“ Jisung whimpers. 

“Not a word, Your Highness, not a word.”

“The guards are always on duty! They are everywhere!”

You grumble as a reply, “Thank you for the information, I’m very much aware,” As he continues to complain about one too many reasons and ways that you two will be caught, you’re already done with tying his hands to his back with some rope that you found at the market. “Stay still, would you?”

“They’re gonna report this to my father if we fail, why can’t we just walk in like how we do normally?” Jisung squirms in discomfort at the restraints on his wrists when you fix the hood on his head until it’s low enough to cover the upper half of his face. “He might banish me!”

You make a face of disapproval, “In what world would my plan work out if you kept being so yappy and loud?”

“You might be executed for this, Y/N!”

“Now you’re just exaggerating, I’ve arrested plenty of bad people by myself before. It shouldn’t be too suspicious,” you shake your head and chuckle, your knuckles hovering over on the intricate wooden door. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Are you mad?!”

“Possibly,” you give him a slight smirk. “If it were easy, anyone would have done it.”

Minho puts a hand over his mouth and gasps monotonously, “Well done, you literally scared the living daylights out of the crown prince. No wonder..” You look at him, confused when he trails off and an imminent spark of fear ignites at the pit of your stomach. Jisung is still okay, right? “Apart from a poor appetite, he has also been struggling with insomnia, and it seems as though his mood’s been dampened these days as a result of not having you by his side.”

There’s absolutely nothing to diagnose, he’s ridiculous. “You know,” you force out a fake smile, one that you always give people at the market when they unintentionally step on your toes. “I’m suddenly having the urge to run my sword through your pretty little mouth, is that concerning or not?”

“Very,” he gulps and takes a step back cautiously. Regardless of his joy in spatting unnecessary commentary at you, he knows not to tick you off because clearly, he’s the one at a disadvantage when it comes to fighting here. 

Lee Minho has been studying pharmacology and medicine for almost his entire life. Trained by only the best of the best physicians inside the palace to save humans’ lives. Healing people is all that he’ll ever know. It’s not very surprising as to why you two would detest each other to a degree at some point because your daily tasks alone have explained a lot. 

“But would you actually kill me? If you had the chance to?”

You’re caught off guard at that, your witty retort growing dead in your throat and your spine goes tense. “One more word and I’ll—“

“...run your sword through my mouth?” He cuts you off with a soft chuckle, venom dripping from his voice “Surely there’s an evident line after that. You don’t think that I’m stupid, do you? A child, whose parents were ruthlessly murdered, and the king wanted to make it up to them by raising you in the palace. They might not notice it, but I can see right through you, Y/N. Your anguish and rage reek off so heavily every time I see you, I almost feel like I am being suffocated.” Little by little, the exasperation snakes its hands around your neck and chokes you, you want to shout, throw a tantrum and slam your throbbing head against the wall. Is he testing you?

“You’re ready now, more than you’ll ever be. Considering the fact that Jisung’s coronation is coming up, there’s your perfect chance to get your revenge. On all of us,” Minho sees all the colors drain from your face, your fists curled and cold beads of sweat trickling down on your temple, but he can’t seem to stop taunting you. “Isn’t this what you want? To end this once and for all? Aren’t you tired of fighting with one arm tied behind your back? Or being their little puppet? Taking one life after another every day for them? What are you waiting for? When the prince is dead, you can run, run away and never return. It’s for the lesser evil-“

His words come out as incoherent as ever when your fingers are gripping on his throat, threatening to crush his windpipe. His lungs greedily gasp for air as you back him up against the wall harshly, the inferno inside of you burn his ability to talk back into ashes. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to vent it all out, but it’s just so simple to be cruel at that moment, and all he’s doing is adding fuel to the fire. He’s just making it easier for you to end his life. 

“Evil is evil,” your dark gaze sends chills down on his spine, and Minho can physically feel his legs growing weak. “Lesser or not, it’ll do either party no good. I’m not going to kill anyone, yet. But if you keep being so irritating, I can’t promise you’ll be seeing tomorrow’s daylight.” You pinpoint your words very carefully, releasing the hand on his throat. He immediately falls to the ground, coughing furiously into the sleeve of his robe. 

“Why?” He stubbornly asks even when his vocal cords are cracking from the pressure that you applied, “What made you change your mind? Why not kill us?”

Your stare tears right through his soul as you speak for yourself loud and clear, conflict twisting into a knot inside your stomach, “Because if then, I will be what they want me to become, a heartless weapon. I am not heartless, I just learned how to use my emotions less, for the better.”

Minho leans his head back against the brick wall, laughing breathlessly, “So it’s true,” you narrow your eyes at him, unsure of what he’s trying to say. “You do love him.” Your eyes widen in horror. He did all of this, getting cuts on your edges just to clarify the feelings that you have for Jisung that even you are uncertain of. 

“You—“

“Y/N,” Jeongin, the eunuch props his hands onto his knees after running towards the west gate, gasping for air. “The king wishes to see you.”

three.

Feet firmly planted on the grass, you exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes upwards to glare at the night sky. Defiant and irksome in your eyes. The seemingly harmless stars are looking down at you almost mockingly. You see absolutely no empathy, no sense of responsibility, no fairness in the everlasting black canvas that puts everyone to sleep every night. 

A familiar figure enters the garden and you hastily get down on one knee, daring not to look straight into their eyes. “Your Majesty, my respects,” you say firmly, maintaining your position. The king gently places a hand on your shoulder wordlessly, tugging on it slightly as an attempt to pull you upright. But you refuse to do so, shaking your head. 

“Y/N, there’s no need to be so formal anymore, we’re practically family,” says the king, followed by a soft chuckle. 

Your head starts throbbing uncontrollably at his words. Family. You try hard not to let your features twist in exasperation, knuckles turning white from how tightly you’ve been balling your fists. “I’m not worthy of Your Majesty addressing me as ‘family’. Please take it back,” you voice croaks at the end as you swallow the lump in your throat. 

The word endlessly echoes in your cloudy mind, making you dizzy as it slips through your walls, sinking into your heart. A bitter taste rises and creeps onto your tongue when you try to speak, so you simply stay quiet. You were taken away from your family on your tenth birthday, initially being forced to work for the royal family as a maiden after your parents’ death. But the general saw how much potential you had while joining a made-up sword combat battle with his son and decided to take you under his wing and into training. 

You grew up fast and so did your skills. You’re now one of the astutest and most trustworthy members of the military regime, exclusively permitted to stay by the crown prince’s side in order to protect his life at all costs. Little did they know, you’ve sworn to take the prince’s life one day since you first stepped foot into the palace. You wanted them to witness the light going out in his eyes as he took his last breath so that they'd know how you felt that day, how agony tore you apart, piece by piece. A taste of their own medicine as they let a wolf into the fold. 

Blinded by extreme hatred and malevolence, you’re utterly terrified when slowly, that distasteful feeling in your chest has turned into something else. Something that isn't supposed to be here. Moreover, you’ve developed a particularly strange kind of feeling towards the crown prince. Unfortunately. 

The king says softly. “Do you know why I demanded your presence then?” 

“I don’t know why, Your Majesty,” you answer after regaining your composure. “But I will take full responsibility for what I’ve potentially done wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong, my dear,” he tells you with a fatherly smile. “My son is going to go on a trip to one of our alliances’ kingdom, and I can’t possibly think of anyone else to escort him there safely.”

“May I ask what is the purpose of His Highness’s trip, Your Majesty?”

The king merely smiles and sighs, the tone in his voice unfathomable. “Ah, you see,” he coughs into the sleeve of his robe that’s made of the finest kind of material, struggling to keep his words firm. “I can’t stay- forever, so I figure his coronation- should take place as soon as possible. And it has also come to my attention that it’s time for him to find a queen.” 

And your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, your whole world suddenly turns upside down. 

four. 

Jisung falls flat onto his face, fists clenching as he manages to push himself up by his forearms not long after, blowing the sweaty strands of hair to prevent them from sticking to his face.

“Your Highness,” you heave, breaths coming in short as you support yourself onto your knees, your heart rate increasing by the nanosecond. “You can take a break if I’m exhausting you, there’s no need to act tough,” you almost hiss through gritted teeth, a strange glint flashing in your eyes. And then it’s gone before he can even make out what it is. 

The prince laughs in amusement, cocking his head to the side. “Are you okay, Y/N? You seem a little...” he swallows thickly before continuing. “..on edge today.”

You shake your head and crane your neck tiredly, sighing when your muscles pop. “I’ve never felt better, Your Highness,” you grimace when he finally picks himself up from the ground, chest falling and rising at a consistent pace. “May I ask why you’re concerned about my current condition?”

He doesn’t respond and instead throws himself at you, fist curled into a punch. It’s inevitable, he’s too predictable at this point. You duck and drive an uppercut low into his flesh, right below his belly button. The blow stings, but he barely notices when it forces a gasp out of his lips. His body staggers backward and he falls on his back, coughing furiously on the concrete surface. 

You brush some of the dust off your clothes, wiping the sweat away on your eyebrows and let out a soundless chuckle. “Your Highness, here, allow me,” you outstretch one of your hands and what happens next gives you no time to register or react properly. 

Jisung grabs a fistful of dust and tosses it towards your direction when he sees how you’re offering him a hand. You immediately use your forearm as a shield to protect your eyes. And in those vulnerable moments, as you’re distracted, he sweeps a hand under your legs so that you’ll fall hard on the ground, sending more dust into the air. He easily topples himself over and braces himself on his forearms, securing you beneath his figure in a matter of seconds. 

“Y/N,” he says between labored breaths, “I thought we’ve had a discussion on this topic. You are allowed to call me by my name, you officially have my consent. Why are you so damn stubborn?”

You only huff at that, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. And he thinks you look ridiculously adorable, like a child. “To inform you, we did have the discussion but I refused to address you as your name because, well, I’d rather not have my head chopped off for disrespecting the prince.” You tell him firmly, but still unable to look him dead in the eye. The image of the fearless, empowering warrior has been stripped to a bare minimum when his doe eyes map out your delicate features. 

In his eyes, you’re just Y/N. The little girl who his father brought into the palace, who’s supposed to be a maid as many others but went through tough, resilient training under the general’s wing at a young age. The childhood friend who told him that sometimes, putting others’ well being before his own is something that he should know and embrace. You’re the one who spent plenty of sleepless nights by his side when he’s having difficulties with studying. He’d lean on your shoulder as you read a scroll aloud, his eyes growing heavier and heavier until he completely dozed off. 

But in yours, he’s still the crown prince, the one who will have the entirety of this kingdom within the grasp of his palm someday. You’re nothing more but a lowly servant to him for the time being. At some point, you won’t be in his life anymore. 

“That was years ago,” you scoff. “And also, you cheated.”

“Of course I did, a man needs to do what he has to in order to win,” Jisung claims with a bright smile, one that you haven’t seen in a fairly long time. It tickles something in the pit of your stomach and heat flares through your nostrils, sprinkling a shade of coral on the apples of your cheeks. He’s so breathtaking even when there are dirt and sweat on his features, they’re not enough to cover up his beauty. 

You roll your eyes as an attempt to ignore the rouge on your cheeks, “Would you care to tell me what you’re trying to win then, Your Highness? Since you always look so determined to defeat me in person-to-person combat.” 

“Your heart,” he answers with absolutely no hesitation, a spark igniting at the back of his orbs when you stare at him with wide eyes. He can see right through you without making an effort, and all you want to do is to bury yourself alive. You hate how he can make your legs weak with something as simple as a slight glance. 

“Is it because of my father? What did he say?”

“He said nothing,” you look away. “I simply quit. Chan will be responsible for your safety from now on.”

“What do you mean you quit? You do realize that there’s a village full of notorious killers and thieves on the way there right?” 

You reply bitterly because he’s talking to a murderer without even knowing it, “I’m not going to escort you to the alliance’s kingdom,” and your heart cracks a bit when the stars in his eyes fade away in disappointment. “I’m sorry, but I quit.”

“So are you jealous? Of my marriage?” Jisung voices sadly, and with every word, he feels as though someone is repeatedly stabbing his chest with a knife, desired to carve out his heart with their bare hands. “Is that why you’ve been acting strange this whole time? Is that why you’re avoiding me these past few days, why you refused to escort me to the alliance’s kingdom? Is that why—“

You cut him off with a cold tone, eyes threatening to water. “Your Highness, I think you and I are both mature enough to know where the line is drawn. I really hope you won't ever cross it. It’s better off this way. Soon enough, you and your future queen will be—“

Wordlessly, he inches closer and seals the gap between your lips and his. Goosebumps bubble up on the surface of your skin when he angles his face to deepen the soft kiss, warm breath brushing over your cheek constantly. You’re slow to reciprocate it but give in when his hands gently lift your head up, caressing you like you’re the most fragile thing in this world. His everything is finally wrapped around his fingers, and he’s never gonna let you go. Not in this lifetime. Not even in the next ones. 

“Can’t you be my queen?”

He breaks the kiss and stares deeply into your eyes, looking for an answer behind the stoic facade that you've been keeping up for so long. Suddenly tears pool in your eyes and flow down on your cheeks, percolating through the flushed surface. His smile falters when you hold onto his robe so tightly that your knuckles start turning white. 

Because of him, you’ve learned to not drown yourself in revenge and dwell on the past. Because of him, you’ve found the other missing half of yourself so that you won’t feel so isolated in this solitary world. But your love for him is more than enough to let him go. 

“I can’t, and I won’t.” 

“After all this time, did everything mean nothing to you? Did I mean nothing to you? Was it all just a lie? After everything we’ve gone through? Tell me that it’s not,” Jisung takes your hand in his, wiping your tears away endearingly.

“If you’re asking me have I ever seen you as something more than just the prince, then no,” You simply shake your head, “But if you’re asking me whether everything was just a lie, then I can’t answer that.”

Because a love big enough to willingly let go is the greatest love of them all.

 five.

Your tired figure storms out of your respective quarters as soon as Hyunjin informs you that Jisung is urgently in need of your presence. It’s almost his bedtime and you’re utterly alarmed that someone’s intruded the palace and intended to hurt him. He is the rightful heir of the throne, after all, the person who will lead and bring the kingdom to success. It’s not surprising or the first time someone’s tried to take his life. But you’re never gonna let that happen. 

“Your Highness, did something happen?” You bust through the paper-lined door abruptly with a hand already reaching for your weapon, the handle of Chan’s sword feels foreign at your touch. “Are you okay?” Concern is evident in your tone as you dart your eyes from one place to another, looking for anything suspicious. Aren’t guards supposed to barge in by now too?

But your arrival is only met with the prince waiting patiently for you at his ebony table, calmly reading one of his scrolls as if nothing’s happened. “Ah, you came,” he simply smiles at you and waves you over, signaling you to join him with whatever he’s dealing with. “Come here.”

The grip on the handle of the sword falls and your jaw almost drops to the floor. “What? I don’t understand-“

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t spend the whole day with you,” he cuts you off shyly while scratching the nape of his neck. And when you briskly walk over to his workspace, his starry eyes sparkling under the dimmed candles, taking the breath right out of your lungs. “Father wanted me to join him in conducting court affairs so I can learn a thing or two. Hence, I wasn’t able to see you at all.” 

You tilt your head to the side in confusion, your brows furrowed. What is he so sorry for? “So you’re not hurt?” You grab either side of his face out of instinct, checking it in every angle possible as your eyes search for any injuries, even just something as small as a tiny scratch on the prince’s face can alert the entire palace. 

Jisung shakes his head and peels your head away with ease, making direct eye contact with you. Again, you make a grave mistake by staring deeply into the cosmos in his warm orbs, floating inside his nebula softly. You don’t think the thoughts have ever occurred to you before but you truly adore his smile to the moon and back. How his cheeks bunched up, how his eyes crinkle and how it showcases his perfectly white teeth. Something stirs the inside of your chest whenever he does something as simple as grinning at you playfully during practice. And you know the reason behind that very well, you just can’t bring yourself to accept it. 

“No,” he tuts with a jut of his bottom lip. “I just wanted to see you.” 

You almost gawk at that, wide-eyed expression as you draw yourself back from his grasp on your hands. “You what?!” And when he just gives his shoulders a sheepish shrug, your blood is practically boiling and the heat starts rising to your cheeks. He’s absurd. Hyunjin’s absurd. All of this is absurd. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you yet you still called me in at this hour?! And what for?!” You scream out your anger at the top of your lungs, deciding to drop the formalities for once when you’re already trying too hard to not...end his life, in which you’ve sworn an oath to protect it as long as your existence still grazes the surface of this planet. 

How ironic. 

The crown prince of Goryeo is rather childish...and irrational, a stark contrast to what you’ve been told by the elders back when you’re still living in your small hometown. They said children at your age in the palace were strictly forced into the perfect molds so that when they grew older, they would lead the country to a future as ‘perfect’ as the standards that the previous generations swore by. 

The prince is full of flaws, he is flawed, to begin with. He talks too fast and throws too many nonsense tantrums after getting to know someone, he has the tenacity of a five-year-old, and he stares at his own reflection one too many times a day. But that’s what makes him who he is today, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You don’t wanna admit it, but he is perfectly imperfect. 

“I already told you,” a playful grin lingers on his lips, but that only makes your face morph deeper into a frown. He’s usually not this annoying or irritating so it’s starting to get on your nerves. You just hope that you won’t end up strangling him tonight. “I wanted to see you, because I missed you,” the prince tells you in a nonchalant tone, amused by how the coral shade on your cheeks isn’t fading away. 

Jisung continues with a smile, “And also because it’s your birthday.”

“Huh?”

It's what?

Your mind slowly processes the simple sentence that just escaped his lips like it’s solving a conundrum of some sort and you widen your eyes almost immediately. It is your birthday. How could you forget? It’s a shame to say that you spend days and nights mostly with Chan and the military regime, dedicating years after years of your youth to learn all of these skills as a compulsory service for the royal family so that your head is as cold as ice and your heart is as stern as a rock. You’re obligated to do anything and everything that they demand, every task must be done neatly and effectively, only so will they be satisfied. Anything and everything. And murders are no exception. 

Failure? Mistakes? Not an option. 

It’s twisted, to a degree, yes. But most of the murdering cases you have taken are aimed at people who truly deserve it. It feels as if you’re doing karma’s job, making them pay for what they have done, for the crimes and sins they have committed. Though that doesn’t mean you have never touched innocent people before. So such things as birthdays are unnecessary and almost annoying in your mindset. 

“I have something for you,” Jisung’s soft voice brings you back to reality. And before you know it, he’s already pulled you to the very back of the courtyard by the wrist. You, him and Chan used to come here every day after your studies or practices, just lying comfortably on the grass with the iridescent moonlight beaming down at you. The three of you used to laugh here, messing around with each other as normal kids should be. Although those moments happened very rarely and hurriedly, you know that you’d never trade them for anything else. 

He tells you when you both lean yourselves against the ugly tree that’s been there since forever and clasps his hands together excitedly, “Close your eyes,”

“If you’re gonna give me flowers again—“

“That was one time! One time!”

You allow your eyelids to drop nonetheless because that way, he wouldn’t know that you’re rolling your eyes at him, “And the only few things that I’m allergic to in this world are flowers.”

“Y/N, this is me trying to prove to you that I really do care about you, okay?” His words tug at your heartstrings and you flinch slightly as he places something cool into the palm of your hand. “You can take a look now.” 

You open your eyes and gasp when you see the most delicate, and elegant silver hair brooch you’ve ever seen. There’s a lotus with dangling tassels on the end, minimal yet detailed jewels are embedded very carefully onto every single petal. This is so incredibly thoughtful of him, not only remembering your birthday but also taking consideration in preparing you a present. It warms your heart knowing that he’s serious with his feelings, that he isn’t just playing around like the other guys in court. “Jisung,” you breathe out as light as a feather. “This is beautiful...but I can’t take it.”

“Nonsense,” the prince shakes his head, squeezing your shoulders. “I’m quite certain you’d look pretty with it. Don’t you like it?”

“No, I- I love it,” you utter every word with clear difficulties as he stares straight into your soul. He really needs to stop before you do something you’re gonna regret. “But I’ll probably never have the chance to wear this even..” You look down at the piece of accessory in your hand and your eyes flicker upwards when he gently closes your palm shut, the silver material cool against your skin and his fingers warm over your burning flesh. 

He starts to lean in, inching closer with every word, “With or without it, you’re still the prettiest in my—“

“Y/N! There you are!”

Jisung immediately clears his throat and pulls away with flaming cheeks upon the new arrival of the unwanted guest. You snap your head back at the owner of the cheerful voice to find Chan carrying your sword and waving at you with his free hand. The eye bags under his eyes seem to be less noticeable whenever he’s in a good mood. Clearly. He always shows up so timely, and it doesn’t help when you’re already so confused and conflicted with your own feelings. 

“Woojin is done with my sword already?” You quickly dismiss how the prince is murmuring curse words at his friend while his eyes are surprisingly interested in the veiny and bumpy bark of the tree. 

Chan nods, “Yep,” he tosses you the weapon and you quickly catch it with one hand due to natural reflex, sliding it out of the leather sheath. “He even tried to put together a little surprise.” 

You’re in awe at how the blacksmith has attentively carved out your name on the blade, every detail is sharp and nicely done. And the blood from your previous...work trips has been scrubbed away completely as if the beauty of this weapon has never been tampered with. You almost feel bad for his other customers just because he always puts you over the rest with ease. “This is so sweet of him,” with a smile on your face, you slide it back into the leather cover. “Tell him that I’ll treat him something next time.”

“But it was my idea,” Chan pouts and says in a whiny tone while the prince is still sending death glares his way. “Oh, was I interrupting something?”

“Yes you—“

You immediately interject, “Oh nothing! Nothing at all!” But then again, Chan’s not dumb and you’re not very good at faking things. And also, Jisung definitely doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. 

“I was gonna kiss her!” He pries out loud and you clasp a hand onto his mouth almost immediately, trying way too hard to keep a straight face. You hope someone accidentally pours cold water in his bath later on.

Chan sends you both a greasy smile, “Please do so,” and you hope Woojin snaps his sword in half the next time he asks for a checkup. “It’ll be quite a scene to watch. And I won’t mind at all, it should be fun to inform His Majesty about this.”

“Did you just threaten me?” You huff and cross your arms. 

Jisung snorts involuntarily, “Did you just deny that you hate my kiss?”

“I hate it as much as I hate both of you.”

Chan simply chuckles at that before squishing your cheeks together, “You can curse me as you please but you’ll never hate him. You’re far too busy loving him, where’s the time to even give him a taste of your hatred?”

“Whenever my wrists are itching for a punch,” you yank his hands away and say harshly, but apparently, he isn’t intimidated by it at all. “Or when he’s practicing with me, just like the other day when I—“

“Alright alright, that’s not me!”

“It is you, Your Highness, I know what a little girl sounds like.”

Instead of continuing with this brainless banter, Chan decides to pull the both of you into a tight headlock, and lungs-crushing embrace, “Now now, you two, come here. Hugs make everything better,” he claims with a dimpled smile, which is responded with an eye roll from the prince and a small giggle from you. 

“It still doesn’t change the fact that we both hate you,” the prince mumbles. 

You can’t possibly imagine your life without these two by your side. 

six.

In the serenade of the black velvet sky lies a choir of stars, singing in the infinite pattern to soothe the humans’ souls. As strange as it sounds, the eyes are in need of music every now and then too. Especially when all Chan witnesses on a daily basis consists of casualties and guards yelling at some random villagers on the streets. The job’s tedious, he thinks, how guards think they can step on others so easily when they’re merely just parasites living off the royal family’s trust and ignorance. 

You hold back the urge to spit in the guard’s face, “Don’t touch me.” He quickly backs off, cowering behind everyone else until Chan dismisses them with a wave of his hand, boredom laced in his brown eyes. And coldly, “What?” You almost kick yourself for sounding more nervous than you’ve intended to. 

“You know,” Chan keeps his back against you, speaking softly. “I thought it was strange for some thief to rescue the slaves that are being traded in the black market. And how that single thief managed to take down our guards too. Something just feels...off,” he fondly peeks over his shoulders with a dimpled smile. “I should have known that it’s you.”

The slight amusement in his tone makes your heart flinch in a split second. Even the moon looks like it’s judging you, its delicate light illuminating the land beneath, watching over mundane mortals like you every night. Such dominance and fluorescence can’t be hidden even by the dull, creeping clouds floating endlessly on the starless sky. Right now, it feels like the eye of the Devil is piercing right through your soul, a damned being. 

Chan turns around when you don’t respond, exhaling a sigh with a hand on your shoulder. “Look, I know that you’re upset-“

“I’m not upset!” You unknowingly snap at him, chest heaving up and down when anger flares through your nostrils. But you’re quick to be taken aback by your own action. “I’m sorry, I- I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, it’s just-“

Chan muffles your words by pulling you into a tight, brotherly hug. One that makes you want to strip off the facade you’ve been keeping up with for so long and just let your tears flow down on your cheeks until your heart stops aching. He always knows what’s inside your head and never fails to think in your shoes. “There there,” he pats your head as an attempt to comfort you. “Hugs make everything better, right?”

You mumble into the crook of his neck, “What are you talking about?”

“I know that you like Jisung,” you widen your eyes at that, a bitter taste rising in your throat. “And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

“Don’t- don’t do that,” you clutch onto his robe, your bruised knuckles turning white. “Don’t give me false hope when I’m already unsure about my own feelings.”

Chan rocks you back and forth, followed by a deep exhale. He hates how your eyebags have become more permanent in the past few days, how lifeless you look during practice and how you’ve been sneaking out every night just to distract yourself from the harsh reality. “I don’t know about you, Y/N, but if I’m not mistaken here, then I can reassure you that he’s in love with you as much as you are with him.”

Regardless of what Chan said, you’ve already had something else on your mind. 

You dash towards the west wing as soon as Chan breaks the hug, all that echoing in your head are the sounds of your shoes tapping against the concrete ground and blood roaring in your ears. What’s the point of falling in love with when you’ve already broken the promise you made years ago in front of your parents’ graves? You hate him. You hate them. All of them. Those who took you away from your own home and tossed you into their life as if you’re a rag doll for sale, like a product that can be traded with materialistic values. It disgusts you to the bones knowing that they’re the same people who raised you, who taught you how to fight, but they also taught you how to love and not judge a book by its cover. 

The love you have for Jisung isn’t supposed to exist in the first place yet the universe tugged the wrong string and now you’re tangled in this intoxicating mess. You wish you could just drive your sword straight into his heart and run away from the palace, from Chan, from him, from everything. But the bond you’ve accidentally created in the long run is now backfiring on your conscience, it disheartens you knowing that you’ll never have a happy ending. 

But if having your heart shattered into a million pieces means he will live happily ever after, then so be it.

seven.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

“Let him be.”

Chan abruptly stops the servant from following the crown prince, who’s taking long, hurried strides out of his private courtyard. The gaze in his eyes darkens and sadness glinting in his once warm brown orbs. Gods and fate aren’t very righteous and fair after all. They just love to meddle with the mortals’ feeling as if they’re nothing but mere puppets, created with the purpose to entertain their boring life. But one wrong tug and everything can fall apart, utterly demolished. 

Rain soon comes pouring down on Goryeo, completely oblivious about the life that it’s giving. Whether in warmth or coldness, sunlight or moonlight, rain’s humble with its role. It washes away the soil on the freshly cut grass, on the beautiful rows of flowers in the garden. If only it could wash away the imminent agony in his chest cavity. Each drop sounds like music to the prince’s ears as he feels like he’s taking a trip down memory lane, recalling the day that he met you. 

Jisung will never forget the moment he realized that he loved you. 

You looked about his age, still innocent, almost childish, but with bloodshot eyes from crying and bruised knuckles from trying to wrestle yourself out of the guards’ grip. With a white scarf around your neck, he could barely make out the bottom half of your face but he was convinced, no, he knew that you’re gonna be the most beautiful person he’d meet in the entire kingdom. Far more beautiful than any of the girls he’s ever encountered in the palace. 

And you’re the only person who makes him feel genuinely wanted and loved for who he really is, not just the crown prince of Goryeo. Years after years living side by side, you never really pushed him away even when you’re giving him nothing but what seemed like a look of distaste. And slowly that raw connection grew into something much more meaningful and profound. 

Deep down, he knows that he’ll always love you like it’s the beginning because since day one, since your very first encounter, he has already fallen all in for you. He fell in love with every single inch of you, even the parts that you’re utterly terrified of. He loves the way you talk with your chin high up, eyes full of pride and confidence. Outsiders would call him crazy for falling for someone who’s not ‘qualified’ enough but none of the women in his circle has yet to make his heart flutter. 

But when he started to love you, he realized he’s never loved anyone this way before. He wants to grow old with you, even if that means he can never have the same luxurious life again. Nothing matters when happiness is dangling at the tips of his fingers and he’s never gonna let it go. He’s never gonna let you go. 

And maybe, you might feel the same way after all this time. 

“Y/N!” Jisung calls out to you when he sees your hooded figure at the east gate, which will lead you straight out of the palace as long as you strictly follow the pathway. You snap your head back and meet his eyes. Yes, he can still perfectly make out your brilliant features in this cracked darkness. 

You pull your hood down and your silky hair blows delicately in the wind, your eyes sparkling under the radiant moonlight. You’re still as beautiful as ever, even when there’s evident pain in your surprised expression. “What- What are you doing here?” Your eyes grow twice their previous size, your mouth agape. “Your Highness, aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Your Highness,” you reply bitterly. “Please head back and get some rest. You have to leave early in the morning tomorrow.”

He quickly brushes your words off, “Why would you risk your life out there like that? So easily? So carelessly?”

“I’m fully capable and everything was under control, so I don’t see what’s the problem here.”

“What’s the problem here?” Jisung lets out a humorless laugh, and now you’re starting to think that he’s just messing with you for the hell of it. “It’s not wrong that you put others before yourself but have you ever thought about yourself? Have you ever thought about me? Do you-“ his voice trembles, with every word, he takes another step towards you. “Do you know how scared I was? Do you know how important you are to me?”

Your heart is caught in your throat, thumping vigorously right there, drowning out the sound of the rain and your own breathing. “But you’re more important to me,” you confess with teary eyes, heart immediately dropping to the pit of your stomach. “I’m terrified of losing you but more terrified that you’ll never be happy because of me. So please, stop making it harder for me-“

Your words linger on the tip of your tongue when he embraces you, the warmth of his hands and the coldness of his damp robe sending chills down your spine. Jisung holds onto you so tightly, refusing to ever let you slip out of his arms. And you hold onto him like it’s the last time, relaxing your muscles into the moment. His hands on the small of your back burn like fire and his love for you prickles your heart. Yet you’re willing to throw yourself at the burning forest of thorns because you know that you’re the happiest when you’re with him. 

“I’ve always imagined myself being happy,” A smile blooms on his lips. “And it’s with you.”

But your mind tells you otherwise as much as you want to run away with him. You can’t have the kingdom on the verge of falling because of the new king’s sudden absence on the throne. Moreover, you’re bound to your own hatred and duties, you can never be the reason for him to simply throw everything away. 

“A wise king will always put the people’s needs before his own, Your Highness,” And his smile falls, your words tugging at his heartstrings. “You should head back now, it’s getting late. Do allow me to escort you there.” 

Jisung doesn’t reject it because he’s afraid that this might be the last time he’ll ever meet you. 

eight.

Night falls fast upon Goryeo. No more than an hour ago was the sky painted with beautiful hues of red, orange and pink when Chan came back to the palace with a deep wound on his shoulder blade. Now there’s nothing left but a matte black canvas without stars to be looked upon. Other than the everlasting darkness, you and your trusty horse, all that seems to exist is the chilly wind with the uneasy feeling twisting in your stomach. 

You’ve underestimated the cold of the night when a breeze passes by you and your heart shudders. You can’t tell whether it’s because of the chilling touch or something else, the only thing on your mind right now is the crown prince. Even if losing him to someone else forever means saving his life, you won’t dare to protest twice. 

It’s a battlefield that can’t quite appear as anything else; the clangor of weapons has died down, the shouting of the slaughters and victims have been hushed, an eerie silence lays on the crimson-colored ground, where the dead soldiers lay in heaps. 

The moon finally reveals itself once you hop off your horse, red marks evident across your palms from clutching onto its reigns for so long. Under the blindingly silver light are broken blades glitter along with the soiled, bloodied armors that you can recognize without effort. The once harmless village is now void and eerie like a graveyard for the unburied. These men have sacrificed their lives for someone you should have protected with your own. Life moves on so easily but somewhere, their fathers, mothers, their brothers, sisters or even children are waiting in vain. 

And it’s all your fault. 

Silent sobs form inside your throat as you bite them down, your legs growing weak at the sight of the dead crown prince, his eyes as immobile as his limbs, blood oozing from the fresh wound on his stomach while his helmet is abandoned next to his body, snapped in half, utterly useless.

Leaves rustling softly. Wisps of air whispering against your eardrums. The moon silent as if it’s mourning for him.  

You hug his limp body close as tears stream down on your cheeks, your skin cool against the night breeze. Your heart aches with every heavy breath that you take, every cell inside your body is shuddering, accepting defeat in the thick darkness. You’re losing the man you love because of your own inconsideration and stubbornness. 

“You came,” Jisung rasps out, dehydration straining his vocal cords as he can feel his body getting weaker by the second. “You really came..”

You force a smile to mirror his expression, “Of course I’d come, I swore to protect you with my whole life, didn’t I?” 

He touches your cheek delicately as if you’re the most fragile thing in this world, but also to prove to himself that he’s not dreaming. “I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you, Jisung.”

“Why not?”

“Because I ended up loving you,” you say. “Even when I promised myself that I would never fall for someone like you.”

Jisung nods and his hand feels cold against your cheek, mustering every strand of willpower left to stretch out one moment into a thousand, just so he can embed every detail of you into the deepest parts of his heart and soul. “It shouldn’t hurt us like this, it shouldn’t be this painful.” He manages to whisper. “But it is what it is.”

He’s not ready to let you go, but he doesn’t have a second choice. No one ever does. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jisung smiles at you one more time and takes his last breath, allowing death to engulf him wholly. 

“Jisung,” you choke out, caressing his face when his hand falls from your cheek. Like a fool, you’re still holding onto that slim ray of false hope with the wish of him waking up again and smiling at you. “Didn’t you say that whatever I do, where I go, you’ll always come back to me? Huh? So why can’t you?”

As the warmth slips away from his body, you cry out aloud, almost desperate for the gods above to hear you. You can hear your own sounds, raw from the inside like a distressed child, “I love you, please just wake up,” you sob. “I won’t run away, I’m never gonna leave you again. I’m right here! So why can’t you just wake up? Why?!” There’s no word to describe the grief-stricken feeling that’s panging repeatedly on your chest. It tears you apart, piece by piece until you’re left with nothing but the broken shards, having no choice to carry them with you like an unwanted scar for the rest of your life. 

“I will be your queen! If that’s what it takes for you to just look at me again,” you tell him with a prolonged sigh, shivers running down your spine before it goes numb. You rock Jisung back and forth, gazing grievously at the empty space ahead with bloodshot eyes, streaks of tears drying on your cheeks like a madwoman. “Come back to me, please, I need you, more than anything in this world. Please..” 

“Please, stay with me..”

You ignore the pool of tears in your eyes and try to study his features; from his doe eyes, his button nose, and his prominent philtrum. You’ve always stared at and admired him like it’s your first encounter but this time, it’s probably the last. Because no stars are present to grant a wish upon you anymore. 

Those slaughters owe their lives to him and you’re going to make sure that they all learn their lessons before karma can even get a good grip on their necks. Every single one of them. It’s ironic how you used to be one of them, ignorant and oblivious about what really happens inside the palace. There’s more than just being wrapped in the finest materials of clothing and stepping on the lower class. Jisung taught you to open your point of view so that you won’t be stuck inside your own box of misery and anguish forever. 

“Jisung…” your eyes sting, your tongue tastes sour and the sound of his name is embittered to your ears. “I’ll keep you in my heart for eternities, and watch you from afar.” 

You reach for the sword on his waistline, gripping on the handle so tightly that your knuckles turn white. You’ve failed yourself for not accepting your true feelings and now the consequences are irremediable. If he doesn’t haunt you in the next lifetime, the title of a traitor will until your conscience tears you apart. 

“Until we meet again,” you swallow your tears bitterly. “Time will show you how much I love you.”

You shake your head profusely to prevent your eyes from watering again when you realize how Jisung walked into your chaos and never left. He loved you at your darkest, broke down your walls and let the lights in. Whenever he looked at you, the world just stopped; all noises and beings were canceled out, nothing else mattered. The world just stopped, it’s a beautiful place because there was him. 

Jisung loved you unconditionally, and you don’t think that will ever change. 

If only you repricocated his feelings. 

epilogue.

Time begins to dissolve into itself, and as far as it’s concerned, people will come then unfairly go. Regardless of this haunted, friendless world, time will never stop.

So will you.

Because one century after another, wandering from places to places, even when your hands are stained with blood belongs to who you can’t be bothered to remember, even when tears blur your vision and sting your eyes, even when your mortal body ages into nothing but utter rot, your heart still longs for Jisung every single day. 

The future was always something you ought to worry about, let it be your young mind or the lack of wisdom along with experience, you used to feel an uneasy knot inside your stomach every night, not getting a single wink of sleep. You gave plenty of thoughts in how your entire life is mercilessly confined into a fragile speck of timeline. You didn’t feel like you had much time, every second, every minute, every hour was seemingly slipping through your fingers like sand, disintegrating into the ground like the fallen raindrops, vanishing like a mirage across the desert. But now, you’re having all the time everyone could yearn for in the world. You’re forbidden to look back, for time will end you and all your effort will go to waste.

You broke your promise that day with your parents but you’ve protected the oath of keeping Jisung in your heart and watching him from afar. 

And you have no regrets. You chuckle to yourself as you kick a pebble on the sidewalk. 

It’s absolutely glorious in its own inception, with joints of the grey stones so precisely situated that they’re almost invisible. There’s music on the streets, a melody of chaos being born throughout time, a tempo so buzzing and unique that makes it seem like you’ll never keep up. But that’s what connects the world together, every being united as one with a universal soul. People pushing and shoving each other are almost nothing but phantoms to you, utterly meaningless. You feel like an outcast, but you’re no stranger to the moon or the stars above. 

With the white scarf covering the bottom half of your face, you cross your arms and sigh deeply when your back leans against the wall of an old building. You can tell that it was an apartment complex before, but a team from the authorities is in the process of demolishing it. The paint is chipping, cracks are evident as a result of the previous summer heat. You’ve seen walls like this plenty of times before in movies, but this particular one stirs something inside your stomach because the building seems like it’s in need of love and its time here is up. It makes you wonder, how much time do you have left?

A lot has changed, and so did you. Nothing will ever be the same again but you’re still here for a reason. A purpose. A recognition. 

The sun’s setting as clouds give of their rain to the grass and trees when the scenery before you becomes more alive than ever. Droplets of rain race each other with their own thrilling ride to the earthly surface, creating a soothing harmony from one of Mother Nature’s songs, drowning out the entire world. You can feel each splash warm against your skin, and you watch in amusement when your cardigan turns into a darker shade of blue. 

You close your eyes and see Jisung, just like how you do every night. A day shall not pass unless you think, or dream about him. You see him sitting next to you before the lake, gazing at the stars with your head on his shoulder. You see him stuffing his cheeks with too much food to the point that he looks like a squirrel whenever you’re eating out by yourself. And you see him by your bedside, brushing your hair out of your face and humming the sweetest melodies to you before sleep draws a hand over your eyes. 

But this time, it’s your very first encounter. 

Him speculating the tiniest detail of a droplet of rain like it’s the most wondrous thing he’s ever seen. And you stared at the curious prince dejectedly, mentally scoffing at the odd demeanor for a member of the royal bloodline. You can recall every single detail vividly, it still feels like yesterday when he told you it’s okay to cry, and that he’d always protect you. You wanted to take him by the hand and lead him away. On that very same day, you let his voice soak in, his words and the way his arms held your sobbing form, refusing to ever pull away. 

“I just feel like I have to, and I know in my heart, that it’s right.”

Sometimes the one thing we’ve been looking for our whole life feels so out of reach, but it turns out to be right in front of our eyes all this time. 

You slowly open your eyes and a silent tear rolls down on your cheek. Although blurred from the pool of salty liquid, they didn’t miss how a glimpse of a familiar figure is pushing themselves through the ground with clear difficulties. On the other side of the street, stands a boy with doe eyes, cute button nose, and sharp Cupid’s bow. He’s struggling to hold all the heavy pieces of filming equipment by himself under the rain while his friends are waving him over from a nearby van. 

Despite the frantic expression on his face, you’re more than certain that after all these years, you’ve found him. Both of your worlds seem to collide once again when his eyes flutter upwards from underneath his wet fringe and meet yours, golden specks floating softly in his orbs. His features are glowing under the limited source of light, the wind caressing his now short hair softly. 

Happiness makes your chest swell along with thousands of different emotions that you’ve been holding in for almost a hundred decades now bloom like a beautiful field of flowers. You haven’t felt this way in the longest time, and your lips can’t help but crack into a smile. He’s finally living a good life again. What a relief. 

Someone yells aloud from inside the vehicle, “Jisung, you’re gonna get them all wet!”

“Coming!”

His eyes flit away just as fast as when they held yours, his hood being thrown over his head lazily. Almost coldly. 

He didn’t smile back. 

❖ a/n : if you’ve made it to the end of this fic, thank you so much! It really means a lot to me since my confidence has been shaken up a little. I hope you all enjoyed my attempt at smth different rather than domestic au (or at least I tried) stay happy + healthy always!

[brittledame]

Pairing: Shirabu Kenjirou/Reader

Warnings: Explicit, hate-sex, swearing, name calling, light bondage, edging, overstimulation, semi-public sex

Word Count: 6.6K

Summary:  Contrary to what you both believed, the tryst in the study room only served to intensify the tense air between you two. Not wanting to acknowledge how he’s been on your mind since, you shut him out completely. Unknowing to you, Shirabu is plagued with the same thoughts. Tension boils over once again as you find yourself left alone with him in the gym.

Series: Part 2 of 3 (Part 1 & Part 3)

To say that the last few weeks since handing in the assignment have been tense was an understatement. Ever since the incident in the study room, your head has been in utter disarray.

There were many things on the burning pile of your mind that added to your mounting vexation. The first one being that you gave into him, and no matter how pleasurable that was, it was a major blow to your pride. Since that library session, Shirabu acted as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. Hell, if you weren’t for the bruises painted on your hips, you might’ve convinced yourself it was a very vivid sex dream about your rival.

Unlike Shirabu’s heated anger, yours was more of the frosty kind. Cold shoulders punctuated with icy looks. The two of you were opposites in every sense of the term and yet he haunted you like an embarrassing childhood memory that refuses to let you sleep.

You let your hand slip out from where it was supporting your cheek and let your head ‘thunk’ against the table. Concerned, Natsuki pauses from her bento and gives you an assessing look.

“Alright, you’ve been acting weird for a while now. Are you alright?” Natsuki narrow her eyes at you, a silent warning that you wouldn't get away with lying.

Asides from her expression, you could hear concern ring loud and clear in her voice. Natsuki was a dear friend but she was also as stubborn as a bull if she wanted something, just like you. Now that you think of it, maybe that was why you two got along so well.

Knowing that you weren’t going to be able to evade the question, you give her a plausible excuse.

“University entrance exams are getting closer and I feel like I’m hitting a wall when I try to study.”

It was partially true. Albeit the reason you were hitting a wall was mostly because you can’t go more than an hour sitting there without your thoughts drifting to Shirabu’s hands on your hips, thrusting inside of you with vitriolic comments on the tip of his tongue. But Natsuki didn’t need to know all of that.

Accepting the lame excuse, Natsuki nods her head in empathy.

“I feel you there,” she frowns, “with my council duties on top of everything, I feel like I’m doing work but getting nowhere with it. They have me running around every afternoon trying to get forms signed. By the time I’m done I don’t want to study.”

You quietly hum at her tribulations. Annoyed at your uncharacteristic brooding demeanour recently, Natsuki sharply prods your cheek with her chopstick. You bat her hand away and turn to weakly glare up at her.

In your periphery, a flash of copper-toned hair catches your attention. Peering at the boy that’s been distracting you from the corner of your eyes, you could see him sitting like a statue among the lively chatter of his table. For some reason, the mere sight of his blank face and stupidly straight fringe elicited anger inside of you.

If it wasn’t clear before, that reaction to his existence was enough to rule out the possibility of you falling for him. This fills you with relief. You had suspected the possibility when you caught yourself thinking about him on a daily basis, but the thought terrified you.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Natsuki pouts at you, hand poised to jab you in the cheek with her chopstick again.

“Yes.”

“Is that a yes to delivering the form or for listening?”

“Both,” you absent-mindedly answer, eyeing off your unfinished bento, knowing you weren't in the mood to finish it.

“Thanks for doing this favour for me.” Natsuki sounded genuinely glad as she riffles through her binder she refuses to leave in her desk.

With a small ‘aha’, she pulls out a sheath of paper and holds it out to you. Sitting up from your slouched position, you gingerly take the paperwork. You wonder what you might’ve signed yourself up for when you see how much writing is crammed onto the first page.

“What is this?” You ask.

“I knew you weren’t listening.” Natsuki says, a knowing glint in her eyes. “I told you that I need to get the volleyball’s club captain to submit their plan for the new people filling the team roles and other admin stuff like that.”

At the casual mention of the volleyball’s captain, dread gripped your heart.

“The volleyball captain?” You parrot back weakly.

“Yeah,” she gives you an odd look, “you know, Shirabu. The guy who you claim to hate. Surely you knew he was captain.”

Oh, you knew all too well that he was the damn captain. Being the overachieving bastard that he was, as if acing high school and aiming for medical school was enough, the dick had to add in being captain to a national-placing sports team as well.

Petulantly looking away to not meet Natsuki’s unimpressed look, your eyes incidentally met golden ones. The eye contact probably lasted all of a millisecond, but it was the most you two shared over the past few weeks. With you avoiding looking at Shirabu at every possible opportunity and Shirabu himself making no attempt to address the elephant in the room, you both let the elephant waste away and dye under the lack of attention.

Breaking the eye contact, you turn your attention back to the brunette in front of you. “Why am I doing this for you?”

“Because you’re a good friend?” She bats her eyelashes at you.

You give her a flat look, not believing her for a second.

“Come on,” she whines, “you know those volleyball guys scare me. They’re way too tall.”

“They shouldn’t. They’re a bunch a meat-heads.” You don’t mention the fact that their captain is below the national height average, which you find quite hilarious for a sport that’s all about height and strength.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Whatever, I’ve got the papers now, so it’s already settled. Don’t say that I’m not a good friend.”

Natsuki gives you a wide smile that makes you pause.

“Maybe while you’re at it, you can sort out whatever happened between the two of you since working on that science project.”

Your skin breaks out in goose bumps at the innocent words paired with a meaningful undertone.

It was then that you swore to never underestimate the power of Natsuki’s perception.

Not wanting to interrupt practice and bring unnecessary attention to yourself, you decided it was best to wait until practice finished. Remembering the time practice should be ending from your previous sessions with Shirabu, you holed yourself up in the dorms during the meantime, trying your hardest to work through some practice exam questions to no avail. Your traitorous thoughts kept drifting to the copper-haired setter roughly handling you.

Phantom touches ghosted along the same places Shirabu had graced upon not that long ago. Unthinkingly, your thighs press together as the memory of him ruthlessly fucking into you plays in your mind for the umpteenth time this week alone.

Frustrated with your horny mind, you slap your cheeks. The sting drives away the faint tendrils of arousal and brings back clarity. God, now was not the time to be getting all hot and bothered over something he probably hasn’t thought twice about. You valued yourself more than to ruminate over something so basal.

Looking at the time, it signals that you should head off if you want to get the forms signed tonight as per Natsuki's explicit orders. Snatching the forms off the corner of your desk, you set off to the gym with a stone sitting heavy in your stomach.

Thankfully, it was warm enough to not wear a jacket. The heat teases the stress from your tense shoulders. The walk was calming, the scent of blooming sakura and freshly cut grass further soothing your frayed nerves.

You weren’t nervous per say, more anxious at finding out how your body may react to being in such close proximity to him again. Since that night, purposeful or not, you both struggled to find an appropriate time to meet up and decided that it was best to do it all online since the majority of it was completed.

The sounds of shoes squeaking over varnished wood along with the low murmur of male voices met your ears as you slide your shoes into a cubby and slipped on indoor shoes. You’ve only been in gym one three times before and that was for the opening ceremonies. The sight of high beam ceilings and sleek modern interior still astounded you.

The boys running around had mops in hand, whilst others climbed to dismantle nets, but most of them were missing. Looking around for a head of copper-hair, you hoped that Shirabu hadn’t left early like most captains would. However, your mission was interrupted as your sight was filled with black hair and glittering dark eyes peering at you.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Yes. Is Shirabu still here?” You answer, taking note of how tall the boy is. His face doesn’t seem familiar and you’d definitely remember meeting someone with a bowl-cut. He must be in a year below you, you reason.

“Ah,” the boy’s eyes flit over to the right, “he’s over there.”

Following his line of sight, you found Shirabu standing with his arms crossed next to an open door talking to a ginger-haired guy that you’ve definitely seen in your class before.

“Thanks.” You nod to the younger who smiles to you and continues whatever chose he was assigned.

Walking over to the pair, you catch his eye without even trying. Shirabu’s expression changes minutely, a subtle twitch of the mouth that has you contemplating homicide. You were over-reacting, surely. Still, you hoped that maybe he could fake being pleasant for as long as it takes to fill the forms out.

“Sorry to interrupt –“

“No, you’re not.” Shirabu interrupts. Well there goes the fantasy of him being pleasant for one minute. Even his tall friend gives him a look for cutting you off.

“You’re right. I’m not,” You concede. Placing a hand on your hip, you hold the papers out to him.

Shirabu blankly stares at you instead of taking them, which added to your mounting annoyance. Fine. If he wanted to play the petty game, so would you.

“These are forms for the retiring captain of the volleyball club to fill out. Unfortunately it turned out to be you.” You say with a plastic smile. “The team must be really sad to see their esteemed captain leave, huh?”

Shirabu’s jaw clenched at your poorly concealed insults, not even bothering to dress them up like you preferred to do. Expecting him to rise to the bait, you waited for the onslaught of offense he’ll spew in response.

“I’m busy right now. You can wait until I’m done.”

He brushes you off, turning and walking away from you. His friend gives you an apologetic look, knowing how shitty his friend’s personality is.

Your eye twitches with restrained violence as you watched him saunter away. With clenched hands you wait by the storage room’s doorway. You dismiss the few pitying glances from the few people walking past you to put the cleaning equipment away.

You busy yourself with your phone as Shirabu continues to waste your precious time that you could be using to catch up on some much needed studying that he was unknowingly depriving you of recently.

Kenjirou had not expected you to turn up tonight, catching him by surprise. When he noticed you, an inexplicable feeling rushed over him. He tried to keep his face neutral as you drew closer but the moment you opened your mouth he couldn’t help himself.

That temporary high of riling you up and then giving you the cold shoulder was incredible. After the weeks of your frigid treatment and the plain disregard for his existence you subjected him to, it was the least he could repay you with. The worst part of it all was that he couldn’t even ask about your sudden change of attitude, as you would try your hardest to avoid being in a room alone with him.

All he did know was that he weirdly missed the fiery attitude you possessed. It frustrated him to no end that as soon as the assignment was completed, you had done your hardest to ghost him. As much as one could when you shared the same classroom for near seven hours of the day.

Your suddenly frigid attitude didn’t stop you staring, though. Kenjirou had caught you a few times looking in his direction with an indescribable expression. From your distant expression, he couldn’t tell if you either wanted to stab him or re-enact that last study session.

Regardless, the entire affair has him on edge. He thought that fucking you would vent all those conflicting emotions and give him peace. Instead he feels more restless now than ever.

And to his dismay, this did not go unnoticed by Taichi.

“Is there a reason why you’re being more of a prick to her than usual?”

Kenjirou ignored the question in favour for checking out the gym. The first and second years were generally tasked to do clean-up and they did so with vigour, feeling privileged to work in an old war-horse team with a vendetta.

“Man, I never took you to be the ‘boy pulls girl's pigtails because he likes her’ stereotype when getting a girl's attention.” Taichi muses.

Shirabu scowls at Taichi. “Shut up. She annoys the hell out of me and that’s all.”

Taichi grabs him by the arm, eyebrow piqued. “She didn’t even speak two words and you were at her throat.”

“She doesn’t need to say anything to piss me off.”

“Funny that she’s willing to be civil and yet you aren’t.”

Kenjirou chooses not to comment on that.

The pissed off expression on his face has the younger members avoiding him like the plague, choosing to leave for their dorms over loitering in the locker room.

“Are you going to help me lock up or not?”

“Only if you stop looking murderous.”

Taichi’s knee buckles as Kenjirou delivers a swift kick to the back of it.

“Go away, I can do it on my own.”

“Fine,” Taichi says, looking relieved at the early dismissal. Kenjirou didn't doubt for a moment that Taichi planned for it. “Don’t murder the cute girl. I won’t be your alibi.”

“You’re a terrible friend.” Kenjirou hisses under his breath.

Taichi laughs and leaves Kenjirou to his own devices. Remembering that you were waiting on him, he’s surprised to find that you were still there. Leaning against the wall tapping at your phone looking bored, you didn’t notice his eyes on you. You were still wearing the school uniform, with the exception of your tie and first few buttons undone.

There was a casual air about you that he didn’t get to see every day. His eyes linger on your skirt, fingers twitching with the memory of how the fabric felt under them. Without his permission, an image of your panties tucked away in the back of his bedside table flashes to the forefront of his mind.

Unlike the previous times the thought popped into mind, Kenjirou chooses not to fight it away as he turns away from you and goes through the motions of checking the locker room and hallways before locking up.

The lacy scrap of fabric was a memento of sorts, a trophy of him putting you in your place the same way he envisioned in his more… illicit fantasies. Although, they may be cursed. As absurd as the idea is, Kenjirou has no other explanation for the phenomenon that’s been occurring since his ownership of them. He can barely stand looking at the harmless piece of furniture containing them without feeling heat spark up inside of him.

At first, he ruled it to anger or frustration, a common emotion he experiences in your vicinity. It only took a week after the tryst, left alone in his dorm room for the weekend did he indulge the demon in his mind. It wasn’t until he was coming down from his high, your soft panties wrapped around his hand covered in drying cum, did the weight of his actions sink in.

It didn’t stop there, though. No, that’d be too easy for him, and if Kenjirou had learnt anything since you breezed into his life, life was all about being difficult.

He had woken up a few times to ruined sheets from dreams of your sweet moans and pliable body under his hands, all too willing to obey his every demand. It's laughable that he thinks you would ever be like that, but that’s why he supposes their called wet dreams – they’re unrealistic fantasies. The logical part of him chimes in the significance of Kenjirou liking you to the extent of your appearing in those fantasies, but Kenjirou did his best to smother that voice until it died.

The keys in his hand rattle as he shoves them into his pocket. Without even realising it, he managed to complete lock-up. The only soul besides his in the gym belonged to the only person that could piss him off with just a look.

Walking down the hallway, towards where you were waiting, Kenjirou decisively concluded the knot in his stomach was not anticipation, it was from the annoyance at knowing he was forced to be with you in the few precious hours he has to himself.

Your mindless scrolling stops as you check the time, pissed that he’s held you back for this long. You wished you could leave but you promised to give the completed forms to Natsuki in the morning and you didn’t trust Shirabu for as far as you could throw him.

Whilst you didn’t expect him to greet you with open arms and a charming smile, you were fed up with his belligerent attitude. While he’s always been like that, it’s really been grating on your nerves recently. You’ve become acutely aware of Shirabu’s every move. The sight of him alone, at ease talking among peers made you experience something you’ve never felt before.

The closest description to the feeling is butterflies fluttering around your stomach, but the idiom was simultaneously nauseating and horrifying to you.

From dwelling on it for weeks now, you knew that your sudden interest towards him stemmed from lusting over him, as adamant you were to admit. Unfortunately, you enjoyed him taking you from behind without any regard for you. It infuriated you that you got off on his nasty personality.

“Give me the papers.”

The unexpected appearance of Shirabu’s voice startles you, very nearly causing you to drop your phone.

You click your tongue at him and give him an admonishing look for his rudeness. Grabbing the papers tucked under your arm, you hand it over to him.

“Here.”

Without a word of thanks, he takes them and starts reading over them, not wanting to dignify your cold tone. Biting your tongue, you fish out a pen in your pocket. You were sorely tempted to toss it at his head, but you were above acting so childish, unlike Shirabu.

Moving close to him, you stay out of his personal space as you point to sections of the paper with the pen and start reciting everything Natsuki told you. You were nothing but meticulous and as much as you despised her for setting you up, you never half-assed anything.

At the end of your spiel, Kenjirou snatches your pen from your grasp and start filling out the form against the wall. At your indignant shout, he simply rolls his eyes.

It was obvious that Shirabu wanted to be anywhere else but here with you, evident by his silence. Weirdly enough, the thought hurt, like little pinpricks piercing your chest.

Surprisingly, Shirabu is the one to break the silence that fell over the gym.

“Why does the council need to know how many students I think are going to join next year? How could I possibly guess that?”

You roll your eyes at his griping. “Just fill out the damn form.”

Uncaring of the dilemma threatening his fastidious nature, you grinned as his jaw clenches. He’s put you through psychological torture for a month now, this was only a taste of the frustration you felt.

You felt a little vindicated when he huffs out loud at another unnecessarily specific question.

Fuck what Natsuki said, this was exposure therapy at its finest. If you could do this without admiring his body in some way then that’d be a victory. And you despised losing, so you were intent on winning this as well.

Easier said than done.

Your eyes lingered on his lips as his tongue darts out to wet them. They further stray down the column of his throat and settle on the hand scribbling down information. His hands were surprisingly slender for a guy, but no less deadly. You’ve heard about his pin-point accurate tosses and serves. You knew firsthand the mistake of underestimating his strength.

“What?” He snaps, noticing you intently staring at his hands.

“Nothing,” You sniff, trying to look disdainful to cover your embarrassment at your wondering attention.

‘For fuck’s sake, pull yourself together woman!’ You inwardly admonish yourself.

For Kenjirou, this was the last straw. He tried carrying on as normal after the incident, he tried not biting back for the sake of decency, and yet your attitude flips on him out of nowhere. He’s tired of all of this shit.

Letting the papers fall to the ground, he grabs your wrist in an iron-hard grip and bangs open the door of the storage room beside you. Fed up with your attitude, Kenjirou knew that confronting you about it could blow up in his face but he couldn’t stand his last few weeks of high school spent with your bitchy demeanour.

“Hey! What the fuck?” You protest, pulling against the tight grasp he has on your wrists as he kicks the door closed pulls your further into the dark room.

Not listening to your complaints, he pulls you behind the high stack of mats and shoves you against the shelving unit. The shelves uncomfortably dig into your back as he cages you in, arms placed beside your head, breaths intermingling.

“This has got to stop.” He growls.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You raise your eyebrows at him, outwardly acting unaffected. Internally, your heartbeat thundered in your ears, deafening you with the excitement you felt.

“Oh, so now you want to act normal?” He snorts.

“Fuck off.”

For the past three years you’ve taken enough of his shit. You thought denying the issue attention would starve him and he’d get bored. How wrong you were. Instead you managed to piss him off even more, evident by the way the air vibrated with the tension between your bodies.

“I bet you can’t get me out of your head,” Shirabu says lowly, possessive grip on your hips tightening minutely. “Maybe that’s why you refuse to meet my eyes.”

“Don’t sound all high and mighty. I bet you get off with my underwear that you stole, asshole.” You bite back, defiantly meeting his gaze head-on to prove him wrong.

Unexpectedly, Kenjirou flushes. If you didn’t know how big of a prick he was, you’d almost think it was cute. Now though? It was all you needed to know that was exactly what he’s been using your stolen panties for.

“Oho, hit the nail on the head now, did I?” You tease, drawing your faces close enough to see the faint freckles that were hidden by the redness.

“Shut the fuck up.” He says warningly, a hard expression on his face.

“Or what? You’ll gag me again? Oh no.” You challenge, lips pursed in faux concern.

“No,” he drawls, brushing his thumb across your lower lip. “I want to hear you beg for me this time.”

His thumb presses down hard, preventing you from responding coherently . You glare at him from under your eyelashes, not liking the smug look on his face at all.

His titillating tone had your horny hindbrain rearing to go. Meanwhile, your forebrain was too stubborn to give in just because he was wanted it, despite you wanting it as well.

Shirabu’s eyes dart from your eyes to your mouth, watching your tongue flick at his thumb. He replaces it with his index and middle finger, pressing down on your tongue and admiring the way your tongue melded around them. It was the best way he could stop your witticisms for one fucking second.

“You’re so much cuter when you’re not talking.” He sighs, feigning a wistful tone.

You scowled at him, hating the fact that he was enjoying himself and that you were weirdly enjoying it as well. His other hand migrates southward, slipping up underneath your skirt. The brush of his fingertips leave a tingling sensation on your skin as it makes its way up your inner thigh.

Your knees lock up as he brushes along the edge of your panties. Unable to take his intense focus on your face, you shove shove his fingers out of your mouth and pull him down into a kiss. Much like the first one you two shared, there was much more teeth and tongue involved for it be labelled such, but you had no other word for it.

As his tongue slips in, Kenjirou forcibly rubs against the wet spot he found. He pressed against it, testing how far the fabric would stretch. You keened into his mouth at the rough feeling of the fabric stroking against your folds.

Breaking the kiss, he leans his forehead against yours. His fingers move the panties to the side and you finally get the skin-on-skin contact you’ve been craving. Stroking your bare folds and smearing the wetness around, Shirabu manages to touch you everywhere but the place you wanted him most.

“If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought you never done this before.” You tease, hoping to urge him on but unknowingly sealing your fate for another rough night.

Shirabu’s ministrations stop and he levels you with a serious expression – a dangerous glint in his honeyed irises.

“I’m going to make you beg for me.”

Committed to his promise, he buries two fingers into you without concern. You yelp at the burn of the sudden stretch and lack of lubrication. As if you didn’t think you were insane as it was, you could feel yourself get wetter at the lick of pain. Kenjirou smirk as he watches your face screw up as he pumps and twists his fingers inside of you, feeling you become wetter around his digits.

Skillful fingers make a mess of you. Unable to support yourself on weak legs, Shirabu and the shelving unit bare your weight as you pant and give breathy sighs whenever he makes a particular set of motions that has heat rushing throughout your body and your hole gush.

It wasn’t long before you could feel that heat accumulating low in your gut. Throwing your head back and letting out a lengthy moan, needlessly warning Shirabu that you were close.

‘Just a little more,’ you thought desperately, ‘just a little more and I'll be there.’

Kenjirou knew he was a sadist at-heart, told many times by Taichi and his seniors for pushing the younger years during practice. He never had the chance to explore it with a partner before and while he never imagined you to be the one, he found himself enjoying your sinful expressions and sounds.

With a cruel smile, he watches your reaction as he pulls his fingers out of you. You Eyes fly open, hips pausing in their mindless rolling and a complaint rises to your lips.

“You fucker.”

He laughs at your reaction. it was exactly what he expected from your impatient bitchy self.

Instead of resuming the bickering from before, you force yourself to calm down. Closing your eyes and turning your thoughts inwards, you practice breathing techniques counsellors taught you for exam stress. The back of your mind registers his fingers skirting around the edge of your hole with enough pressure to cause your leg to twitch.

Envisioning the smug look on his face did not help you calm down. it caused your blood to boil all the more. Begrudgingly opening your eyes, your eyebrows furrow when you see his contemplative look.

Kenjirou wondered how long it would take for you to give in to him. From the way your chest was heaving, looking at him through lidded eyes, he concluded that it would be miracle if you could last more than two rounds of this game.

Determined to prove his theory, he ripped your skirt down with your panties in one smooth motion and slipped his fingers back into your greedy hole. It took a much shorter amount of time for you to get close this time, thighs tensing around his hand.

Trying to spread your legs wider, you’re stopped by the elastic waist of your panties. Annoyed, you step out of them and kick the skirt and panties away. Now freed, your legs spread wider to give Shirabu’s miracle hand more room to work with, which he gladly abused.

“Fuck.” You moan

“I’ve barely started and you’re already a mess,” He notes, eyeing your glistening eyes and the bared column of your throat.

“Screw you.” You hiss, thighs tensing as he works you back towards the high he ripped from you.

Kenjirou darts forward to deliver a harsh nip to your bottom lip in punishment. Not expecting it, you moaned at the bite of pain, tightening around his long fingers.

Believing you learnt you lesson, his lips move southward. Trailing down the column of you throat, his mind summons thoughts of your neck being littered with his mark. His hand increases the pace, brutally pumping in and out as the mental image makes his dick harden impossibly more.

The sting of his scalp as you tug at his hair pulls him away from the thought and in turn gives him another idea.

You smother the whine threatening to come out as he remove his fingers from your soaking hole, once again depriving you of that high.

Mildly confused, you watched as he loosens his tie and slips it over his head. It hits you a moment too late what he was planning. The fabric rasp against your overlapped wrists and tightens as he slide the knot down.

“I didn’t know you were into that, Shirabu. Mummy and daddy must be so proud of their little boy using their knot tying skills for bondage.” You comment, to which he rolls his eyes and forces your arms upwards to loop the other end of the tie around a pole.

He tests your new restraints by tugging at the knot. Satisfied with his handiwork, he turns his attention back to you.

“I was serious about you begging,” he starts conversationally, like you weren’t tied up and half naked. “I’m not going to fuck you until you do.”

“I’d like to see you try and get me begging, pretty boy.” You taunt him full-well knowing that you were starting to become a little desperate. Once clear mind was now clouded with a need that he’s been denying you over and over again.

Kenjirou knew this as well. Your legs were trembling minutely, your pupils dilated, and face flushed a cute pink. He could tell you were close to breaking. He was mildly surprised that you survived this far in, but your resilience – more like stubbornness, he muses – only served to make him all the more determined to break you.

Unlike before, it starts off slow. Calloused fingers massaging your faintly pulsing walls as you roll your hips against his palm. Just when he lulls you into a sense of security, the pace is amped straight back to maximum and fans his fingers out.  

Kenjirou scissors his fingers as he pulls out and twists his wrist as he draws out. This had your eyes rolling into the back of your head, loud moan reverberating off of the walls.

It takes only a few pumps and a twist to have the heat grow and spark inside of you as he brings you closer to an orgasm than the previous times.

Kenjirou can feel the tell-tale fluttering of your walls, thighs clenching around his hand, as if trying to force him deeper. Easing up, he lazily pumps his digits in and out, watching as your expression twists into a pained one as he rips yet another orgasm from you.

“Fuck me already.” You moan, fed up with the ups and downs. You both loved and hated Shirabu having all the power right now. You’re sure this was something you’ll contemplate once this is all said and done.

“You know what I want.” He massages your walls and brushes against a sensitive spot.

A moan cuts off your words, walls clenching down on long fingers that weren’t enough to scratch the itch deep inside of you.

“Say it.”

Kenjirou buries his fingers inside of you, this time deeper than before, reaching spots that your own failed to reach. You very nearly screamed at the sensation. Shirabu was pushing you to your wits end without any effort.

“Please! Just fuck me already!”

The tears gathering at the corners of your eyes spill as he hastily pulls his fingers out of your sopping core. The sound of a zipper followed by fabric dropping to the floor fill your ears as Kenjirou hastily preps himself.

Smearing the juices from your dripping hole onto his length with slick fingers, Kenjirou catches your eyes as he strokes himself and smirks at your curious look.

A blush sears onto your cheeks at his look. Last time you didn’t get to take a look at his member, even though you became intimately aware of its slight upwards curve, you had to admit to yourself that his length was impressive. You’d rather cut out your own tongue than tell him that, so you make sure your face devoid of those thoughts.

Kenjirou doesn't waste a moment as he grabs your thigh and wraps it around his back as he lines himself up. The breath in your chest stalls as his tip prods at your entrance.

“Good girl,” He breathes as he finally enters you inch by excruciating inch.

Head dropping back, your arms strain against their restraints as his dick perfectly fills every crevice inside of you. The slight sting of the stretch brings more tears to your eyes, but it was soon overshadowed by the liquid pleasure that coursed through your veins as he starts rocking up into your warmth.

The shelves rattle as each thrust jostles you back. You were unaware of the pain caused by them digging into your back as each stroke already had you becoming closer and closer to your peak. The friction alone from his hurried pace had your toes curling and mind wiped of coherent thought.

Having you tied up and at the mercy of his whims had blood rushing from his head to his dick. It was an incredible feeling to tame your fiery spirit, creating a high that he could see himself chasing for the rest of his life.

“Look at you, taking my cock like the good cock-slut you are.” He pants into your ear.

You moan loudly, not giving a single fuck for any unfortunate soul that might still be in the gym, as your evasive orgasm finally comes into arms.

Your walls tighten around Kenjirou's length hard enough for him to hiss. Kenjirou knew you were close, moans reaching a new pitch. As a reward for you being compliant with him, Kenjirou lends you a helping hand. With a few strokes of your sensitive bundle of nerves he tips you over the edge.

Sparks coalesce inside of you and dance along your skin as you orgasm, creaming over Shirabu’s cock. Your vision turns black, but the feeling of Shirabu fucking you through your orgasm intensifies as he works through your tight warmth, seeking out his own peak.

“Kenjirou.”

Hips jerking out of motion, Kenjirou nearly chokes on his tongue as his orgasm sudden crashes down on him at your call of his name. Burying himself as deep as possible, cum sprays inside of you with considerable force as he unloads inside of your hole.

“You sound so good begging and moaning for me,” He pants. “It’s the only time where you’re not being a bitch.”

“Like you can talk Mr. When-I-Talk-Over-Someone-I’m-Automatically-The-Winner. You’re no better-”

Abruptly pulling out, Kenjirou replaces his cock with his fingers, pushing his cum back inside of your leaking hole. A weak groan rattles your chest as his fingers brush against sensitive hole, holding their position.

“As you were you saying?” He says smoothly, knowing he’s robbing you of speech as he applies more pressure to your hole.

“You fucker.” You grit out, tugging at your restraints as you automatically move to try and move his hands away, the full feeling of his hot cum inside you becoming overwhelming.

“A reward for being a good girl.” He breathes into your ear, causing a shiver to consume your form.

Reaching up with his free hand, Shirabu single-handedly undoes the knots of his tie and frees your wrists. You’d be impressed by this if it weren’t for his two fingers rubbing incessantly against you the entire time, making your vision fritz at the edges.

Arms falling to your sides, the blood rushes back into them and the feeling of static pairing wonderfully with the way Shirabu’s digits moved against your abused hole.

Pain flares up in your wrists when you grab his hand to stop his unrelenting movements. Working through the pain, you move his hand away. As Shirabu pulls away from you, he avidly watches as his cum drains from you. You swallow thickly at the sensation of warm globs trailing down your thigh.

Disgusted at the feeling of it drying, you glance around and spot a roll of paper towel sitting on the shelf beside your head.

You busied yourself by cleaning up the mess Shirabu made of you as the devil himself also wiped himself off.

Leaning down to pull up his shorts, Kenjirou notes the red fabric sticking out from your skirt piled on the floor. Surreptitiously checking that you weren’t paying attention, he tucks the fabric into his pocket with a sly grin, claiming his rightful trophy to his second conquest.

Glancing over to Shirabu as you pick up your skirt, you find him tucking himself back into his shorts with a carefully blank look on his face. You eye him suspiciously, unknowing of what he was going to do or say next.

“Here’s the key, lock up when your done and give it back tomorrow.”

You scramble to catch the key he tosses at you, dropping your skirt in the process. He doesn’t wait to hear your complaints, giving you one last long look and waltzes on out like he didn’t have you tied up and fucked senseless not even five minutes ago.

Incredulously, you watched his back disappear around the corner. Shaking your head, you go to pick up you skirt again. Noticing the absence of red fabric inside of the purple plaid, you looked around the floor, hoping that maybe you kicked them under the shelves.

After one quick look around, the fate of another pair of your favourite panties hits you like a brick to the head.

“Motherfucker!” You scream after him.

The deep laughter in the distance filters through your ears and fanned the hatred simmering inside as well as the blush doing its best to turn you into a strawberry impersonation.

Leaning against the shelving unit, chest heaving and sweat drying along your skin, you swore to fix the part of you that craved Shirabu's touch.

Notes:  Too bad I can’t write degrading stuff without looking too far into it because goddamn does Shirabu suite it. Hope you enjoyed this indulgent fic!!

[calpalirwin]

Touring Days

Summary: Ashton goes on tour

A/N: Y’all ready for this?

Word Count: 1.9k

And away, and away we go!

__

Four months. That’s how long Ashton was going to be away for tour. Four months that would be over before they could ever blink is what they told themselves. He’d be home before they knew it.

It was a reality Vanessa had been aware of when she started dating Ashton. Much like she came with the package deal that was her kids, his package deal had been his job. Yet, in their year long relationship, they had been lucky. If he had left at all, it had been for a week tops to do a few short gigs.

But the giant suitcase packed tightly on their bedroom floor didn’t sit right with them, no matter the reassurances they whispered against each other’s skin as they held each other tight in a sea of blankets.

Three weeks. Ashton had been gone three weeks. Three weeks of coffee dates through the phone, and daily messages sent back and forth. Tour was great, but he missed them. Everything was going okay back home, but they missed him too. More promises that he would be home soon. More assurances that everything was fine and not to worry about them. Excited talks about how they couldn’t wait to see each other at the LA show and unspoken words about how they wished it could be more.

~~~

Vanessa wandered aimlessly around the house. With Bailey now old enough to be with Finn, every other week just dragged on. Thankfully it was Saturday, so she’d have both her babies soon enough. But without the kids and without Ashton’s music, the quiet was suffocating. She felt a ping of empathy wondering if this was how Finn had always felt, drowning in silence.

“You okay?” Finn asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.”

“Never knew silence could be so loud, huh?”

“It’s like I don’t know what to do with myself. Like my identity is tied to the kids, to him, to you. Like I don’t know who I am without you guys. And I hate how pathetic that is. I was a person before all of this. How did you find the person you used to be?”

Finn shrugged. “I didn’t. I didn’t want to be him. My kids are the best parts of who I am. There’s nothing wrong with being tied to people, Ness. But I started with doing things I remember I liked doing. Like remember how I used to surf?”

“Oh, you loved to surf,” she remembered fondly.

“Yeah. So I do that too. I make time for the old hobbies I let go by the wayside. When was the last time you painted?”

“Oh, god…” She paused as she thought about it. “Far too long.”

Finn chuckled. “Sounds like you should fix that.”

The next day, she did. With Bailey down for her morning nap, Vanessa broke out her box with all her painting supplies. “Momma?” Mason questioned as she set up in the backyard.

“We’re gonna paint, sweet boy,” she chirped happily at him. “You want to paint?” She dipped a paint brush in paint and swiped a small stroke across the canvas. “See? Like that.”

She handed the brush to Mason who copied her movements. “Momma!” he told her excitedly, pointing at his brushstroke.

“Good job, sweet boy! Keep going.”

They painted together for a good while until Mason set his paintbrush down with a sad, “Papa…”

“I know, sweet boy. I miss him too.”

He pointed at the ground with a longing sigh.

“Basement?” she guessed. “You wanna go play with your instruments?”

He nodded.

“Okay. Let’s clean up and we’ll go play.”

The moment they were down in the basement, Mason headed straight for the little drum set Ashton had put together for his birthday. 

Mason flip flopped back and forth between his drum kit and the guitar he had also gotten for his birthday for the better part of a half hour, while Vanessa recorded every second, wishing desperately that Ashton was here to share the moment with her in real time.

When they made their way back upstairs to retrieve Bailey from her nap, she sent Ashton the video captioned “We miss Papa.”

She barely had time to pick up Bailey before her phone was ringing. “Hi, love,” she answered quickly, already feeling better as Ashton’s face appeared on her phone screen.

“Hey,” he sniffed.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just got your video so I figured I’d call.”

“Papa?” Mason asked, recognizing Ashton’s voice.

“Yes, sweet boy,” Vanessa told him, bringing down the phone so Ashton and Mason could see each other.

“Papa!” Mason cried in excitement, grabbing for the phone.

“Mase!” Ashton matched the enthusiasm.

Vanessa let them talk with each other which was really just Ashton asking Mason questions and getting varied versions of “Papa,” as a response, as she got Bailey changed. “Let me see, Momma, Mase,” Ashton directed once Vanessa was situated on the couch in the living room with both kids.

“Hi, love,” Vanessa said again when she took the phone from Mason.

“Hi, baby.”

“We miss you.”

“I miss you guys too. So fuckin’ much.” He wiped at his face and sniffed. “Fuck, it’s so stupid. I’ve gone on so many tours and said so many goodbyes, but this… I’ve never wanted to come home more in my life. Like this is fuckin’ killing me…”

“Ash…” she pouted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sent you the video.”

“No,” he rushed. “No, I’m glad you did. The guys are gonna love watching him play when I show them later. I just wish I could be there with you guys. Or have you here with us.”

“We’ll see you in LA, love,” she reminded both of them.

“Yeah, I know. Just wish it could be for longer than just the day.”

“Maybe it could be?” she suggested hopefully. “Maybe we could travel with you guys for a bit?”

“Would you?” Ashton asked, trying to keep his excitement at bay. “Like meet us in San Diego, and stay with us through San Francisco?”

“Yeah!” she agreed. “Like that. That would be fun.”

By the time they ended the call so he could go do sound check, both of them were buzzing with excitement at the prospect of getting to spend longer than a short afternoon with each other.

~~~

Are you sure you’re fine with this?” Vanessa asked for what felt like the millionth time. She was packing up the rented minivan to drive down to San Diego with Y/N and Lily to meet up the guys on tour. While Finn had more than happily agreed that Vanessa should take both kids to see Ashton on tour, she still felt bad that the week she would be gone was cutting into what would have been Finn’s week. 

“Ness, for the millionth time, it’s fine,” Finn told her as he helped buckle Mason into his seat. “I’ll see you guys in two days for the LA show. Now, drive safe, text me when you get there, and tell the guys I said hi.”

“If you change your mind…”

“Ness, I swear to God if you don’t get in that car and drive, I’m driving you myself. Y/N, a little help, here?”

The other woman held up her hands defensively. “She’s a mom, Finn. We’re wired to worry.”

“Yeah, about the kids, not the exes. I’m a grown ass man who’s been living on his own for over a year. I’ll be fine, Ness.”

“Finn?”

“Oh my God, woman… what?”

“Go on a date when I’m gone, yeah?”

Finn playfully shook Vanessa’s head in his hands. “Go!”

“Alright, alright…” she huffed.

A drive that should have taken two hours at most, took closer to five between the toddlers whining that they had to go to the bathroom and Bailey fussing every fifty or so miles.

“Papa!” Mason called out, immediately thrashing in his seat while Lily cried out for Luke in a similar fashion when they finally pulled up to where the guys were staying, and found Ashton and Luke waiting for them with Calum and Michael. “Momma!” Mason yelled in frustration.

“Patience, sweet boy,” Vanessa told him as she got out of the van and opened the back door to help him down. She was just as excited to see Ashton as Mason was. And the sooner Mason stopped squirming so she could get him out…

“Papa!” Mason called again as his feet hit pavement, running full speed at Ashton.

“Mase!” Ashton crouched down, a huge grin on his face as he swooped the boy into his arms. He jogged over to Vanessa who put Bailey on her hip. “There’s my girls!” Ashton greeted, wrapping Vanessa and Bailey into him with Mason. “Fuck, I’ve missed you guys.”

“We’ve missed you too,” she croaked back, a little surprised at the crack in her voice and the tear rolling down her cheek.

“I’ll be home the week after you guys leave,” Ashton reassured, his voice low in her ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

“No, I know,” Vanessa sniffed. “It’s just…”

“Harder than you thought? Yeah, I know. C’mon, let’s get you guys inside.”

“Yes! And Mason can show you guys his new trick. Luke’s gonna love it.”

“New trick?”

“We’ve been working on names. He can say everybody’s now. Although I’m not sure if he’s saying ‘Luke’ or ‘Duke’ but still. It’s really cool.”

Ashton smiled at the boy in his arms. “You can say everyone’s names? Good job, bud! Who’s that?” he asked, started out simple by pointing at Michael.

“Ikey!”

“And who’s that?” He pointed at Calum.

“Cal!”

“That’s right!” Calum praised, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Who am I, Mase?” Luke asked.

“Uke!” Mason told him while Lily answered, “Dada.”

“That’s my boy,” Ashton beamed with pride.

“Papa,” Mason said, nuzzling his face into Ashton’s chest.

“I missed and love you too, Mase.”

~~~

The fans were pressed frantically against the barriers, excitement lacing every movement. Vanessa tightened her grip on Mason’s hand, but he angrily let go, pushing his small body in front of her, a scowl on his face. “Baie,” he whispered, putting as much menace into the name as he could muster.

Ashton laughed and picked up the boy, while Vanessa told him, “It’s okay, sweet boy. These are Papa’s friends. Do you want to say hi?”

He shook his head, reaching out to grab Bailey’s hand. “Baie.”

“Bailey’s fine, bud,” Ashton said.

Still, the scowl remained on Mason’s face while the fans cooed over how cute Ashton and Luke’s family were. The scowl didn’t come off his face until sound check was over and they were all safely backstage. “See?” Vanessa said, gesturing about the room. “No people. Just us.”

“Baie,” he responded, making grabby hands for his sister.

“Yes, you can hold her.”

“Me too?” Lily asked softly with big soft eyes.

Vanessa laughed. “Yes, you can hold her too, sweet girl. Here, watch how Mase holds her, and then you can have a turn.”

Lily watched intently while Mason held his sister. “Baie, Baie, Baie,” the both sang softly to the baby, Mason shifting closer to Lily so both of them could hold Bailey together.

“She’ll make one hell of a big sister some day,” Vanessa commented to Y/N as all the adults watched the three small children with soft smiles.

“Who better to learn from than the world’s best big brother?”

~~~

“I’m really glad you guys are here,” Ashton murmured as they got settled in for the night after the show. The kids had been out for close to an hour, and the adults were slowly making their own way to turning in for the night.

“I’m really glad we’re here too.”

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

__

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[gryffindorcls]

Can We Try This Again?

_________________________________________________

Hello, lovely readers!  Thank you for taking the time to read.

I know I have three works in progress right now, but I saw Puppeteer 2...and I couldn’t help myself.  This is how I would have changed “The Scene” everyone is talking about.

So...be aware.  This contains MAJOR SPOILERS for Season 3.

Enjoy!

_________________________________________________

Marinette walked into the room desperately trying to psyche herself up.  She knew that even if he didn’t feel the same way, she at least had to try to tell Adrien how she felt.

“I am super cool.  I am super cool.  I am super cool,” she repeated quietly to herself.

She crossed the threshold and was met by an unmoving Adrien.  Marinette shrieked and flailed her arms.  When Adrien did not react, the tenseness in her muscles disappeared.  She slumped over and sighed.

“It’s fine!  It’s just a statue.  Hmmm...maybe I should use this opportunity to practice.  What’s the harm?” she asked out loud.

Marinette walked up to the figurine and looked it in the eyes.  She smiled and reached out to touch its cheek.  It felt unusually warm, but she continued anyway.  Her lips formed into a sad yet wistful smile, and she took a deep breath.

“Adrien, I...I…I...can’t.”  Her face scrunched in frustration as she slumped into a heap on the floor.

She hung her head low and groaned.  “Tikki!  I can’t do this!  How am I supposed to talk to Adrien if I can’t even talk to a statue?  I don’t understand.  Why is this so hard?  I can fight Akumas and stand up to people like Chole, but I can’t tell the boy I love that I have feelings for him?  I’m hopeless.”

Marinette could feel hot tears rolling down her cheeks.  

“Tikki?  Tikki?  Where are you?”  she opened the clasp, revealing the tiny being cowering at the bottom of her bag.  “Why aren’t you coming out?  What’s wrong?  Are you sick again?”

Marinette sniffled and attempted to wipe the tears away from her face with the back of her hand.  She stood up without taking her eyes off of her Kwami.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Tikki whispered, “It’s not what you think.”

She gave the Kwami a confused look.  “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t believe it,” a third voice said, entering the conversation.

Marinette froze.  She really hoped that she was dreaming, and she even pinched herself just to make sure.

“No,” she said quietly, “It can’t be.  I didn’t just say all that in front of him.  Why is this happening?”  

The tears started to reform in the corners of her eyes.  She buried her head in her hands and pressed her palms against her eyes.  An audible sob escaped her lips.  Suddenly, a pair of strong, comforting arms held her close to something warm and breathing.

“Please don’t cry, Marinette,” a worried voice attempted to assuage her, “I’m so sorry.  I thought it would be funny.  I’m a complete idiot.  Ohmygod, how can I fix this?  I don’t even know what to do.”

She spent several minutes leaning into the embrace waiting for the tears to stop.  All the while, a hand on her back rubbed soothing circles.  

”I can't believe it's you,” he whispered. 

Marinette looked up, and her bloodshot eyes met Adrien’s verdant irises.  A new panic settled in her gut--he knew she was Ladybug. 

“Please,” she pleaded, ”You can't tell anyone.  I trust you, but only the person who gave me my Miraculous knows who I am.”

Adrien grinned.  “You mean Master Fu?”

“Yes, and he doesn’t want…” she paused, “Wait...what?”

He brushed a stray tear off of her cheek.  ”I found you, my lady.”

“Kitty?” Marinette questioned breathlessly.

A small black blur flew from behind Adrien’s shoulder.  “Finally!  We can move past the sighs and the pining!  Tikki!  Look!  They figured it out.”

Tikki zoomed into view, rolled her eyes playfully, and smiled brightly.  “I know, Plagg.  Come over here.  Let's give them a few moments to themselves to talk.”

The black Kwami happily obliged.  He zipped over to his other half and nuzzled her with the side of his head.  Tikki grabbed Plagg’s arm and pulled him into Marinette’s purse. 

After the initial shock of seeing Chat Noir’s Kwami phase into her bag, Marinette realized that she was still being held in Adrien’s arms.  To her surprise she did not feel the urge to pull away from him; instead, she leaned further into his embrace.  He responded to her movement by tightening the hug.

“Why did you do that, kitty?” she mumbled into his shirt, “Why did you pretend to be a statue?”

He gently stroked her hair.  “Plagg always makes me feel better by joking around.  I thought you were mad at me, and I wanted to make you laugh.  I had no idea...ugh...I’m so stupid.  I can’t apologize enough.  You probably hate me now.”

“Oh, no, Adrien.  I could never hate you.  I love…” she stopped herself before completing the statement.  Marinette flew out of Adrien’s arms, and she slapped both of her hands over her mouth.

“Please finish what you were going to say because I can promise you that nothing bad will happen.  I have loved you since the day I met you.”

“You love Ladybug.”

“You are Ladybug, and that means that I love Marinette.  I wasn’t joking when I said that I thought you were our everyday Ladybug.  All this means is that the girl I love and my amazing friend from school are the same person.”

“You think I’m amazing?”

“I always have.  You kick butt at video games, bake really well, and are an incredible designer.  You look out for your friends, and you stand up for what is right.  You are smart, helpful, and beautiful.  AND now I know that you also save Paris from Hawkmoth’s Akumas.”

Marinette shook her head and smiled.  “Paris would be doomed if I didn’t have you, Chat Noir.  I need you, minou…even though some of your jokes aren’t the best.”

Adrien’s eyes lit up.  “Only some, Bugaboo?”

She looked down at the ground.  “Well, it’s not that your jokes are bad.  It’s just that...well, you should probably work on your timing.  The statue prank probably would have been funny under different circumstances.  I’ve seen lots of celebrities do it with their wax figures on YouTube.”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, “I’ve seen those, too.  That’s why I thought it would be funny.  Like I said before, I thought you were upset with me, and I was just trying to cheer you up.”

Marinette felt her heart begin to melt.  “I can’t believe you were trying to make me feel better.”

Adrien shook his head.  “I really care about you, Marinette.”

“I’m sorry you thought I was angry at you.  All day I’ve been trying to tell you that I have feelings for you, and I can’t even do that right.”  She threw her hands up in frustration.

He scrunched his face in thought.  “I think we need a do-over.  Can we try this again?”

She clasped her hands in front of her and smiled.  “I would like that.”

Adrien walked closer to her and took her hands in his own.  “Hi, Marinette.  I have to tell you something.  I’m Chat Noir, a famed Parisian superhero who fights Akumas alongside Ladybug.  I’m also hopelessly in love with you.”

Marinette giggled.  “Hello, Adrien.  It’s funny that you’re Chat Noir because I’m Ladybug, your partner who works with you to fight Hawkmoth’s Akumas.  I’m also in love with you...like a lot.  I have been since you gave me your umbrella.”

“Is that why you’ve always been so jumpy around me?” he asked with empathy in his eyes.

“Yes,” she released a long breath, “Being near you always made me anxious.  My crush made talking to you feel like I was climbing Mount Everest.  I didn’t know how to start a conversation with you.”

“What changed?”

“Why would talking to my Chaton make me nervous?  I already know him.  He’s my partner, and I trust him with my life...even though he’s a huge dork.”

“Your Chaton?  I kind of like the sound of that,” he purred, taking a step closer.

She brought her arms up to rest around his neck.  “My flirty kitty.”

The sharp thwack of a cane hitting the ground sounded from the entryway behind them.  They both looked up to see Hawkmoth standing in the doorframe.  Adrien quickly grabbed the umbrella from Aurore’s wax figurine as the purple-clad villain lunged at them.

“It looks like we’re going to have to finish this conversation later,” Adrien noted with a strained voice, “You go first.”

“And then we’ll take care of this mess together...like we always do!”  Marinette ran towards the elevator and transformed.

The duo found defeating the Akuma to be easy work.  Both heroes remained focused during the battle and were eager to get back to their civilian lives.  

After detransforming, Marinette and Adrien rejoined their friends and played with Manon until it was time to leave the museum.  Adrien had his driver drop off Nino, Alya, and Manon at their respective destinations.  The teens then found themselves sitting alone in the backseat of the vehicle.

There was no divider in the car.  Marinette knew she couldn’t say what he wanted without Adrien’s bodyguard overhearing, so she stayed quiet and fixed her eyes on the passing scenery outside the window.  Suddenly, Marinette felt a hand take hers.  She looked up and saw Adrien looking at her with a smirk.

He winked playfully.  “How do you feel about cats?” 

“It depends what kind of cat,” she answered, raising an eyebrow.

“What would you do if one came to visit you tonight?”

“I guess I would feed it.”

Adrien’s eyes widened with excitement.  “Wait...really?”

Marinette squeezed his hand.  “Sure...why not?”

The car pulled up to the Dupain-Cheng Bakery.  Marinette got out of the car and hovered by the door momentarily.

“I’ll see you later, Adrien,” she said cheerfully.

He beamed.  “Yeah...see you later.”

***

Marinette sat on a lounge chair on her balcony.  She sipped hot tea and hugged a blanket tightly around her body.  Even though it was springtime, there was still a slight chill in the evening air.  Next to her sat an untouched plate of cookies.

After a few minutes of waiting, she heard the clink of metal and a soft thud behind her.  “Good evening, kitty.  What brings you here at this hour?”

Chat Noir took a seat in the chair next to her.  “I heard that if I came here, a nice girl would feed me.”

Marinette snorted and held out the plate of cookies.  A stunned Chat took the treats from her hands.

“I thought you were kidding,” he continued, “I wasn’t actually expecting you to feed me.”

“I am the daughter of a baker,” she replied, “My family doesn’t fool around when it comes to food.  Trust me, if you came over for dinner, you would be fed at least three servings.”

“I usually eat alone at home.  Dinner with your family sounds nice.”

“How about tomorrow then?  We usually eat around 6.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Alya comes over for dinner all the time.  My parents would be more than happy to have you eat with us.  However, maybe you shouldn't come wearing a leather catsuit.  Remember what happened the last time?”

Chat laughed.  “I agree.  Purr-haps I should even consider a wardrobe change right now.  What do you think, Princess?”

Marinette shrugged.  “Whatever you want to do is fine with me, but I’m sure that Tikki would love to see Plagg.”

In a flash of green light, Chat detransformed and Adrien was left in his stead.  Plagg zipped into Marinette’s room and out of sight.

She looked at her crush sitting next to her and began to feel a creeping blush make its way up her neck.  Marinette covered her face with her hands and groaned.

“I’m sorry,” she groaned, “I’ve just liked you for so long, and I still can’t believe this is happening.  I’ll get over it.  Please just ignore me.”

Adrien got off of his chair and joined Marinette on hers.  He put an arm around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder.

“I never want to stop paying attention to you again.  I’m sorry for not noticing that it was you before.  It’s so obvious now,” he stated plainly.

“It’s not like I did any better.  I’ve turned down the boy that I like on multiple occasions without even realizing it.”

“How about I make you a deal?  I will come to dinner if you agree to go to the movies with me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes.”

Marinette tapped her chin and pretended to ponder her response.  “I guess that would be okay.”

Adrien wrapped his other arm around her and he released a happy hum.  She snuggled against his chest.

“I just have one question,” she moved away from him and met his eyes, “What are we now?  Like...are you my...my...uhm…my boyfriend?”

He once again pulled her close and nuzzled the top of her head.  “Only if you’ll be my girlfriend.”

Marinette squeaked upon hearing his response.  “I would like that a lot.”

“Princess?” he asked quietly.

“Hmmm?”

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

“Yes, Chaton.  Kissing will always be okay.”

Adrien pulled back just enough for his lips to reach hers.  The kiss was cautious and unsure, but at the same time, it was exhilarating.  Electricity coursed through her entire body.  She moved her hand to the back of his head and deepened the kiss.  He returned the gesture by tightening his hold around her waist.

 For that moment, nothing else existed but the two of them.  They were in their own private universe, and neither wanted to leave.  However, the need for air eventually forced them to separate.

“I love you,” Adrien said breathlessly.

“I love you, too, Chaton,” Marinette responded, “I’m so happy that it was you.”

“You are my one and only,” he stated reverently, “and I will always stay by your side, my lady.”

“Even when we go to school tomorrow and face all our friends?”

“Especially then.”

As they moved in for a second kiss, Marinette smiled.  She knew that this was the best possible outcome for today’s events.  Who knows what could have happened if things had worked out differently?  She definitely didn't want to find out.

AO3

Fanfiction

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Thank you to everyone who has read and followed my other stories.  New chapters for my works in progress are coming soon!

Any feedback is greatly appreciated.  I love talking with all of you, and my asks are always open.  Thank you all for being incredible!

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[thecreaturecodex]

Tropius

Image © Marika Khammanivong, accessed at her deviantArt gallery here

[Commissioned by @cupofsorrows, who has gotten me to enter territory I’ve been nervous to broach for a long time. Long time followers might know that I love Pokemon, but this is the first time I’ve attempted to stat one up (barring a childhood joke monster with Pikachu as a tanar’ri demon).

Part of my baggage had been how many mechanics from the games to carry over--TMs? Four attacks maxiumum? Leveling up? I am not including any of these here, and only giving the vaguest nod to the type system. @cupofsorrows‘ post on using Pokemon as D&D monsters is more about using the essence of the monster and putting it into a more fantastical setting. I’m going to be covering multiple Pokemon over the next few weeks, some from this post, some not. I’m intentionally not changing the names, in order to allow for clarity, but if you want to use a different name for this in your game, may I suggest “phytotitan” or “leafwing”?]

Tropius CR 8 N Plant This horse-sized creature appears as a long necked dinosaur made out of wood. Four enormous leaves grow from its back like wings. A bushel of tropical fruits grow beneath its chin.

The tropius is a creature somewhere between animal and plant, but more on the latter end of the spectrum. They have features of tropical trees and sauropod dinosaurs, but are most remarkable for their ability to fly. This flight is not terribly graceful, but they are fast and powerful in the air. Tropius are herbivores with a fondness for sugary fruits—the fruits that grow from their own bodies change shape and flavor based on the fruits they eat most. Tropius are very picky, with each having a specific fruit tree they prefer. A tropius will range over vast territories in order to gather its favorite fruit.

Although tropius are herbivores, they are aggressive when defending themselves, which they must do against both herbivores and carnivores. They strike with their heads like clubs and inflict deep cuts with the edges of their wings, but also have magical tricks up their sleeves. They can fire ghostly leaves as missile weapons and breathe a beam of deadly sunlight. They are empowered by direct sunlight, getting faster and more agile, so they usually take to the skies in the case of an extended conflict to rise above the shade of the canopy.

Tropius take reasonably well to domestication, and they have multiple uses. The fruits that grow from their bodies are exceptionally nutritious and contain a spark of the tropius’ own vitality. A tropius will allow these to be harvested by people it trusts, but requires a large amount of mundane fruit to fuel their growth—a tropius that considers itself underfed will often fly away to browse on its own terms. They can be trained to carry burdens or riders.

A tropius stands six feet tall and is about twelve feet long—about half of this length is their neck.

Tropius                CR 8 XP 4,800 N Large plant Init +0; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision Defense AC 21, touch 9, flat-footed 21 (-1 size, +12 natural) hp 105 (10d8+60); regeneration 3 (cold, fire) Fort +15, Ref +5, Will +8 Immune plant traits Defensive Abilities phototropism; Weakness animalistic Offense Speed 30 ft., fly 100 ft. (poor) Melee slam +12 (2d6+6), 4 wingblades +10 (1d8+3/19-20) Ranged 2 magical leaves +6 touch (4d6) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks breath weapon (100 ft. line, every 1d4 rounds, Ref DC 21, 10d6 typeless) Statistics Str 22, Dex 11, Con 23, Int 2, Wis 17, Cha 12 Base Atk +7; CMB +14; CMD 24 (28 vs. trip) Feats Flyby Attack, Great Fortitude, Iron Will, Lightning Reflexes, Multiattack Skills Fly +0, Perception +8, Stealth +1 (+9 in forests); Racial Modifiers +8 Stealth in forests SQ goodberries Ecology Environment warm forests Organization solitary or pair Treasure none Special Abilities Animalistic (Ex) A tropius is treated as an animal or plant for the purposes of spells and effects that have effects on creatures by type. It gains a +4 bonus on all Will saves against effects targeting animals (like a charm animal spell), and Handle Animal or wild empathy checks made to influence a tropius take a -4 penalty. Breath Weapon (Su) A tropius’ breath weapon deals 10d8 damage to creatures vulnerable to sunlight. If the tropius is in direct sunlight, it only needs to wait 1d4-1 rounds to recharge. Goodberries (Ex) A tropius grows 2d4 fruits a month, which can be eaten by other creatures to gain the benefit of a goodberry spell. Magical Leaf (Su) As a standard action, a tropius can fire two magical leaves from its body. Treat these as ranged touch attacks with a range of 60 feet and no range increment. It may fire them at different targets, but they must be within 30 feet of each other. A creature struck by a magical leaf takes 4d6 points of slashing damage that overcomes DR as if it were magic. A tropius may use this ability a number of times a day equal to its Constitution modifier (6 times for the average specimen). Phototropism (Ex) When in direct sunlight, a tropius gains a +4 alchemical bonus to its Dexterity and a +10 foot alchemical bonus to all its movement speeds. Wingblade (Ex) A tropius’ wing attacks are treated as secondary natural weapons that deal slashing damage and threaten a critical hit on a roll of 19 or 20.

[boredroo]

A Messenger pt. 6

Summary: The Council has heard of the names that have reigned down London; the Frye twins have evidently brought upon a change for the better good against the Templar’s tyranny, but order must still be kept.

You have been sent by the Council to evaluate the two sibling assassins, report what is must and maintain control where it must be maintained.

Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5

[][][][][][][][]

“Jacob Frye!”

It’s still rather early in the morning, the train is currently at a temporary stop in the peaceful yet awake station in the City of London—That is, until your fury abruptly tears through the quiet, your footsteps heavy as you march into the compartment where Jacob is resting in.

Sitting idly, almost sprawled over the sofa, Jacob looks up as you enter, ready to greet you with a beaming smile before-

“Oof!” He cries when something hits him right in his face.

“What’s the matter here?” Evie steps in just after you, eyes twinkling in amusement as Jacob dejectedly peels off the object you’ve hurled at him. 

“(Y/N), what the hell-” he starts, but you cut him off even more zealously.

“You’ve been reading through my notes! My reports!” You gesture angrily towards your book now held in-between his fingers. “Those are confidential, and are only for my use as well as the Council’s!” 

Jacob shakes his head, eyes fleeting away from you in what seems to be panic. “I have no idea what you’re going on about-”

“You drew a cat beside your name! Filthy liar!” You snatch the book out of his hand, only to smack it against his nose. He cries out in response and claps his hands to his nose, but to your irritation, you only hear a sheepish laugh afterwards.

Evie pipes up rather complacently behind you. “Oh, Jacob. How could you? See, (Y/N)? I keep telling you, he’s nothing but a walking disaster-”

“She helped me steal it,” Jacob blurts with a finger pointed towards her, and you whirl around instantly. Evie is quick to mirror the wry smile her twin brother wore just moments ago, struggling to ignore the raging fury in your eyes.

“Evie Frye...” you trail between gritted teeth, and she laughs weakly.

“I, well... I have something to attend to, actually!” Evie paces backwards, ready to sprint off into an escape from your wrath, but-

“Easy,” Jacob’s voice is gentle as you feel his hand around your wrist. He tugs it back, having you face him instead. Concern and... care are not quite what you expected to see in his narrowed eyes, not when you yourself can’t seem to feel anything but anger at this moment. They’ve wronged you by doing such a thing, to touch your personal affects like that, intruding your privacy, that now, they surely know.

“We had a reason,” he slowly explains, tapping onto the book now tightly clutched into your clenching fist. Fear, anxiousness render the bitter taste in your mouth, expecting what’s to come. 

“And that reason is?” you manage to ask without your voice breaking.

Jacob doesn’t hesitate the least before answering. “I was worried about you.”

“We both were,” Evie joins, now standing beside him. “We thought we could find something that would help us understand, as you refused to tell us what truly happened there in Southwark. At the factory.”

Where you dumbly lost complete control of yourself, your conscience never fails to remind you, of that upsetting event that took place just a few days ago. And as Evie said, you’ve neglected to explain yourself to them, and you’re more than determined to keep it that way.

Your lips purse ever tightly, foot one step back as you fully intend to leave. “I know I’ve blundered, and have regrettably cost your mission-”

“That’s not what this is about,” Jacob interrupts, but you quickly do the same.

“And I’ve decided to quarantine myself in the train from now on should I ever risk failing you again. I take responsibility over my mistake and am punishing myself for it, and I hope you can simply leave it at that.”

“But (Y/N)-” Evie tries, though you’re already turning away, hastening to drop this conversation for good.

However-

“Luther Hart,” Jacob mutters, quiet but enough to have you hear him, just barely. You halt in your steps, the name yet again sets tremors coursing down your limbs, to your trembling fingers.

You don’t turn around, you couldn’t, but he is adamant to continue. Every word spoken has your heart writhing harder and harder. “...That one same name, scrawled all over on a single page. All of them struck out.”

“...Bloodstains visible as well,” Evie adds under her breath. Slightly firmer, “The penmanship frantic, with blood staining the corners.

“Luther Hart was a target, wasn’t he?” she finally asks. 

Something shatters ever-so-violently inside you. Your body is immobilised, its mind washed away by the sea of memories, of those dark days that were once your very own life.

“(Y/N), who was he?” Jacob asks, and softer, quieter, “What did he do to you?”

Your silence only intensifies. But Jacob calls your name again, that just by that, by only his voice, the kindest way he says it...

You heave a long, fatigued sigh. The twins wait as you seemingly muster all that you need to finally face them, and in your hand, you reveal to them; your golden pen lay atop of your palm. A reverie upon it, it is when you feel a hand on your shoulder you break away albeit reluctantly from your suffocating thoughts, that when you meet Jacob’s gentle expression, the darkness fogging your mind clears up. Slowly it does, but it’s dissipating still. 

...Why is he always able to affect you in such a way? 

***

“...I came from a backwater village, just barely by the border of the country,” you begin.

The city and its people are moving along from outside the train, chattering of the few Rooks from the compartment aside than yours fit pleasantly into the backdrop. The usual, contented scene you’ve grown to seeing every day helps eases the weight in your chest.

...As well as the warmth permeating from Jacob, as his side rests gently against yours on the sofa, just as yours rest into him. Evie watches you with patient eyes from the armchair in front of you, though you didn’t miss the curious glance she had when, rather than sitting with the appropriate distance in the middle, Jacob chose to sit as close as he possibly could to you instead.

“After my mother died of illness, my father, my baby sister and I, we had to make do without her with us,” pain singes you now just as it did before, but it doesn’t last too long. You’ve grown past it, at least, this one you have.

“The loss affected my father most, it turned out. His business crumbled for his despair that never cured, and we were taken of everything we had in a single night,” You inhale a breath, and continue. “That was when my sister—Carolyn and I were taken away, to earn to survive. But I had the better end of it, I was a maid for some snob with too much money on her hands, not a child slave, too old for one I suppose.”

“Your sister was forced to work in a factory?” Evie asks, empathy dripping from her voice.

“And this Luther Hart did that to you? To your family?” Intense anger colours Jacob’s instead. You don’t answer, there’s more—more why the taint on your heart will remain black forever.

“...I tried to see my sister every chance I could, between the breaks. The estate I worked for was far, sometimes I barely made it before she would be whipped into working again. ...I distinctly remember how small and weak Carolyn was.”

Silence oozes, as if they’ve understood. They have. It didn’t take much in the first place, but they understand. They know that Carolyn, your younger, darling sister, is no longer of this world.

“We planned to escape, you see? I would take her away when no one’s watching, when the man with the whip wasn’t looking, when the mistress is too busy shagging her gardener behind her husband’s back. I was prepared. I was prepared,” now you’re clenching your teeth, your jaw tensing so tightly, it almost numbs you. Only when Jacob lightly touches your hand you realise, your fingers have tried clawing, digging into your palm, over your golden pen.

 “But I was-I got greedy,” your voice strains. “I tried to release the other children as well, I’d protect each and every one of them, with Carolyn, but-!” you’re quivering in pain, in mourn, in fear—fear that they’re about to catch you, they’re going to recapture the poor children, they’re going to kill them, kill your sister, then you-!

“(Y/N),” Evie’s voice snaps you awake. Her hand is comforting on your shoulder, relieving. She’s bent in front of you to meet your eyes, and when they do, she offers you a firm nod. You take this as a signal to continue, but you feel... calmer, just by a slight bit. You’re safe now, especially with the twins so close to you.

“Sorry,” you say, exhaling. “...As you can expect, I didn’t get far. Not at all. We barely made it out of the building before the guards overwhelmed us. It was an accident, but the building caught on fire, a stray bullet landing into explosives instead of us. Carolyn’s hand slipped out of mine, and I... No one else made it.”

You try to continue, but before your lips even lift, Jacob interrupts you readily. “It’s not.”

“What?”

“You were about to say it was all your fault, weren’t you?” He frowns hard. “It’s not. That’s that.”

Your lips purse, teeth then gnawing anxiously onto the bottom. It’s easy for him to say, but you understand that he’s trying to ease your pain, and that’s more than you could appreciate already, especially coming from him.

“And that bastard? Hart? Did you get back at him?” Evie asks. You can see sheer hatred in her eyes as the name slips past her lips.

You nod. “I did.” And lifting your pen towards them, “With this.

“My father gave this to me on my birthday, my last birthday we spent together. After Carolyn’s death, I was in a low place, and that was when my mentor came in. She trained me to be who I am now. I bound my life to the creed in return, my duties and responsibilities for the Brotherhood kept me sane, intact. But then I heard word of a new institution under Hart’s name, yet another slave-driving fate forced upon the weak.”

You twirl your pen between your fingers, the maelstrom of emotions inside you having alleviated. Peace resonates deeply when you recall the justice you’ve served with your own hands, the deserving death you’ve brought down.

“It was against my orders, as the higher-ups intended to track Hart to the bigger force he was working under and so spared him to live another day, but the thought of him continuing to breathe while my sister had suffocated and died in his smokes made me take up my blade despite it. When he overpowered me, I used this pen and stabbed him deep in the neck.”

You’re mimicking the motions without realising, your movement exact and precise just as the one in the past. The sun glints off on the pen when you raise it high.

“...And now I must come clear to you two, that due to my defiance,” you turn towards Evie and Jacob, both very attentively listening and watching you, seemingly reliving your story as if it was their own. “With acknowledging my value as an Assassin, rather than rid of me completely for my one mistake, the Council instead decided to send me here, in hopes that I would not engage in the field without supervision.”

“Wait, what?” Jacob looks at you in shock. “So what you’re saying is-”

You force a smile. “Yes. I wasn’t sent here because the Council expected the worst out of you two. In fact, you are the best assassins I’ve ever had the honour of meeting. It was, instead, to ensure that I’d be out of their hair.”

Standing up, brushing down your clothes, you’re desperate to not look at them in the eyes as you say, “And I will not let myself get into yours either. Just this morning I’ve sent a letter to the Council to ask to return to my own home.”

“What?!” Both of them are upright in no time, their loud exclaim startling you.

“Oh, please, don’t worry,” you quickly console. “I’ve put in a good word for the two of you so you should be fine-”

To your puzzlement, however, Jacob doesn’t at all listen, hastening past you like a man in a mission. “Frye? Where are you-”

“I’m not letting that letter leave this city,” he simply says, holding your gaze so firmly, before jumping out of the train. You’re left almost bewildered, agape.

Then, Evie is covering your hands with her own. Her smile is kind, yet her expression feels stern all the same, determined. “You better not move a single inch until we get back, do you understand?”

“U-Uh, okay...?” Is there any other option when she’s staring you down like that?

Evie traces Jacob’s steps, though she stops short just by the exit of the train. “Say, (Y/N)? Something still doesn’t add up.”

“Yes?”

“Where was your father when all of that happened to you?”

You stare at her, before occupying yourself by going through your notes. There are so many cats Jacob has drawn... And they’re much worse than yours.

“...My father? Busy expanding his business as Luther Hart I suppose.”

***

By the time the Frye twins return from their unannounced trip, you’re rousing awake from a nap, their voices echoing down the path to where you are. It couldn’t be helped much that you had fallen asleep right where they left you, especially after their claims; Evie with her not-at-all-a-threat coercing, and Jacob having planted a dire concern in you that perhaps he might have went on to assassinate an innocent mailboy.

“Here you are, (Y/N)!” Jacob chimes as soon as he steps into the compartment. His eyes light up, crinkling from the wide smile he can’t seem to help himself giving you at first sight. A white envelope stands out in the hold of his gloved hand.

“You actually retrieved my letter?” your voice nearly cracks, the incredulity of the idea, of what he’s literally done confuses you to the end of the world.

“Your welcome,” he says proudly, either not noticing or outright ignoring the mixture of both shock and flusteration on your face.

“I don’t understand-”

Evie approaches you rather briskly, taking you by surprise when her grip curls around your arm. “We have an idea. Come with us.”

“To where?”

“It’s a surprise,” Jacob takes you by your other arm, that before you know it, you might as well be carried off by them to... wherever it is they’re so insistent in taking you.

And that ‘surprise’ of a place is...

***

“A... fight club?”

Your words inevitably drown under the cheers, the howling, the yelps of pain and victory from the rowdy men encompassing the periphery, or rather, the fighting ring located on a circular roof. 

The city of Lambeth is spread out like a vast sea underneath your high ground, with eager men and women taking leverage of the stage to prove their strength and win rewards. This, for some reason, is the place Evie and Jacob really wanted to take you to.

Jacob spreads his arms wide in a grand gesture, as if showing off something invaluable to you. “What do you think? Thrilling, isn’t it?”

You glance towards the man in the middle of the ring, groaning almost obnoxiously, hands clutching onto his crotch. Oh dear lord, was he kicked in the-

“Jacob and I, you see,” Evie has her hands on your shoulders, perhaps wanting you to take in the scene with a more perceptive eye. “We’ve discussed, and speculated, that perhaps what you need is simply an... outlet. Just a way to relieve yourself of everything that is pent up.”

“Instead of abandoning us completely, that is,” Jacob adds, bitterness and a bit of mockery tinging his words.

Would they rather you don’t leave? Before you’re even able to voice the question, your heart thumping quicker than it’s supposed to, a man dressed rather colourfully steps up to the three of you. Evie tells you of his name before he reaches you; Robert Topping.

“Mr. Frye, Miss Frye!” he tips his hat with a dramatic bow. “It is always good to see you here. Fancy a round or two in the ring? You know how much the crowd loves watching you dear siblings in action.”

“...This is the sort of activity you two get up to at the side?” you murmur, to which the twins merely shrug in response, their eyes squinting in amusement, and none are meeting yours.

“Oh? How about you? You seem like a formidable fellow, yes?” Robert gestures towards you, his grin sly yet harmless, always on a look-out for opportunities. “A friend of the Fryes is surely a force to be reckoned with, that’s what I’ve learnt.”

You promptly fold your arms. “It’s (Y/N), but I’m hardly interested-”

Jacob slaps you in the back, and you quickly meet his smirk with a hard glare.

“Don’t be shy now, (Y/N),” he says, lifting his scarred eyebrow. “Go ahead and unleash the beast.”

He leans in almost conspiratorially as soon as you’re about to protest. “Or are you too scared you’ll humiliate yourself in front of everyone?”

That’s enough to snap something inside you.

Jacob lets out a small ‘oof’ when your coat splays over his face, that when he pulls it off him, his look of surprise turns into one of fixation as you’re vaulting over the fencing bars to position yourself in center of the now empty ring.

 You’re pulling your hair back as you turn to them, noting how Jacob is, unaware even to him, intently watching the way your fingers tread in between your locks. “Sir Topping, what would it take for me to go against him?”

While Jacob barks in laughter as you almost spit out mentioning him, Robert clasps his hands together in keen approval, eyes squinting. “Against the standing champion? Nine rounds, including a match against the runner-up herself-”

Evie thrusts her chin up, her pride evidently casting towards, against you. “He means me, of course.”

“Second place suits you, sister,” Jacob provokes, yet Evie is unfazed, simply rolling her eyes.

“The brains, remember?” she scoffs, then her smirk widening, “At least I have one instead of just punching my way through everything, everytime. No one else could ever compete with you on that one, can they?” A groan as his response, Jacob couldn’t restrain from grinning afterwards.

Amidst the already impatient crowd, you stand just by the boundary, still within the ring. You lean on your arms that rest over the steel bars, surprisingly, with excitement and adrenaline beginning to surge through you. The idea of facing the Frye twins in combat is rather terrifying, and yet, you’re nothing if not eager to potentially get yourself beaten up, perhaps even win—At least, you could dream.

“Eight matches then, before I take on Evie and Mr. Frye?” you reconfirm, no longer able to refrain from smiling in anticipation.

“If you even last that long,” Jacob says with a smug smirk before Robert could answer. “No one ever does.” His last words sound like a threat, yet almost... sultry, especially with that lingering way he looks at you. In return, your eyes narrow in a challenge, one that he seems more than evidently happy to take up.

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” you walk backwards, back to the center of the spotlight, holding firmly onto Jacob’s eyes that trace every single motion you make. “We’ve burnt enough daylight already, haven’t we?”

Robert lets out a howl in a cheer’s stead, surely spurring the audience into wildness. Even Evie and Jacob don’t hesitate to join in the unparalleled energy, cheering and applauding with the crowd, though you send a playful glare when Jacob boos you at one point.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what you’ll witness today will be one of the finest shows you’ve seen in history yet!” Robert calls upon the crowd as he circles you for dramatic flair. Then a pat on your shoulder, he whispers, like a secret to you;

“Shall we begin, my friend?”

And it all erupts. 

You don’t mind the roars of the people, the wind that does nothing to chill the heat kindling in your body, the excitement, the adrenaline—

“Hyargh!” Comes a cry from behind, and the fist that you dodge with ease with a mere spin of your body. Three men are to oppose you for the first round, all three now charging at you with strength surely pulsating through their aiming fists, and...

It’s all ending so quickly.

You’re sure you just finished the very first round, but now Robert is yanking your arm high up in the air, gloating, celebrating your already sixth win. 

“Look here, folks!” He cheers, so over the clouds he is he’s almost slurring his words from how fast he speaks. “Absolutely delightful, this one! Do you not want to see more?”

The people’s response is to scream and whistle louder, an obvious sign that the show must continue, and one that you’re more than willing to give.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you catch sight of Evie and Jacob at the side. Evie seems to have changed into an attire more appropriate for the ring, and you’re flattered that she’s preparing herself for you already, giving you an acknowledging wave of her hand. Then, there’s Jacob, who seems like he hasn’t been able to stop smiling for awhile now. He, as well, gives you a friendly wave, and, without thinking, you return it with a wink. Jacob’s jaw drops immediately, his cheeks turning just a bit red.

Oh God, did you just pull a Jacob on the man himself?

“Ready for the next round, fighter?” Robert snatches your attention away, fortunately, before you could ponder on what you’ve done. You nod at him, fixing the bandages swathing your slightly sore knuckles and fingers.

One more brawl before you face one of the glorified Fryes.

...And it honestly doesn’t take much, with the wave of opponents ending as the last brute falls to the ground, air completely knocked out of him after a precise shiner up his chin.

As Robert takes over the grand gestures, you’re already turning towards the spot the twins have been making themselves comfortable in. The corner of your lips quirk up as you watch Evie vaulting over the bars to join you in the ring.

“Finally,” you hear yourself saying, and she lets out a light laugh.

“Took the word right out my mouth, (Y/N),” she says, grinning amiably. And that sense of camaraderie vanishes within a second, quickly being replaced when her bright eyes narrow into a fierce, menacing glare. When she takes her impenetrable stance, you know you’re in for one hell of a time now. There’s no turning back.

“And... begin!”

Your cry and Evie’s meld as you lunge at the same time. The blow you take on your cheek whips your sight white for a good second before you reciprocate with just as much strength, right on her face as well.

Evie spits onto the ground after recoiling, and comes back ever-so-relentlessly, her movements fast, accurate, way too calculating for you to try and counter immediately. Your arms grow tired as they shield you from her onslaught, until you catch wind of her attempt to break through, and you take the opening to spin and land a kick into her stomach.

You think you’ve won the upper hand now, but judging from her animalistic growl, it seems you’ve just made her angrier... You’re not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

That’s when she suddenly sprints towards you, and you receive the answer right at that moment—Evie leaps onto you, her strong legs wrapping around your neck before she twists and drags you down onto the cold, hard ground. Pain inflames through your whole body as you look up to her, wincing and feeling too numb to go on. You’re tempted to admit defeat, when-

“Listen to me, (Y/N),” she speaks quietly, winding her arms around your throat. She’s... masking her conversation with you by holding you in a death grip? “I have no problem throwing this fight to see you go against my idiot brother.”

“Y-Yeah?” you manage through her slowly crushing down your windpipe.

She answers way too happily in response. “Sure! You’ve put on quite a show, if I do say so myself. Consider it a reward, or maybe even a welcome gift for bringing you here, yes?”

“That... does come with you not... killing me on the spot, right? Please?” you choke out, ready to plead when she chuckles.

“Of course. Make it seem like you’ve overpowered me,” she says, loosening her grip. “Don’t disappoint me,” she adds more quietly.

“Evie, wait, I have an idea,” you whisper back. Swiftly presenting your schemes, still hidden from the public, she nods immediately in an agreement, grinning back at you.

In an instance, you take the cue to break her restraint, bumping your head hard into hers. When she balks back, you waste no time in whirling around and kicking her flat in the stomach. She falls down with a surprised yelp, and lifts her hand for surrender. You suppress your smile as she offers you a secret one of her own.

“Unbelievable!” Robert’s voice echoes instantly. The audience mirrors his excitement, hollering with their fists pumping into the air, even going so far to chant your name.

You’re huffing puffs of growing fatigue behind the back of your hand when something emerges into sight just from the corner of your eye—Jacob has entered the ring, and for an embarrassing second, you’re transfixed over his attire, or rather the lack thereof, nothing but fighting bandages and pants. The tattoo covering his chest makes you stare, a dark raven that you’re suddenly desperate to know of its meaning, as well as the subtle cross inked into his left forearm.

“You’re making me blush, love, with such intense staring,” Jacob coos with a hand on his hip, snapping you into attention. You try to glare your blush away, but from the complacent grin he’s wearing, your efforts are paltry it seems.

You’re as if mesmerised as you watch his hand raking through his hair, a scarce sight to behold as Jacob is rarely seen without his hat to compliment the way he’s usually clad in. ...You’ve completely lost control of yourself with the ogling, and worse, he seems to notice from the very start.

“I won’t go easy on you as my sister have, you know,” he declares, standing idly with relaxed arms at his sides. Unlike Evie, Jacob doesn’t even try to take you seriously, which infuriates you more than ever. And by the mischievous twinkle crossing his eyes, you’ve successfully fallen into his trap.

“This is it, folks! Who will stand as victor in today’s battle? Will it be the defending champion, Mr. Frye, or will the newcomer, (Y/N) take his place?” Both your names ring throughout the perennially heated crowd, your blood pumping faster and faster as your eyes lock against Jacob’s, until Robert signifies the start of the fight with an ear-deafening whistle-

You make the first move, deciding that using your better speed is wiser than trying to par against the assassin’s immense strength. And for a moment, you seem to be having the leverage of the fight, with your fast and piercing movements, your punches and kicks nearly overwhelming him. Then, mid-kick, he suddenly grabs hold of your ankle, and throws you back and out of rhythm.

Breath knocked out of you when your back hits the ground, you roll over just in time before he reaches for you, your arms already up to block his next attack—But he’s much stronger, that he’s able to break through still, and your guard ends up completely shattering when he turns and locks you in his grasp, arms positioning around your head in a way that could break your neck if he chooses to.

“Looks like it’s my win this time, huh?” he still finds a chance to taunt you, lips too close to your ear. Seems like he’s just equaled himself against your win in that over-the-rooftop race from before. But, too soon-

“Evie, now!” you demand, and you hear a confused sound from Jacob before he whelps in shock. Forced to release you, you turn to see Evie having jumped onto his back, now trying to break him down. You lend her a helping hand, kicking him hard, and with the element of surprise, Jacob falls down onto the ground on his back.

Snapping out of the shock, he looks up at you in disbelief, and even more as Evie runs up to you and offers you a high-five. The ridiculous, priceless face he makes only has you laughing harder than you already are.

“Oh, what a turn of events!” Robert narrates, amusement pooling down his words. “Looks like our champion’s enemies have joined forces to take him down once and for all! Ingenious play of strategy right there!”

“Hey, you can’t do that!” Jacob complains once he’s found, still, a rather unstable footing. It seems you and Evie had done him in a bit too much.

Evie only laughs in return, sounding more like a sinister villain. You can’t help yourself either, pushing him away by the chest with a finger. “The brains, remember?”

Jacob stares at you wordlessly, an expression that you can’t quite discern playing on his face as he seemingly contemplates between to laugh or scream. As the crowd rouses in celebration, he chooses to laugh in the end.

You let him pull you into an half-embrace, smiling up to your eyes as he nearly meets you forehead-to-forehead. The sheer adoration glimmering in his eyes, towards you, towards your lips, then back to your eyes has you feeling a bit red in the cheeks. You bask in the overwhelming energy the people spill for you as well as for themselves, in Evie’s joyful hug and Jacob’s warm smiles and touches.

...The day goes by rather well, if you could be honest.

***

Night quilts over the city just as you and the Fryes are ready to return to the train. However, Jacob has suggested visiting one of the pubs he and Evie have invested in nearby, and so the party is now off on a carriage to make way.

Sitting next to Jacob on the coach box comes off as a rather surprisingly... calming, insightful experience when the man’s not too busy being chased to death. Your mind is still a bit too wrapped up over the exchange you had with Evie prior climbing on the coach—she had sent you a suggestive smirk as she deliberately pushes you away from joining her inside, and instead forced your way to sit with her brother—when Jacob’s voice, a question gone unheard brings you back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly say, turning to him apologetically. “What were you saying?”

He simply chuckles. “I asked if you were cold, love?”

You fidget over the casual nickname. He’s rarely used it with you, yet now he does it as if it’s routine. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for asking.”

A glance and a smile, Jacob continues reining the carriage in peaceful silence, apart from the times he’s coaxing the horses. You’ve noticed it from awhile back, but...

“You’re awfully sweet when talking to the horses,” you hear yourself blurt out. Such a contrast between his tough, brash demeanor slightly enlightens you.

“I’m generally a sweet person,” he jokes, and you shake your head in good humour.

“Don’t be so jealous,” he adds.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“I’m not!” you laugh when he goes to stroke under your chin just as one does to a pet, pushing him away. “Focus on driving!” You give him a light slap on the shoulder, and he finally retreats with an endearing laugh.

The ride falls a bit quieter then, but it is a quiet that you more than welcome, the night life sparking hope inside you, as if no Templars exist, no wars to wage. When Jacob briefly sets the rein aside to blow into the cold of his hands, it becomes almost romantic as well—He doesn’t take his wondering eyes off you when you bring his hands into yours to help warm them up.

...The bar, on another hand, is an entirely different story. Teeming with life, with music, with people, you and the twins have to push through the partners bouncing in dance just to get to the counter. Jacob then excuses himself to the side to greet a group of Rooks, leaving you in the hospitable hands of Evie as she orders your drink for you.

“Fun day, wasn’t it? You were able to let your hair down just as we hoped?” she urges you to take a sip from your cup after she does so with her own. The liquor washing down you is sweet, bubbly, warmer than you expect. From your smile, she seems pleased that you enjoy her taste.

“It was... entertaining,” you say. “And very much relieving. You were right.”

“I always am,” she returns. Eyes casting away for just a moment, she says a bit softer, “Though I can’t quite take all the credit, not when it was Jacob who wouldn’t shut up about finding a way to ease your pain.”

“Mr. Frye?” you inquire. The heat bubbling inside you makes you question whether if it’s the alcohol or... something else.

“That’s what I said. I’ve seen you two, your... interactions. It could be harmless, but I can’t say I’m not fairly concerned. Jacob is emotional enough as he is,” Evie looks at you almost critically. “I doubt having more interference would do him any more good.”

“Is that the sort of thinking that have made you and Mr. Green distant?” you ask before you could stop yourself. You know more than enough that it’s a sore spot to touch on, but you couldn’t help yourself—Being called an ‘interference’, as if you were that much of a burden to Jacob impacted something in you.

Evie’s eyes widen, words slowly stammering. “That is... That’s not-”

“(Y/N), Evie!”

Your lips thin just as you feel an arm lace around your shoulders. Jacob has scooted his way up to you and Evie, the wide smile on his face signifies his obliviousness to the conversation he had fortunately missed.

“Less talking, more drinking already,” he lilts, ordering two drinks. One for himself, the other he shoves to you. Your eyes meet with Evie’s above the cup, and you’re hardly able to bear your guilt as she sends you a puzzled, upset look before scampering away. Jacob steals her seat without noticing, though he does watch her leave in slight concern.

“Something happened?” he asks. You wait for the long, unending chug he takes of his pint before answering, shaking your head.

“It was nothing,” you convince. To distract him, you take a sip of his given drink next. The taste is strong, sharp and-

You cough madly after swallowing, slamming the cup down on the counter. “This is revolting!” you croak, then take another long sip—An abomination, but still addictive. Jacob bursts into laughter, clinking his glass with yours before you two match your next drink out of the cups.

Either the drink’s repulsiveness is slowly making you dizzy, or the alcohol itself is getting to you, you can’t exactly tell. Shaking your head, face twisting the unsavoury taste away, Jacob watches you in amusement. He’s already downing a couple more glasses with much more ease than you are.

“Easy now,” he coaxes, hand brushing on your shoulder as you cough. “There’s no need to force yourself, you know?”

“I’m not,” you drink again, then splutter the content out back into the cup. “Okay, nevermind. Enough of that.”

“Wise choice.”

A hand pressing onto the temple of your head, Jacob’s hand running up and down your back soothes the growing headache, the blurriness that is slowly yet surely taking over your sight. You feel... light. Careless. Free of shackles. You could punch someone right now and you still wouldn’t give a damn.

...Is this what being inebriated feels like?

“(Y/N),” you hear Jacob call, a bit muffled through your ear. “Are you still thinking of leaving London?”

“You’ve already taken my letter,” you say, louder than needed. Words are coming out a bit broken out of you. “Don’t see elsewhere I could go.”

“Not planning to write another letter then?” he asks teasingly and you send a playful glare in return.

“Jacob Frye, sir, are you trying to make me leave by force? How unkind.”

His hands lift in surrender. “Now, now, you know I’d never do such a thing. Not to you, love.” That again. Doesn’t he realise how warm he makes you feel from such a name?

“...I never wanted to leave in the first place,” you murmur. “Didn’t ever want to, even as I was writing that stupid letter to the stupid Council. Still don’t want to.” There’s no filter for you, none whatsoever. Self-control has gone right out the window for tonight.

Even Jacob looks surprised, though he wears a light smile alongside, seemingly enjoying the small rebellion you’re putting up. “Wow, someone’s drank a bit too much, haven’t they?”

You huff at his words, then whirl around to face him. “What of you, then?”

“What? Leave London?” he asks in confusion, and you shake your head with vigour, letting out an impatient whine.

“No! I’ve told you what happened to me, what I’ve been through,” you fish out your pen from your person, then tap the edge of it onto the shilling of his necklace resting on his chest. He blinks in surprise, not expecting you to get a bit too close. “What of this? Did you kill someone with this too?”

You see him refraining himself from laughter. “I know I’m good, but killing someone with nothing but a coin is a bit too much to expect from any assassin, don’t you think?”

“So no hidden meaning?”

“Just that it makes me look more desirable,” he simpers.

You nod seriously. “Understandable.” 

“What?”

“And this?” You tap a finger just by his brow, leaning in for a closer look of the scar right above his right eye. “Where did you get this from?”

He stutters for some reason, then you see his eyes wide, that they’re on you in awe.

“I don’t... remember exactly,” he finally says, voice a tad bit weak.

“Unfortunate. And this,” you reach to trace the scar down his jaw, just slightly grazing his stubble—He tenses immediately when you palm it as gently as you could against your hand. “This must’ve hurt a lot.”

Jacob stares at you in an almost speechless manner, but it lasts for only a brief moment before he visibly softens, eyes half-lidded in what seems to resemble an entrance. There’s something... different—Kind, affectionate in his eyes, something you’ve noticed from time to time, from the moments where he’s looked at you from afar, and sometimes even from when you’re so close to him as you are now, the thrumming of your heartbeat loud and clear for him to hear.

The tender smile he gives you makes you forget of everything, everyone else around you. He intends to say something, perhaps another of his uplifting jokes, one more of the endless row of his sassy remarks, but-

Your name out of his lips isn’t complete, not when you’re now slanting your own in between his. A light touch, a connection that is barely there, yet you feel it more than your body could harbour its weight—The sparks the short, delicate kiss release are enough to finally snap you out of the dreamlike haziness you were losing yourself in. Realisation sets in like cold, freezing water drenching onto you.

With a gasp, you push yourself away from him, dread tearing you down so intensely, you wouldn’t know where to begin to remedy this mess. Did you really just- with Jacob?

“I-” you start, struggling to avoid from looking at him directly, not even a bit if possible. “I’m so sorry-”

“I’m not,” you hear him, just before you feel yourself being pulled right back, into his arms. Whatever it is you try to say, it’s futile now, now when Jacob is relentlessly kissing you on the lips, compensating what you lacked in the one you gave him.

You’re much too bewildered to do anything else but simply stand there, though you do have to brace yourself against his chest when he presses you close, even closer into him. Melting isn’t enough to describe the disastrous state you’ve become, more like... swooning. And it only further intensifies when he hums sweetly against your lips, sounding pleased.

Jacob barely lets you go even after he pulls away. You’ve as if been struck by lightning, staring back at him in horror. It doesn’t help when he only chuckles at your reaction, then stealing just the quickest, softest kiss from your lips, smiling contently all the while, before he’s walking away—He’s completely leaving you, after all that.

A silhouette now fading into the crowd, you’re gaping on your own, never blinking from the spot he disappeared, through the people still dancing, spinning to the music. Everything’s so loud, it’s all ringing and throbbing inside your head, and Jacob’s little surprise only makes it worse, and still counting over the rest of the night.

Swallowing the nonexistent bile in your throat, you turn and sit back on your stool. Your attention fleets towards the bartender currently wiping a couple of glasses, feeling his eyes examining you. Once he’s sure you’re looking at him, he sends you what seems to be a congratulatory wink, signaling towards where Jacob once stood. ...Damn it, he saw all of that?

Beyond flustered, you yank your hood down your face for refuge, and take a sip of your long unattended drink—then spurt it back into the glass.

“...Absolutely disgusting.”

——

haahah a ha a ah this took me so long to finish oh god

Thanks so much for the lovely comments @multi-fandom-ficrecs @carolinecrazyangel @aikeia Gods you guys make it all so worth it 😭😭😭 Also let me know if you’d rather not be tagged like this, I could simply reply back on the post next time!

Thanks so much for reading! 💕💕💕