#I just have this awkward mental silence every time I hear the phrase | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Kar’taylir

gif credit @sersi

Part Thirteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.8K

Warnings: language, angst and fluff, descriptions of a dead body, no real smut in this one but there is some nudity and touching, uhhh i think thats it tbh

A/N: Omg hi hi hello this was written in a week and a half so please be gentle, also I’m back on my linguistics bullshit and I can absolutely guarantee a vast majority of it is inaccurate

***

Everybody is asleep and you’re just a complete mess.

Truly. And it fucking sucks, because this should be enjoyable. This is home. You’re in hyperspace, the hull is pitch black, the baby is asleep, and Din’s breathing is slow and quiet through the darkness. Your cheek presses to his chest as it rises and falls hypnotically, you’re comfortable and safe and this would normally be a dream. But your eyes are wide open right now and you are just going through it. Spiraling in the midst of the most stable surroundings you could possibly conceive.

You suppose that this is partially your fault. You don’t know why literally any part of you expected Din would explain himself without prompting from you, but you still couldn’t work up nearly the nerve necessary to ask. Every potential question you came up with contradicted your intent, every way you tried to mentally phrase it gave off the wrong impression. How do you ask somebody if they were being serious about something without revealing anything about your own intentions? You can’t—that’s a downside of staying silent.

Din hasn’t said a single word since he urged you to leave the shooting range earlier, and he didn’t really seem like the quiet didn’t suit him, if that makes sense. Yours was awkward, it fit you wrong. You struggled for words while he easily ignored their existence altogether, able to navigate the Crest into hyperspace and exist comfortably around you without ever addressing the giant bantha in the room. Maybe that’s part of the reason you floundered so hard—he didn’t avoid you, he held the kid while you took a shower in the small fresher, and even though he was quieter around you than he’d been in awhile, he gave no indication that anything was wrong at all.

You spent that time getting clean but also formulating some sort of plan. As you bathed in actual water for the first time in a week and scrubbed your body clean, you tried to figure out at least why you were having so much trouble coming up with something to say, but even then, words evaded you. You spent the entire time staring blankly at the metal wall, at a complete fucking loss.

When you came out of the fresher with wet hair and comfortable clothing to sleep in, Din was armorless and resting in your makeshift bed on the floor, the baby tucked soundly in his crib next to him. You turned off the lights and carefully found your way under the blankets next to him in the pitch blackness, feeling him lazily reach around you and pull you to rest against his chest. His fingers gently drew circles along your arm for maybe the first few minutes while you worked up the nerve to speak. You needed to say something, this was your chance—

But then his hand soon fell to rest in one place on your shoulder and he passed out. Helmet on, not even a few minutes of your quiet breathing next to him.

So now, you’re here, just… a little ball of stress in the middle of paradise. Hours have passed, you need sleep after such a physically exhausting week but it’s like you haven’t even processed the fucking proposition he presented to you yet. You’re having trouble even thinking the words, that’s how much he’s got you fucked up.

He said… hit the target and I’ll ma…. hit the target and I’ll marrrrr…

Fuck. You stay on that loop for ages until your eyes begin to grow heavy, until you just settle on thinking about it with them closed. Slow breaths from Din under one ear, the silence of hyperspace all around you—how are you supposed to contemplate when his body is so warm? No, you can ask tomorrow, you’ll ask him tomorrow.

Eventually, you’re able to drift off into a troubled slumber, dreaming of bells made of beskar that deafen anyone who rings them.

***

You wake up what feels like two minutes later.

It’s not, but you don’t know that. You’re so warm and the second your eyes open, they start stinging and burning and tearing up like your body just wants to cry for even being awake right now. You finally got to sleep—you moan pitifully and start to turn your head further into the warm blankets, but then a gloved hand smooths your hair back and a voice whispers quiet through the darkness.

“I have to go.”

And oh, his touch is just the gentlest thing, but what he says makes your already fragile mental state want to shatter. The first words he gives you in hours and they’re the ones you loathe to hear the most.

“W-Wha? No,” you whimper and automatically reach for him, your throat starting to close up. Maker, you’re so tired, you’re so tired, you feel so fucking emotional and vulnerable right now and you’re not even awake enough to realize it. “Why?”

Din just catches your hands and brings both of them together in front of him, slowly pressing your knuckles to the cold beskar on the face of his helmet.

“I meet with Karga in three days,” he murmurs back, voice pillow-soft and barely loud enough to come through the steel under your fingers. It’s gentle and lulling and it makes you want to sleep again, but you can’t and you feel like you could burst into tears for that reason alone. “He gave me four pucks, I need four bodies.”

You can’t argue with it, the logic is perfectly sound. But you still want to, and everything inside you revolts at the thought of allowing him leave like this without fighting for more. Which means you have absolutely nothing reasonable or compelling to say to appeal to him; all you’re left with the glaring truth.

“But I don’t want you to leave,” you whisper, tightening your fingers.

And, perhaps if you were even half-conscious, you’d wince. You’d cringe at the shake in your voice, you’d remind yourself that he has to make a living, he’s said it over and over again. If you were completely awake, you’d scold yourself for being such a needy mess, but right now, all you can think about is how much you want him to stay, just this once.

After a moment, you feel the gloves carefully collect both of your hands into just one of his, and then he slowly reaches out with his free hand to cradle your jaw.

“I won’t be gone long,” Din murmurs. “I can’t be.”

Your head turns slowly in his palm, and you’re just so, so sleepy. Your voice is small and your words slur. “Stay with me.”

Quiet, and though you can’t see him, the leather continues to press so warm to your cheek. Your eyes slowly drift shut, needing him to stay exactly like this, stay right here just like this. Karga can wait, the quarry can wait, the galaxy can wait—everything else can wait when things are like this, when he’s looking down at you breathing slow into his palm.

You’re almost asleep again when you hear him say something.

But… you have no idea what he says. You hear it. You hear his voice come through the pitch black, quiet enough to sit just on top of the silence and let the mysterious words simply become a part of it, but it’s strange. Like his cadence lilts in a different way, the vowels are longer than what you’re used to, and your comprehension abruptly falters like it would if he was speaking another language altogether.

Maybe it’s just because it’s the first thing to pull you back from the edges of sleep, that has to be right. It doesn’t sound like Basic because your mind is stupid and slow right now. You need to ask him to repeat himself, but all that you can muster is the soft sound of confusion, not even able to open your eyes anymore.

His hands pull away from you and once again, you suddenly can’t decide between sleep and crying, quickly lifting and trying to reach out for him in the darkness. You can’t feel anything, it’s like he’s completely disappeared from where you assumed he’d be, except then something tiny is placed into your hands instead and it makes an unhappy little sound at being disturbed. You automatically hold the baby close to your chest and strong hands touch your shoulders, urging you to lay back down again.

“Leave the engine running, you’ll freeze if you don’t,” he mutters, quickly tucking the blankets up under your body while you close your eyes and feel the tears wet your lashes. Fuck, you’re so exhausted, you just need to sleep. “If I’m not back in sixteen hours, I’ll use my e-comm and you’ll have to fly out to me.”

He steps away from you, walks quickly and with purpose to the side of the hull, and a blast of frigid air fills the room before the door is slammed shut behind him.

***

Your head hurts.

Sparks and wires give your fingers mean, zapping reminders to pay attention every time your focus slips, but you still feel like you’re in a daze.

“Come on,” you drone, trying to use your voice to snap yourself back into the present, but the sound of it isn’t even interesting enough to pull you away. “Come on.”

Maker, you’re going fucking crazy. Is this just all an elaborate scheme to make you experience the same kind of insanity he told you he struggles with in your absence? Because you don’t like this—you hate feeling like this, you can’t concentrate on anything and even if he hadn’t instructed you to do so, you’d likely still be counting the hours of his absence.

Fourteen have passed so far, not the sixteen you’re waiting for but getting close. It’s one thing you’ve been able to accomplish. Counting. You can still count right now, so at least there’s that.

Oh, and another hoop you’ve jumped through. Understanding words. You can listen and repeat, even if you still can’t fully comprehend, but you’re getting there.

Din said… hit the target and I’ll marry you.

He said that. Yep. You’ve accepted it, you’ve accepted the words that were said. Indeed.

Okay, but now… like…

What did he mean by that? Why did he say that?

No matter how much you tell yourself he was just messing around—no matter how many times you offer up that perfectly logical answer to the burning question you’ve been sitting on, you still aren’t satisfied with it. Something keeps tugging your mind back to it, a tether constantly pulling you away from the work that’s designed to be your distraction.

You frown down at the box of machinery. Whelp, if he was serious, he’d probably immediately take the offer back after witnessing your behavior this morning. You embarrassed yourself terribly, you acted like a clingy baby in the looming shadow of unconsciousness and what’s worse, you can’t even remember what he said after you begged him to stay. It could’ve been a quiet, “Stars, pull yourself together,” for all you know.

And honestly, just… fuck these electronics. You’re at the point where you’d probably cheer on whatever brutal impact damaged them so atrociously if you weren’t also well aware that this box was very likely attached to Din’s chest when it was crushed. The magnetics are a complete mess, and you’re mostly just attempting to see how the individual components of each piece are supposed to communicate. Turning the switch on doesn’t do much at all besides make the capacitors put out heat. Not enough to shut it down or be a hazard to the housing when you close it, but enough to know that it’s going to present a problem for you at some point.

What’s more, you’re so lost in your own thoughts and busywork that you don’t see two green ears poking out over the top of the pile of armor on your temporary workstation (literally just the floor) until one of the thigh braces comes clattering down and the whole thing collapses with a ruckus.

You suddenly shove the metal box away from you in frustration and you reach for the little troublemaker with a sigh, scooping him up and getting to your feet.

“This isn’t going to work,” you grunt to him, hearing your words better for some reason when you direct them at the baby instead of talking to yourself, and his eh? allows the thoughts to come clearer and easier. No, you can’t be distracted when your distraction is just another part of your status quo, you can’t use fixing mechanics to occupy yourself because it’s what you’ve done to occupy yourself your entire life, it’s worn off at this point. You need something newer. Something that takes your entire focus to do.

Eventually, your eyes drift over to the one metal panel on the wall that you’ve rarely ever opened. One that takes up a comparatively enormous amount of space in the hull considering what you know it holds. You eye the kid in your arm, who suddenly has sneaky painted all over his expression. “You thinking what I’m thinking, demon?”

He squeaks his affirmative and you move over to the armory, pressing a few buttons before the doors slide open by themselves. Because of course Mando invested in hydraulics for the gun closet but not for the hidden cot he used to sleep on, of course.

“Maker above,” you groan as the metal slides open, needing to lift your chin to eye the enormous collection. How many fucking…? All this for just one person? What does that big one in the middle do that the others stacked strategically around it don’t? They all kill whatever you point and shoot at, you’re assuming? Are you missing something?

The baby makes a tiny sound of awe as you carefully look over your choices, not expecting nearly this many to be offered, before settling on one that looks the simplest. A sleek silver one that’s still too big for your hand but smaller than anything else on the rack.

Grabby fingers reach out for the shiny metal as soon as you remove it from the shelf and you very purposefully set it down out of his pitiful wingspan. “Nope. Now come on, gotta bundle up.”

You make your way back over to the bed and pull one of the thickest blankets up, settling it over the open shield and then situating your partner in crime in his usual spot inside. You strategically stuff and stack the fabric around him to make sure he’ll be warm enough in what you know has to be far below freezing temperatures, lifting it up over his ears and wrapping it around his neck in a loose hood. He blinks up at you with gigantic eyes and an open mouth, clearly thrilled about your willingness to go on an adventure with him this time instead of being the tall nuisance that consistently holds him back from one, and you scoff down at him as you partially close the lid on his levitating nest of blankets for extra protection. He should be warm enough, you’re not going to be outside long.

And then you pull out nearly half the amount of clothes you own and suit up in what feels like ten layers before grabbing the blaster. The swirling wind nearly shoves the heavy hull door into you as soon as you open it and—Maker.

You look back at the kid behind you for a second, wondering if it’s too late to change your mind. His expression narrows and he makes a triumphant ha! while pointing three fingers at the grey blizzard through the small open space in his crib. Try as you might, you can’t ignore a call to arms when delivered with such ferocity.

Both of you step outside and take in the view after you wrestle with the door to haul it shut. You don’t know the name of this planet but from what you can see, it’s one giant ice ball, mountainous and cold as fuck. Though, to be honest, your only indication that it’s truly cold as fuck is the continuously accumulating snow blanketing the landscape and the flurries dancing in the whipping wind. You’re too warm-blooded for climates like these—anything below room temperature and you’re freezing, you have absolutely no tolerance for cold whatsoever.

Keeping that in mind, you don’t travel far at all. Just a few steps beyond the entrance to your shelter before eyeing what appears to be a large white boulder in the distance. There’s a solid target, you figure—you’ll be able to see chunks splintering off when you hit it and the ice isn’t strong enough to bounce plasma back, you won’t have any ricochets.

Okay. Okay—safety, where’s the safety on this one? Ah, yes, okay—safety, off. Stance, find your stance. There it is. Alright, now lift. Lift, get that stupid frozen ball right in your sights, line it up. Hold. Hold. Hold.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale—

Fire.

You watch with bated breath as the bright red bolt launches from the end of the barrel and travels across the distance before melting a hole in the snow just to the right of your target.

“Mother fucker!” You yell into the frigid landscape without warning, suddenly infuriated. What’s the point of even having a sight if every gun is just gonna say fuck you no matter what? Could there be some sort of mathematical reason why you seem to be fucking atrocious at this, you wonder? Are you fucking up the angle somehow while trying to read the scope? Should you just ignore it and try to aim without thinking too hard?

Admittedly, you spend the next five minutes shooting at that stupid fucking thing, not making a single shot. It’s not been long at all, but your entire body is already trembling uncontrollably and it is just too fucking cold out here. Freezing your fucking ass off isn’t going to help your aim of course, but it’s almost just tragic at this point. Either you’ve got to accept that you’re just absolutely hopeless at this, or you’ve got to… blame the little womprat behind you for messing up your shots, yeah. It wouldn't surprise you.

As a last ditch effort, you consider trying something a bit ridiculous to see if he really is fucking with you.

“I’m firing one last shot,” you call out loudly over the sound of the bristling wind and flurries, making sure he can hear your narration from his little blanket cave behind you. “If I hit the target… I will present our demon overlord with a chunk of raw meat later for dinner.”

You give the offer a moment to sink in before raising the blaster, and then you jerk it up at the very last second while pulling the trigger. The arc of plasma quickly disappears into the gloomy skies over the top of the ice boulder, completely straight.

You switch the safety on and turn around to say something smart to him, but… well. Uh. That’s an empty crib.

Sudden panic rips through you at the sight of the wide open shield, the blanket left abandoned inside. Your head whips around in horror, wondering where the fuck he could’ve gone—but then you’re able to spot tiny footprints in the snow. Your eyes quickly follow them up and see the baby wading his way up a large hill, slow against the terrain and trying in vain to get to something at the very top.

You drop the blaster and bolt through the blizzard to get to him while calling out through the freezing air and wishing, not for the first time, that you had a name to roar and strike fear into his tiny little heart. In this case, you prefer a middle name as well.

Finally reaching him and yanking him up from the snow, you tuck him under the warmest part of your arm and open your mouth to start venting the terror from your body, but he makes a distressed noise and starts climbing. You fumble with him on your way back down, not expecting that response, but he’s so distraught and preoccupied that he’s unable to stay still, trying to find different ways of escaping your grasp and making more and more sounds to indicate something is wrong.

“What the fuck are you—” you stuff him into the shield and at least get the blankets wrapped around him before looking back and trying to spot whatever he’s still wiggling and attempting to get to. Frustrated cries start filling the icy air and… okay. “Okay,” you tell him, your breath puffing like smoke in front of you, “okay okay, we can go look, but you need to stay warm.”

You clutch the edge of his metal shield and urge it to follow you back up the snowy hill, feeling the crunch of your feet disappear further and further into it as you climb. Your outer two layers are probably soaked by now—stars, it’s so fucking cold. You know you’re not exactly the best judge, but you’ve been outside less than five minutes and you’re already worried about getting sick or frostbite, already jumpy and wanting to go back to the warmth of the hull.

But as you reach the top and look out in the distance, you can just barely make out a familiar metallic glint on the horizon.

Your heart picks up, but the baby makes another distressed sound. Not… happy, not thrilled that his dad is coming back. Some strange sort of dread begins to fill you, carefully holding the kid in his shield with one hand and looking at the bright reflection of light a little ways away just to make sure it’s…

No, it’s not moving. Not disappearing and reappearing, not catching the sunlight differently. Completely stationary in this absolutely horrendous weather.

You immediately make your way in that direction, your body deciding to outright abandon its trembling in the wake of this newfound worry. You’re suddenly sweating, way too warm. That’s Din, you recognize the glint of his armor anywhere, but why isn’t he moving?

The closer you get, the faster you move and the more you’re able to see. He’s laying facedown in the snow. There’s quite a bit of it covering the back of his cape, maybe a few inches, and… there’s also someone laying equally as lifeless behind him. Your heart is slamming now, you’re doing your best to run in the unforgiving terrain, and you finally see that it’s… a corpse, a frozen corpse is behind him with a rope tied around its ankles, clutched tight in Din’s unmoving fist as it lays against the pure white backdrop.

“Mando?” You call out, dropping to your knees as soon as you reach him. “Hey—hey, can you hear me?”

The beskar strapped to him is frozen over and feels colder than ice when you try to shake him. He doesn’t respond. He’s dead weight; you do your best to turn him over on his back, but you still get nothing from him. You shove your trembling fingers up under the helmet, and the only reassurance you have that he’s even alive comes from the petrifyingly slow pulse beating underneath. His skin is ice cold.

Shit, he’s still breathing but he’s hypothermic, you have to get him back to the Crest right fucking now.

You fumble to get in position above his head while hooking both your arms under his, before leaning everything you have into it—but fuck, he’s so heavy. You can barely lift him even just a few inches off the ground—the snow is deep, his armor makes him weigh a ton and the fabric wrapped around him is sopping wet. You try again, making a tight sound in your throat while you haul, but it’s no use.

“Fuck,” you curse, starting to panic even fucking harder. You’re gasping and breathless and getting dizzy and scared, continuing to try and find different angles to heave—

—until suddenly the burden is lifted.

You nearly fall backwards on your ass at the abrupt removal of tension, playing tug-of-war with a team that decided to give up with no warning. But it’s like it almost doesn’t even phase you; you don’t even look behind you to see the baby’s eyes closed tight in concentration, you just recover and pull with both arms, feeling Din’s body gliding easily along the snow now and leading him all the way back down the hill.

Once you get inside the Crest and shut the door to the raging blizzard behind the three of you, there’s an extended moment where you just… you don’t know what to do. You know all about how to deal with heatstroke, but this is the opposite—he either spent too long in the cold, or he exhausted himself trying to get back too quickly and then spent too long in the cold. He said he’d use his e-comm if he wasn’t back in sixteen hours—was that the cutoff? The point where the temperature outside would shut his body down and he’d need you to come get him?

Regardless, you need to warm him up. Yes, that’s your priority, and you figure the quickest and safest way to accomplish it has to be the shower in slow increments. The kid helps you move Din into the tiny fresher in the hull and then you sit on the floor with him, holding his limp body to your chest while reaching up to turn the faucet on.

Cold water sprays down and then suddenly—oof, he’s heavier than fuck again. Air leaves your lungs and your neck cranes back under the unexpected increase in pressure on top of you to see the kid climbing down from his shield, no longer focused on mentally bearing most of his father’s weight or directing his own hovering form of transportation along behind you. The baby disappears out of sight and you huff, completely trapped under Din as freezing water rains down on you.

Fuck, it’s so cold. It’s way too fucking cold for you, but your core body temperature is also mostly normal right now. Din’s isn’t, you’ll probably shock his system if you try to warm him up too quickly. So you reach up and twist the knob, keeping it at a temperature he’d probably find just the slightest bit warm while inspiring violent shudders from you.

“H-Hey, I’m gonna t-t-take this off, o-okay—” you stutter down at him, knowing damn well he isn’t conscious to hear you but giving him that reassurance on the small chance he is, and then reach with trembling fingers to work at his armor. You worry that the beskar is keeping the cold trapped the same way his clothes are, like having solid pieces of ice strapped to his body and nothing to protect him besides a few layers of soaking wet fabric.

The chestpiece comes off and you throw it blindly over your shoulder into the hull with a clang—admittedly, without thinking about where the baby is at all anymore. The pauldrons come off next, but not before you reach up and turn the heat up just the slightest bit. Your jerky limbs just want to blast it and remove the rest of his clothes in steamy hot water, but you can’t. Even though your mind is hurtling at a thousand lightyears an hour, whatever reason you have left reminds you that you have to be patient or risk losing him entirely.

Eventually you’re able to get all the armor off but you hate the way he’s breathing right now. Slow and shallow, like he just doesn’t really need the air at all but his body is still fighting for it on instinct. His chest barely moves with it even when it’s got nothing weighing it down.

“You’ll b-be okay,” you say aloud, talking to the both of you even though only one is capable of responding. “Y-Y-You’ll be o-okay—”

You reach up to inch the temperature a little higher, shivering terribly now. His body feels slightly warmer under the shower than it did with the beskar, but you know you need to keep going and take the fabric off now. Maker, it’s nearly impossible—the black clothing clings to his skin and its such a small space to maneuver, but it gives your mind and hands a clear goal to focus on while the water incrementally heats up.

Strangely, your adrenaline has been rocketing for so long that you almost lose track of time. You just keep deadly focused on your task of undressing him and slowly heating the shower, trying not to think, trying not to get in your head and bring about disaster in such a crucial set of moments.

At some point, the water is warm. Comfortably warm, and Din’s body isn’t ice cold anymore. It’s warm, too, laying back into your chest and naked besides the helmet, but he’s still not moving. No response, no matter how much mindless drabble you supply, no matter how steamy and hot the shower has become, no matter how much your own body has heated up. Your fingers have found their home under his jaw, pressed right to his pulse point and feeling it continue to beat slow and faint, but you’re starting to feel the terror set in. Real terror, the kind that makes you stupid and emotional, the kind that turns you back into a child again.

“I don’t know if it’s working,” you suddenly choke out, close to tears. He’s warm, what else can you do for him? Why is he not waking up? “I-I don’t know what to do, Din, I…”

No—no, you cannot lose your shit, not yet. You will exhaust every fucking option before you let that fear set in. He’s not waking up because he needs to recover, his body needs time to work things out in a warm, comfortable environment. He’s breathing, his heart is beating, he’s warm, and he’s still with you, so… you need to still be with him.

You turn the water off and clumsily get up, grabbing him under the arms and hauling him back into the hull. He’s still heavy but it’s so much easier than before to move him; there’s no armor weighing him down anymore besides the helmet, no cape or snow or friction to catch him, no cold to lock your muscles up. It’s slow going but you’re finally able to settle him in the warmth of your shared bed and then cover his body in the collection of blankets you’ve amassed. You stand up and peel off all your wet layers of clothing, letting them plop to the metal floor while glancing around for the kid—

—who is currently swinging from the ladder to the cockpit with one hand.

It startles you for just a moment, just long enough for you to wonder what the fuck he thinks he’s doing up there, but then you figure that if he found some way to get up there then he can surely find his way back down again.

As you quickly drop to the bed and scoot up next to Din’s limp body under the blankets, the Crest’s engine suddenly gives a low rumble below the floor and heat starts blowing through the hull vents. Again, you’re too preoccupied to even notice the gift much. You’re tugging and tucking blankets around him and up under the metallic edge of his helmet when...

Maker, you need to take this off. If the inside is wet, it’s probably keeping his head cold while the rest of him is warm from the shower. You know it’s not a light thing—you know… you know at least a fraction of what this means. You won’t look, you won’t look unless something absolutely drastic happens and it’s completely unavoidable, but you need to take his helmet off.

You catch the shoulder furthest from you and tug at his heavy body until he’s on his side, facing you on the bed.

“Din, I have to take your helmet off,” you warn him, saying it slowly and clearly. Again, just in case. “I’m not gonna look. Nobody is gonna look—” your gaze flicks behind him to eye the baby, who is now somehow on the metal ground and waddling up to you both. He blinks enormous black eyes at you, looking between you and his father huddled together under the blankets.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him very seriously, no room for negotiating. “I know you understand me.”

It takes just a few seconds before he lifts his hands up and does exactly what you say, placing his fingers over his closed eyelids and then even so much as toddling around to face the wall. You gasp in relief, clenching your eyes firmly shut and then pulling the helmet up, making sure you catch his head before it falls with one hand while tossing the beskar somewhere in the hull with the other.

Cold. His hair is soaking wet and so cold, and his head rolls slightly as you guide it to rest in the warmest part of your neck. Your hand stays attached to the back of it, wanting to transfer every single bit of warmth from your palm to him, and your eyes open to the kid’s back as your other arm wraps around Din’s bare spine.

And then all at once, you just feel… helpless. He’s in your arms but Maker, you don’t know what else you can do. The heat is blasting, you’re warm and pressed against him under multiple blankets, the engine is slowly heating the metal floor, but his breathing. Slow. Shallow. Barely able to be felt against your neck. He’s here but he’s not. And you have no way of knowing if he’s getting closer or further away from you.

Tears start coming before you even realize. But you have nothing to say. After spending the entire time talking out loud, providing reassurances, narrating, distracting yourself—you don’t have anything anymore. The silence twists you tighter, the nothing becomes inescapable, and the sudden sob that leaves you echoes hauntingly throughout the hull. You pull his limp body as close to you as possible for comfort. Wake up. Wake up.

Your vision is watery—you don’t see it. You don’t see the kid slowly turn around and take a few steps forward. You only notice he’s there when green catches in the abstract blur, but you sniff and blink quickly to clear it. It only takes a second to see the baby’s hand, extending and pressing against the blanket covering Din’s back, and you watch with wide eyes as he closes his.

And then there’s a second. A second where you dare to hope. Where you wonder if it’s even something that can be done.

The kid lowers his hand just a moment later and stumbles back a few steps, before plopping down on the ground and slowly falling backwards. You have just enough time to see his little body inhale and exhale a few times as he sleeps, and then—

—and then Din suddenly jolts in your arms, bursting with too much life after spending too many heart wrenching moments without it.

“Shhh,” you breathe, instantly tightening your grip on the back of his head so he doesn’t pull away from you in a panic and keeping it tucked into the warmest part of your neck, right where your pulse thrums fast and present. Your eyes clench tightly shut just in case and your heart bursts with pure, blinding, heavenly relief. “Shhh sh sh, stay right here, just stay right here…”

As soon as he seems to recognize your voice and figure out that he’s not dead, his body immediately starts wreaking with shivers. You squeeze him tight to you, feeling his large, quaking frame curl inwards into you for warmth, burying his own face into your neck even further and breathing shallow but quickly now, like his body actually wants the air again. You do your best to will your blood to pump faster and provide him that relief, stretching and opening your body as much as possible to give him warmth.

And then you spend the next few hours like that. Holding him, murmuring gently to him, providing him with your body heat and stars, he fucking clings to you. He presses tight to you and trembles, and you don’t even know if he’s listening, but you keep talking. Finding words for hours, and while some of them are just different ways of saying the same thing, you say them anyway.

He’s okay. The kid is okay. Everyone is okay.

Eventually, the shivering dies down until it stops altogether. Din stays in one place and goes completely limp again, but this time he continues to breathe you in, slow and deep into the crook of your neck. Fast asleep in your arms, and you thank the good fucking Maker above for the little angel passed out on the floor behind him.

***

He has to meet with Karga in two days.

After a few more hours of holding him and making absolutely sure he’s going to be alright, that’s all you can stupidly think about.

A deadline. A very quickly approaching one.

You don’t know why. But it might have something to do with the fact that you want nothing more than to climb up into the cockpit and navigate the ship off this horrid planet, and you can’t. You’re confident that the hull and blankets are warm enough by themselves to keep Din comfortable as he recovers, and you’ve also had quite a while to regroup and get your mind thinking logically again, so you’re not worried about getting up and leaving him right now, no. That’s not the problem.

The problem is that there’s a corpse outside. You know this. You know it’s there, and you know he needs it. Nobody’s gonna take his word for just saying they’re dead, much less pay him for his services; no body, no bounty. You also know it’s probably being covered with fresh snow right now, or maybe some sort of wild animal has already gotten their teeth into it, if anything can even survive out there. And you’re the only one awake. The only one capable of going to get it.

You’ve been arguing with yourself. For about an hour, you’ve been struggling with the thought. Din is soft and warm and every breath makes you focus less on the terrifying moments that occurred and more on the need to step up once again.

In the end, it’s the kid who gives you the final push. You’re not going to leave him laying on the floor like that for any longer. Not after what he did.

You take a second, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up all the way over Din’s head as it rests warm and comfortable in your neck. You’re incredibly careful to cover his face, and even while climbing out of the warm cocoon of the bed, you keep your eyes firmly shut and continue to pull the fabric even higher, making absolutely sure you’re not going to see his face on accident. You shouldn’t, you don’t think, as long as he doesn’t jerk awake and pull it down himself, but you want to take extra precaution regardless.

After quickly yanking on some clothes, you immediately make your way over to the kid and pick him up, seeing his little mouth open as he snores—and oh, you just have to. You pull him to your chest and give him the most heartfelt, thankful embrace you can while not squishing him, before setting him down in his much more comfortable hovering blanket palace and closing the lid on it.

You know you have a very clear task now, but for just a few moments longer, you do your best to stall despite the ticking clock. You start to pick up the mess in the hull—you close the fresher door, pick up Din’s discarded armor and set it in a neat pile close to the bed, place the helmet under the vent to encourage the padding inside to dry faster, and then you collect his old armor and stuff it back into one of the storage cubbies with your toolbox.

Only, an idea suddenly occurs to you as you’re putting away the chestpiece. When you open the door to the hull, you know that a blast of cold air is going to flood the ship. The engine is still heating everything inside and making sure you don’t get trapped in the snow by continuously melting it on the outside, but you don’t want Din to start shivering again.

So you grab the dented piece of electronics you were working on and flip the power switch, feeling the capacitors slowly start to heat up inside the housing. You go back over and lift the blanket near his feet just enough to tuck the metal under it, close enough to Din that he’ll feel the same amount of warmth your body was providing him but not enough to overheat.

And then you make your way over to your bag and pull on the rest of your clothes, now exhausting almost every single clean thing you own just to make another trek through the snow. You’re in the middle of pulling on your fifth pair of pants when the thought truly sinks in.

A corpse. A dead body. That you’re actually considering going out into the worst fucking weather in the galaxy to search for, haul back to the ship, and put into carbonite. Because of a fucking deadline for an occupation very much not your own, very much not chosen by you.

You quickly walk over and leave through the door on the side of the hull before you can change your mind, slamming it shut behind you.

***

Well, it’s… It’s not too terrible, you guess.

It’s been frozen out here for hours, that’s why. It’s not bloody, not gory, not demented or malformed in any way. Tranquil almost, like the creature died in its sleep in this nightmarish landscape, perfectly at peace.

You still don’t want to get anywhere close to it, but you have to. You pull a face and slowly reach out, absolutely not thinking about the literal impossibility of it playing dead and just waiting for the moment to strike, but even still… Even if there was nothing more sinister hiding underneath the surface of this scene, it’s still… existentially fucked up. The last time you were confronted with a dead body, Din had to be the one to dispose of it—you couldn’t even think about it without threatening another wave of shock to your system.

And now you’re voluntarily grabbing the rope around one’s ankles and dragging it back down the pure white slope to the Razor Crest.

It doesn’t weigh that much and its icy exterior seems to work in your favor; it slides easily along the snow as soon as you get it moving. As the ship comes back into view, you hurry to the door and you’re just about to open it when you suddenly get the feeling that you’re forgetting something…

Oh—

It takes a few moments of searching around in the freshly fallen snow, but eventually your fingers brush metal underneath and you stand, reaching behind you to tuck the blaster into your waistband. When you’re positive you’re not going to accidentally shoot a chunk of your ass off on accident, you shove open the door and pull the body inside, before locking it tight behind you and keeping the frigid winter from touching this warm, quiet safe-haven.

There. Halfway done. You almost don’t want to look in case he wakes up unexpectedly, but then you find yourself peeking over your shoulder at the silhouette of Din’s body still passed out under the blankets and you’re thankful the squeaks and slams didn’t disturb him.

And then you take just a second to wonder if this is what it must be like for him. Minus your obvious discomfort and ickiness at beginning to haul the corpse over to the carbonite chamber, it seems like it’d be reminiscent of any other time he’s brought back a dead quarry while you and the baby slept soundly. Trying to be quiet, wanting it done and over with just to get back in bed that much faster, doing everything you can to prevent anything out there from so much as breathing on anything in here.

You do your best to hold on to the loveliness of the thought, because this part is the part you’re most anxious about.

The body needs to go into this slanted upright space so you can freeze it in carbonite. And in order to do that, you have to grab it and put it there. With your hands, you have to grab it. With your hands.

You look down at its face, calm and at peace, frozen and forever etched into that expression, and something twists in your heart. If it weren’t for the kid, that could’ve been Din. If it weren’t for the kid walking barefoot through snow, fighting an uphill battle to make sure you get to him, helping you drag him back here and then overexerting himself to make sure he’d be okay, that could’ve been Din. He drives you crazy on a consistent basis, but he came through today.

Know what? If that little squirt can save a grown man’s life twice in a few hours, then the least you can do is finish this job for all three of you and fly your asses out of here.

Weirdly enough, being frozen solid allows for way better handling than the alternative. It means you don’t actually have to touch it too much; you don’t have to deal with the limpness of death, it doesn’t seem as much like a person as it does a rigid board you’re simply moving from one place to another. You can just grab the shoulders and yank and the entire fucking thing goes with it, solid and upright, naturally wanting to lean back into the chamber so you don’t even have to hold it in place. The perfect quarry for you basically, day one stuff, as easy as it could get.

Almost done, almost done—you study the key panel on the upper-right frame before eventually pressing a few buttons, and then you step back as gas freezes and solidifies the corpse in its carbonite prison.

Yes. You’re done. You already want to take another shower just from touching it for a few seconds, but that can wait. Quickly making your way up the ladder and into the cockpit, you fire up the thrusters and then navigate the ship through and beyond the swirling white atmosphere of this dreadful fucking planet, before punching in familiar coordinates to Nevarro.

***

“Din,” you murmur, making sure you have your eyes completely covered with one hand before gently easing the blanket down from his face with the other. “Din, I want you to drink some wat—”

He jerks awake so suddenly that you hear the metal canteen fall over on the floor next to you, thank the Maker its lid is on tight. You automatically reach out to steady him, pressing your free hand to his bare chest and continuing to speak calmly and gently to reassure him, but he still scrambles to take in his surroundings after sleeping longer than he probably has in weeks.

You know what he’s seeing, even though you’re blind right now. You took time to make sure everything was settled before waking him. The hull is clean with only a single light to illuminate it, the baby is still snoozing in his closed crib, his armor is stacked in a neat pile, the blaster is put away, and you retired your makeshift blanket heater box so the only thing left is you. Freshly showered, hair dripping, offering him water, and dressed in just a thin shirt with nothing else (you ran out of things to wear).

“Wh-Where’s my h-h-helmet—” is the first thing he asks, voice broken and raspy. Stars, he needs water.

“The padding inside is wet,” you quickly supply, keeping your hand tight over the bridge of your eyes to make sure his freshly conscious mind immediately understands that you have no bad intentions. “I swear I didn’t look, and I made sure the kid didn’t either. He’s sleeping now, it’s just me—I swear nobody looked, I swear.”

You might just be saying the exact same thing over and over again and admittedly, that might be putting some weird kind of suspicion on you, but you just want to make sure he knows. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. It’s important that he knows he’s safe and that everything is okay now, even if he collapsed and spent an unknown amount of time in a purgatory where nothing was.

His body trembles under your palm, waves of shudders attacking him even after hours of keeping him as warm as possible. “Are—Are we st-still on H-Ho—H-Hoth—”

“No,” you answer. “We’re in hyperspace. Everything’s okay now, I took care of it. We’ll get to Nevarro on time.”

It’s like he takes just a few extra moments, as if he’s trying extra hard to remember before responding. “But—I d-didn’t—”

“You have four bodies for Karga,” you tell him, not letting him get too lost trying to recall something that no longer poses an issue. “I took care of it. You need rest, I only woke you up to make sure you drink some water, so please—” you blindly reach your hand out for the canteen you know has to be around here somewhere, but all you feel is…

His. Catching yours.

“Y-You took c-c-care of…” His hands are trembling harder than his voice. “Sh-shit, I’m freezing, I—”

“Drink some water,” you tell him, squeezing his fingers. “I’ll go turn off the light so you can sleep more, but you need water.”

His hand feels like it doesn’t quite want to let go of yours yet, but eventually it does and you hear the sloshing of water as the metal flask is picked up with an unsteady grip. Purposefully turning your back to him and making sure he’s not in your line of sight whatsoever, you finally let your hand drop and blink your eyes open at the wall across the hull. You hear Din shakily unscrew the lid while you stand up and find the light switch, before turning around in the pitch blackness and using his loud gulps as your guide back.

Your hands and knees are barely on the blanket when you hear him toss the empty canteen to the side and grab you, pulling you down to him.

Fuck, you’re not expecting it. You fumble in the dark but he doesn’t really give your clumsiness much of a choice—Din pulls you under the blankets like he needs you, his body craving that warmth even though his skin doesn’t feel cold at all. He hooks a strong forearm around your tummy, keeping your back pressed tight to his chest while the rest of him curls to fit every part of you, and you have to adjust the blankets yourself.

It’s not even a few seconds after you settle into position when his trembling hands jerk down to grab your shirt and yank it up. You quickly scramble to help him get you as naked as he is, feeling his palms drag greedily across the heat of your tummy and breasts before you’ve even finished wiggling the fabric over your head. The shirt lands somewhere in the darkness and you’re squeezed back against him, your hands landing on his forearms as they wrap around your waist and he clings shamelessly to you.

“You…” Din’s body still shivers every once in a while but the heat and closeness allows his voice to even out just a bit. He clears his throat and swallows, tucking his head and burying his face in your hair before trying again. “You brought back the qu-quarry?”

“Yes,” you confirm, confident in your reassurance but gentle at the same time. “It’s in carbonite.”

All you can feel or hear in response is his breathing. His heart beating steady and strong against your back.

And then Din’s arms suddenly squeeze you tight—tight. He lets out a low shaky exhale against the back of your shoulder and presses his lips to your skin. “Sweet girl.”

And he says just… so much with those two words. Slow and purposeful, the steadiest thing you’ve heard from him in hours. But the two biggest competing emotions you hear tugging at his vocal cords are gratitude and apprehension. Like he already knows that it couldn’t have been easy for you. Like he’s not taking it lightly.

You don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to talk about anything that happened in the past few hours, not right now. “It’s okay. Please.”

This time his silence seems to be on the brink, as if he wants to say more but the extra plea you put on the end makes him hold onto his words, at least for now.

“How d-did you find me?” He asks instead, scooting his legs up enough that yours actually go with him. Cradled in his naked body, radiating heat so he can recover, pressed so close to him that you feel like gravity itself would be pushing you into his lap if the world weren’t sideways.

“The kid,” you tell him. “We were goofing around outside and he dragged me ov—”

It’s like he’s still so cold that even just the surprise of hearing you say that makes his whole body lock down and convulse a few times against your back. “You were wh-what?”

“I was practicing,” you openly admit to him, feeling like the earlier events already occurred a lifetime ago and you have no reason for being shy about it anymore. In fact, you’re glad you were there, being terrible at shooting. The alternative is unthinkable. Though, something tells you also improbable, having a little supernatural sidekick who cares so deeply for him. “I raided your armory. We weren’t outside for more than five minutes before I wanted to go back in, but then he found you.”

And you think he’s going to get after you, for some reason. Seems about on par, you figure—going outside for even just a few minutes on a planet whose name you now remember is colloquial slang for hell, even if it’s the only reason he’s not an icicle right now.

But he’s just quiet. Breathing. So you just relax into him, thinking that’s the end of it. You take a few deep breaths in through your nose and just… rest. In the near perfect silence of hyperspace you used to find haunting, but now only find comfort in. It reminds you of him.

“Did you hit the target?” He asks you quietly, and at first you scoff, about to ask if he’s kidding. No, of course you didn’t hit the…

Only, after a remarkable delay, hearing him phrase it that way suddenly makes your stomach decide to drop and do a fucking somersault on the ground out of absolutely nowhere.

Everything comes flooding back. The conflict you used to think was the most pressing thing, the one that kept you awake and your thoughts scrambled for hours. It feels like it was ages ago. An entire lifetime has passed since that happened, you might’ve forgotten it altogether if he didn’t decide to ask that very simple question in a very specific way.

“I…” you mumble in response, your heart suddenly pounding. “Not… not yet.”

Okay, that’s a good answer. It’s the truth and you’re giving nothing away by saying that. So now what is he going to say? What is he going to say? You spoke your piece, it’s his turn now, that’s how conversations work. Well typically, that’s how conversations work—but with Din… you probably should’ve known.

He falls back into silence almost immediately, appearing to accept your answer just the way it is without anything else to add. You feel his heart continue to beat strong against your back, but there’s something too tense about his stillness that doesn’t imply he’s relaxing anymore. His body goes slightly taut, but not from the lingering chill in his bones.

He’s going to make you ask him, you realize. He’s waiting until you confront him about his choice in words at the shooting range. Which means he wasn’t just joking around. He wasn’t just messing with you.

“Din…” you whisper uncertainly, and his face suddenly finds its way into the crook of your neck as soon as the word leaves your mouth, arms tightening up around you. You spent forever trying to find the words to even bring this up, and here he is, already knowing exactly what you’re asking just by the tone of your voice. Still, you ask anyway, sounding small and so unsure of yourself in the darkness. “Why did you say that? On Tatooine, why did you…”

Din’s chest expands against your back with a long, slow breath, and then he lets it out against your neck, hot enough to raise goosebumps all over your body.

“I… don’t know,” he admits, voice muffled and quiet, but it’s not… casual. Not like he’s brushing you off or indicating he doesn’t want to talk about it, but like it’s actually a complete fucking mystery to him, just as much as it is to you. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know…” you repeat slowly.

“You had said something,” he mutters, shifting just a bit behind you. His palm slides up your bare tummy, stopping in the warm spot just under the swell of your breast. “Earlier that day. I thought about it, and then I just… s-said it.”

You? Said something that made him ask that?

“What?” You blurt out, genuinely startled and having no fucking clue. “What did I say?”

“Something about…” He gives the smallest shudder from behind you, and you don’t actually know if this one is from the cold. “Not wanting anyone else to know me the way you do.”

Your heart rapidly kicks up and you flush, hating how unbelievably possessive your own words sound coming out of his mouth. “Oh shit, I… I didn’t mean for that to be… that sounds so bad, Din, I swear I didn’t mean for it to—”

He cuts you off by clutching you tighter, burying his face deeper into your neck and breathing out shakily. “Tell me you meant every word.”

You blink a couple of times in the pitch black before sighing, letting go of any charade or front you think about putting up for him to save some dignity. “I meant it.”

Because it’s the truth. You said it when you were caught off guard, throwing it out to him along with other mindless drabble that came from a place that was very real. You don’t like the way you phrased it, but you meant it. You do mean it. Every word.

If there weren't so many things still left unsaid right now, you might actually worry he fell asleep on you. Din loosens up considerably after you admit it, letting go of more tightness you didn’t even know was inside him. His head slowly drops from the crook of your neck to the back of it and he breathes hot air on your nape, quiet for a long time.

And, you suppose you’d actually be okay with it if that was the end of the conversation. There are, of course, millions of things left to ask. But he doesn’t know the answers, just as much as you’re left clueless about the questions. You’re not expecting him to elaborate anymore, and if he’s waiting for you to ask, he’ll be waiting a long time. Soon your eyes close and you almost feel yourself beginning to drift. It’s been such a rough day today and to just be here in his arms, it’s more than enough for you.

But then his low baritone comes through the darkness.

“In Mando’a,” Din’s voice suddenly whispers against your skin, “the verb, kar’taylir… it means to know. Su kar’tayli, you know, kaysh kar’tayli, they know. Ni ke kar’tayl nu… I don’t know.”

Your eyes pop open and you immediately forget all about sleep, wide awake and suddenly hanging onto every word as it rolls so gently off his tongue. You’ve never heard the language spoken aloud, you’ve never heard anything about the Mandalorians directly from one before. All of the stories seem sensationalized, passed down by word of mouth and chipping away at the kernel of truth until it disappears completely.

“The language is dying,” Din continues, murmuring soft and gentle along your nape. “By the time I learned it, too many words had been lost. The ones left were the ones that were needed.”

“What do you mean?” You whisper, almost afraid of breaking the quiet. Not wanting him to feel distracted or pressed, but needing to express your curiosity lest you somehow overflow with it.

“There are only three pronouns,” he answers slowly, and you’re already fucking fascinated. “Ni, for I or we. Su is you or you all, and kaysh is third person. Subjective, objective, possessive, singular, plural—doesn’t matter. Three words, for every individual or collective in the entire galaxy.”

You blink in the darkness, your logic telling you that it sounds so simple it’d become confusing and then your logic also telling you that doesn’t actually make any fucking sense at all. If that’s true, it’s unbelievable. How do they differentiate? Just context?

“How do you distinguish?” You ask him. Admittedly, you don’t know much about linguistics—not anywhere near the extent he does, but it seems so counterintuitive. I can’t be the same word for we, the amount of misunderstandings would be a nightmare.

“We… don’t need to,” he explains to you, slowly, like nobody has ever asked him these things before and so he’s unsure how to phrase it. “Individuality isn’t valued, it’s not a concept.”

And… you almost can’t wrap your head around it. “What do you mean?” You ask again, knowing you’re sounding like a broken record without specifying more, but trying with your whole heart to understand.

“I mean… we swear oaths to never reveal our faces,” Din tells you, something you shouldn’t need to be reminded of. “We abandon our names. We become… whispers, of the same voice. There’s not many words in Mando’a with a unique meaning, almost all of them are homonyms. Interchangeable. Transient.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, suddenly blown away by the implication. Almost all of them are homonyms? How in Maker’s name are you even supposed to communicate at that point? That’s… unthinkable.

“Most words have two meanings?” You clarify, wanting to be absolutely sure you’re getting it right.

“Most have five or six,” he returns, and you’re downright shocked now. “Everything just depends.”

“Stars…” You breathe, moving a palm up the length of his forearm and holding the back of his hand with it. Fuck, you hope this is the direction he’s intending instead of veering him off course, but you’re incredibly invested. “What else does, uh… kay—er, kar… kar’taylir mean?”

Din lets out a slow breath from behind you, and you can… you can feel his own heart beating faster when it presses up against your spine at the apex of his inhale. “It’s… a rare word, it only has two meanings.”

You bite your lip and start to feel butterflies in your stomach for some reason. Slowly, his hand begins to travel up your breast and then to your sternum before heading just the slightest bit left, and your own hand moves with him.

“To know,” Din says quietly, “but also… to care very deeply for.” He doesn’t stop until his palm presses right above the rapidly pounding organ in your chest. “To hold in the heart.”

“To know,” you swallow thickly, curling your fingers around his hand and praying he’s saying what you think he is, “or… to love?”

“When Mandalorian’s take vows, there’s no ceremony,” he whispers into the back of your neck. “No witnesses, no celebrations. We just take our helmets off in front of the other and look. It doesn’t sound like much, but… our secrecy is our survival. Letting someone see our face and swearing lifelong devotion to them, it’s the same thing. To know is to love.”

Your eyes close tight and your lungs empty themselves, too full of emotion to even fit oxygen inside you anymore. Din’s lips press feather soft behind your neck, and now you’re the one shivering uncontrollably. The move up and trail along your neck in the darkness.

“Ni kar'tayl su,” he murmurs, shifting back just slightly and pulling at your shoulder. “I know you.”

You go with him, facing the ceiling as he fits his head under your throat and places slow, open mouth kisses down the curve of it.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” he goes on quietly, his voice starting to sound raspy again, dragging his hand down your torso while his lips brush your collarbone. “For an eternity, I’ll know you.”

Water wets the corners of your lashes and you inhale three or four times before exhaling, shallow hiccups and desperate for air.

“Ni ke vaabi nu kaysh ke kar’taylir su te ni kar’tayl su.” Din says, slowly moving his mouth back up when your fingers tangle in his hair and beg him to come that way. The words dance along your skin as he whispers them, forever searing themselves into your memory. You can’t see them, you’ll never have a visual to reminisce upon, but you’ll know how they felt. Right under your ear, brimming with quiet devotion. “I don’t want anyone else to know you… the way I know you.”

Your face goes blazing hot at the sound of him translating your own rushed and half-assed sentence into something gorgeous and flowing, something that sounds so much more beautiful than when you blurted it out earlier. You told him you loved him in that hangar, right to his face. Unashamed and stupid about it, but meaning it with every part of your body.

“I knew you’d say no,” he finally admits, staying in this one spot. Unmoving. Telling you the truth, allowing you to know it. “I just wanted to… say it.”

That… that makes sense to you. The last part does, at least, it makes so much sense to you. The first time you said you loved him, you said it just to say it. You wanted to feel the words, sound them out even if neither one of you could hear them. It felt freeing, like coming to accept a universal truth.

The first part, though. You’re still behind. “You knew I’d say no?” You ask him, feeling him ease back just slightly. Staring down at you through the pitch black, even if he can’t see either. Keeping his palm over your heart as the ship hurdles through nowhere and everywhere at once.

“You wouldn’t take my first name without convincing,” he reasons quietly, and then moves back to lay in the blankets once more, leaving the rest unspoken.

But he’s… oh stars, he’s so right. If he’s going to take his helmet off and let you see his face—if he’s going to commit to you that way, it is not going to be because you shoot a blaster correctly. Not after today, not after what he’s told you.

So you move up to your elbow and turn to face him, trying to let him know why even if he’s already guessed the what correctly.

“I want it to mean something,” you say after a moment. “I want it to… have the meaning it’s supposed to have.”

Your palm finds its way to his chest in the silence following. Right over the beating of his heart, feeling it thrum hard and rhythmic while he considers his response.

“This is The Way,” Din finally murmurs, settling his hand over yours, and you repeat the words back to him. Respecting them. Feeling like, for the very first time, they now apply to you in some way instead of belonging to some mysterious creed you’ll never know anything about.

But when a shudder subtly rockets up and down his body, you realize the blankets have been pulled down with the changing positions and his whole torso is bare and exposed to the hull. So you pull them up until you’re both covered again, before you lean down and press a soft kiss to his shoulder.

Din shudders again when your mouth opens and the hot glide of your tongue catches his skin, but you know it’s not from the cold this time. His breathing deepens while you slowly move over him. You ease him further on his back and let him keep feeling the warmth of your mouth on his body, alleviate the lingering chill by sucking gentle hickeys into his skin and feeling the goosebumps raise under your tongue. He moves with you; he stretches his neck when you want to nibble his collarbone, arches when you mouth down his chest, shifts his elbow to let you drag your tongue along his ribcage.

And… and it’s as if all the stars and systems hold even more still for you than the relative physics of faster-than-light travel can explain away by themselves. You’ve always felt timeless in here, living from one fleeting eternity to the next, suspended in perpetuity while the rest of the galaxy ages without you. But when you’re with him and it’s pitch black and there’s no light to streak across your vision, no evidence that time and space have all but disconnected from each other just to let your insignificant little bodies through… it’s like you’re meant to be here. In some strange, unexplainable way, you feel like you could’ve died out there with him in the frozen wasteland today and this is exactly where you’d still end up, no matter what.

To know is to love.

“Do you have brown eyes?” You hear yourself whisper under his jaw, and you feel Din’s fingers thread in your hair and ease you up enough to brush his lips against your chin.

“Yes,” he whispers back, and then his mouth is on yours.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #fanfic #star wars fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #no-droids #reader insert

5K notes · View notes

elias-code · 4 years ago

Text

The Swine’s Scribe

Characters: c!Technoblade x gn!reader, an appearance by Philza

Background: You're in Techno's cabin after getting the rest of his wolves from L’Manburg after the second war. You were originally rescued by Techno from a blizzard after running from the first L'Manburg explosion (your house was among those destroyed.)

Summary: When Techno gets back from the second L'Manburg war, he lets go of a lot of emotions by ranting to you. You, being concerned about his mental wellbeing, ask if you can do anything for him, and eventually, he kisses you, which leads to some close-calls with Phil and a whole lot of smut and fluff.

Wordcount: 3291 (according to google docs lmao)

Warnings: NSFW, swearing, blood/wounds, biting, getting caught

I REPEAT NSFW, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

-------------------------------- Enjoy :) ----------------------------------

Ever since Techno brought you in from the cold months ago, you've been doing little chores for him in a way to repay his kindness. Even though he was the one who summoned the withers after the initial explosions, you felt safe around him. It had been hard to get used to at first, but now you felt comforted by his presence.

For the past week, you've been writing his journal for him after he broke his hand sparring with Phil. His hand has since healed, but you insisted that you do it for him, and he put up little protest.

"It was stressful, seeing your friends leave like that, in the blink of an eye. I don't trust anyone anymore, not after Tommy betrayed me. I gave him a roof over his head, hid him from Dream, one of the most powerful people on the server, AND I trusted him with my Axe of Peace." Technoblade's tone was strained and he let out a huff.

"Techno," you empathised, "are you sure you're okay after today?"

"I'm fine, please keep writing." He only ever said please when he was really serious, clearly, he was not interested in talking.

"Now, I refuse to bow to the voices. They want blood and I won't let them. Too many allies have died for me or have disappeared onto the other side, only to reemerge when they need ME, never when I need THEM."

Again, you piped in, "Techno, you're clearly not ok," his pale skin was flushed red and his eyebrows knit together into a grimace, "If there's anything I can do to help, please tell me."

He went silent.

"You don't have to talk about it if it's really getting to you... Or you could let it out. Either way, I'm here to help," You said.

"I'll think about it. For now, keep writing,"

For another half hour, he ranted about the destruction of L'Manburg and his dramatic reenactment was accented by occasional yelling and hand gestures. Suddenly, he stops speaking and gets a puzzled look on his face, "Um, what- what's the correct phrasing for - I guess - 'horny for violence'?" The tips of his ears were bright red, matching the blush now forming on his cheeks.

You chuckle, "I think it's hungry for violence..."

"Ah, that's it," Techno states, and then he completed his recounting of events. There's a bubble of silence in the air and he bursts it by asking, "Do you have any thoughts?"

"You know my thoughts, Techno..."

"I think I know, but give me words, I can't read minds."

"You're not healthy, you need help. You need better friends and a proper support system. Right now you really only have Phil, and I guess me if I even count."

"You count."

Now it was your turn to blush, but you continue, "Either way, that's not enough! You deserve more than you're getting. I can tell that even without the things you've had me write down. You're carrying so much weight, Tech."

"I didn't know you cared," he seems touched by your words, "I suppose I don't know a whole lot about you."

"And yet, you trust me with your deepest, darkest secrets, Technoblade."

"One thing I can trust you to do is help me with my armour."

He was still wearing the enchanted netherite chestplate and pants, both of which you started fumbling with. The leather straps were clasped tightly, as to not come off in battle, but you managed to manoeuvre them enough to get them to let go.

As the chestplate was lifted off of him, he hissed and then grunted. You look at the spot his hand flew to on his back, where his shirt had torn to reveal a big gash in his shoulder. It ran from his shoulder blade to his left pec, one of the only places where he was unarmoured.

"Holy shit Tech, why didn't you tell me this was here?!"

"I didn't want to worry you," He chuckled and then hissed again, "I guess that plan failed."

You did not find it funny. You immediately went to get the supplies Phil kept in his house, knowing that Techno didn't keep anything but healing potions in his chests. Phil was eager to help and he handed some bandages and rubbing alcohol to you so you could clean the wound. You also grabbed a spare scrap of leather for him to bite down on.

When you returned, Techno had moved to sit on his bed where he had already removed the greaves and discarded them beside him. You came to his side, putting down the alcohol, rag, and bandage.

"This is probably going to hurt, so I need you to bite down on this," you said, handing him the leather scrap.

"Ok," he said, watching you grab the alcohol and rag from the floor, "Just- just tell me when,"

"Alright," He put the leather in between his teeth, biting lightly, "you ready?"

He nodded, you put the alcohol rag onto the blood-crusted gash. He let out a sharp, low hiss, tightening his jaw on the leather to release some of the pain. You cleaned up quickly to minimise the pain and then wrapped it in the bandage, leaving some so you could clean and replace it later.

"All done, you ok?" You looked at him, one of his eyes was watering.

"Yeah, the pain's much worse when you're not pumped full of adrenaline."

"You better not be hiding any more gashes under all of those clothes,"

"Wanna find out?" He flashed you a smirk, amused by his own confidence.

"I'll take your word for it, but you're going to need to change that shirt, it's covered in blood."

"At least it's not my blood," you shivered a bit at that remark and helped him take his shirt off, careful not to remove the fresh bandages along with it.

For the first time, you saw him without a shirt off. He seemed surprisingly slender for being as strong as he is. There were numerous scars that etched every battle and lesson learned into his skin. Lots of them looked older than you expected and you suddenly realised that he must have been fighting for a long time before coming to the server.

"Like what you see?" he asked, and you rushed to put the shirt down and find an excuse.

"Um, I- I was just looking at your scars, I'll bring this downstairs,"

You rushed away, turning bright red, embarrassed that he had noticed your stares. You absent-mindedly tossed the shirt into the 'wash pile' and then you remembered, in your rush, you had forgotten his greaves. With a huff, you climbed the ladder back to his room.

Techno sat in front of the fireplace, now roaring with renewed vigour from the log he'd tossed in. His pink hair had been undone from the messy braid he had put in that morning. It was almost dyed red and black by the blood and soot in it. He was playing with it, picking out debris and running his fingers through the more knotted bits.

“Tech?”

“Hmm?” he looked up at you, still fiddling with the hair in his hands.

You sat down next to him and he relaxed into a cross-legged position, with one knee tucked under his chin. His free hand is right next to yours and he doesn’t look at you. His face is red, probably from the fire.

“You looked like you were in a trance? Are you ok?”

Silence filled the room again,"

“You don’t have to tell me but just know I’m here if you need to talk. Obviously, I haven’t tattled about anything yet or Tommy and the Butchers would be knocking your door down by now.”

“The voices are quieter than normal. I can hear myself think.”

You try to be encouraging “So? What are you thinking about?”

He looks you in the eyes, they’re deep, his pupils adjusting makes you feel like he’s looking into your soul.

“Um, I’m not sure you’d want to know.”

You frown and protest since you’re now more curious than ever but still a bit freaked out. "C'mon now you've got me curious,"

Techno looked away, solemnly gazing at the fire “I meant what I said about you being a trusted friend. I don't get many of those so, thanks. As for why this is coming up now, well, I guess I’m lonely.”

You hesitated, “Me too, Tech. You're kind of the only one I trust, and I guess Phil, too, but I'd trust you with my life.”

He blushes, looks away, and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear before turning back to you and putting his hand on yours.

You immediately flush and you see a grin seep onto his face.

"I'm not really talking about friends anymore. I want... someone..." he almost whispers

"You mean?" he nods, "I guess I've never had anyone before. I think it'd be nice to see what it'd be like."

“I think we can kill two birds with one stone here, don’t you?”

Now you're both bright red, nervous, schoolkids who gingerly lean into each other's faces, gaze fixed on the other's lips. Your hearts beat hard while your brains rush to make sure you feel insecure, the voices in Techno's mind screaming excitedly.

“You good up there Techno? Your light is still on, it's far past midnight, mate!” Phil shouts from the bottom of the ladder.

“I’m fine, just," He pulls away from you, "reading. Goodnight Phil,”

Techno's ears perk up to listen to the receding footsteps. You’re both standing now, he's standing over the trapdoor, making sure Phil had gone. Once he was sure, he comes over and kisses you hard.

“Tech-"

“Is this ok? I’m not doing anything wrong am I?”

You think He’s clearly never done this before, as you respond "Yeah, I like it..." you continue, stumbling towards his bed where you’re initially just kissing like two teenagers as if it were your first time, desperate, but awkward.

Your hand was pressing against his chest as you laid next to him, tasting each other's spit, learning the ropes since neither of you had ever done this before.

The light from the fire made your shadows dance across the wall, arms moving to hold each other closer, legs wrapping around Techno's, bodies shifting so he's on top of you. Only the roar and crackle of the fire and the occasional grunt or gasp from you or Techno could be heard.

--- Smut begins here ---

As you both part to take a breath, he pulls your shirt over his head. When he leans into the crook of your neck, you notice the tent in his pants pressing against your inner thigh. In between your own legs, there was a pool of slick forming.

You moan, loud, fully knowing that would send Techno wild. He pushes further towards you and holds your arms above your head so he could press his mouth against your neck, leaving red, hot, sticky marks leading from your collarbone to your abdomen.

You're both panting as he lets go of your arms and you wrap them around his neck, pulling his head in for a long, deep kiss. His hot breath warms your cheeks as he repositions himself.

"Hey, is this still ok?" He asks between breaths.

"Abso-fucking-lutely,"

He fully loses himself, taking his hand from your cheek and moving it to your pants, never losing eye contact. You nod and he pushes his hand into the spot between your legs which was now drenched in slick. He found his way to your hole and pushed his index finger into it, creating a sensation you'd never felt before.

Instinctually, you gasp and then moan, harder than before. You rock your hips to his rhythm while he continues to press bruises into your torso. Eventually, he brings his face back to yours and kisses you. You let out another moan into his mouth. He grunts and then chuckles, kissing your cheek before pulling his finger out and then going back in with two.

Now, you're whining, pulling on his long, pink hair. You notice everything in those moments, his rhythmic breaths into your neck and pumping of his finger in and out of your sex, his other hand holding your waist, pushing upwards to caress you, his soft hair in your hand.

"Is it my turn now?" He gruffs.

You hum in affirmation as he pulls away and you kick off your pants as he undoes his own. You immediately notice his size. Compared to his fingers, which were pretty long and thick, to begin with, due to his big hands, his member was a giant. His hand that had previously been half inside of you was now working his dick, its head coated in pre-cum.

While you had seen other penises before, mostly in study, you had never seen one up close, and you'd only seen ones on humans. The hybrid piglin-shapeshifter was sporting a human-like head and shaft, 9 inches (at least) all the way down to a knot... he had a knot...

He notices you gaping at his dick and grins, leaning into you again. "Wanna help me with this, or... should I help m'self?"

Eager to please, you lightly push him forward so you're both sitting up while your hand inspects the new acquaintance. You look up at Techno for guidance. He nods and pushes your hand down with his own. He guides your hand up and down the shaft until he’s no longer guiding you and you’re doing it all yourself.

He does the same with you. The space between your legs was now, simply put, slippery. He did his best to please you, eventually managing three fingers easily.

The pants and gasps were syncing, the knot in your stomach growing stronger while you danced your mouth on the head of his member. He lets out a particularly loud grunt and removes his fingers from your sex. You suddenly feel empty, and he pushes you over onto your stomach.

He puts himself under you, his dick under your mouth. You lick the ever-present pre-cum off of the head of his dick once again and then begin to bob your head up and down, managing to fit him halfway before choking on him. His groans were now louder than yours, becoming more frequent.

"Ughh- fuck," he moans.

Now he holds your head and gently begins to fuck your mouth. Your bobbing was no longer enough, he wanted more. He thrust his hips into you, managing to get a third of the way into you and then it turns into deepthroating after every thrust.

You gag, unable to take him all the way, and so he decides enough is enough and you both rush to get him inside of you. He gets up, moving to position himself above you. You continue to stay in the position he left you in, on your hands and knees.

"Turn around," Techno says.

And so you do, you lay on your back, full of anticipation and covered in juices. He puts his hand on your stomach, leaning in to kiss you lightly, pressing more red marks into your sides, slowly turning you so you face the wall.

He pulls away and holds your leg away from the other, practically putting you into the splits.

"Techno..." You whisper.

"Hmm?"

"Is this gonna hurt?"

"Dunno, darlin'," He leans in again, "let me know if it gets too hard, ok? I'll stop if you say so."

You nod and kiss for confirmation, reaching to hold your own leg up to give him full access.

He inserts the head and you can already feel the stretch, slightly painful but you push on, your fingers grasping the sheets to keep yourself grounded. He’s pushing into you slowly, making sure you're not getting in over your head. You hold the sheet tighter, groaning from the stretch.

He pulls out slightly and the pressure releases. You moan hard, making sure Techno knows that you like what you feel. He pushes in again and begins to thrust into you. Techno is getting further and further with every thrust, and you moan between every breath. He's three-fifths of the way in and he's only getting harder.

Techno's hand replaces yours, keeping your leg raised as you move your hand to work yourself along with him. Your heart beats faster and he picks up the pace. He can get all the way to the knot before pulling out and thrusting in again.

"Tech... Fuck, it's so gooood..."

Now he's becoming sparattic and his face goes into your neck, biting softly, barely enough for blood to form. The knot in your stomach tightens and you scream into the pillow as he pushes all the way in, his skin hitting yours as his knot slips into you.

He moans and thrusts lightly into you, coming inside of you. You feel the pressure inside of you release as you come with him. You're being filled with his sperm, eventually spilling out along with your own come onto the sheet.

He continues to work you with his hand, breathing heavily into your neck. Your heartbeats are in sync and his juices continue to spill out of you, soaking everything below you. You try to look him in the eye as he shakes slightly, somehow still coming.

"Tech? You're still..." you gasp. "I know, sorry... it might be a while..." He grunts out.

Techno's ears perk up and he shoves you under the blanket, still stuck inside of you with the knot.

"What-"

He puts a hand over your mouth as you quiver underneath him, overstimulated by the pressure and his hand which still rested in between your thighs. What the hell is he doing?! The non-stop cum is weird enough, what-

Soon enough, your questions were answered when you heard the footsteps downstairs.

“Do you have my hat?” Phil's voice yells from the base of the ladder.

“Can't you-" he breathes, "you get it in the morning?”

“No, I'm going out super early tomorrow to scout out and make sure we haven’t been followed back.”

“Uh," fuck "it’s on the chair next to my desk up here? I’m in bed…”

Phil comes up the ladder and opens the hatch, eventually finding his hat while techno covers your mouth and lays belly to belly with you, he’s still dribbling a bit, so are you. You’re whimpering slightly.

Phil stops at the trapdoor. “Did you mean to leave the fire on mate?”

“Uh, yeah I was gonna let it burn… I was cold”

“Where’s your friend, loverboy?”

You feel Techno blush above you, his warmth suddenly radiating out from him.

“Um. They went to trade with some piglins since we’re almost out of spectral arrows.”

“Alright let me know when they get back, I just want to make sure they’re ok. Ever since you found them in the snow you’ve been doing better, it seems. Almost like you two are a... thing?”

The question lingered momentarily and you could almost hear Phil's eyebrow raise before Techno answered.

“Hmm, thank you, Phil. Close the trapdoor when you leave, I don’t want the warmth to leave.”

“Alright.”

Finally, the footsteps were gone. He pulls the blanket off of them and he takes his hand off of your mouth. You gasp for dramatic effect, laughing quietly to yourselves at the close call.

"Can I tell you something?" Techno whispers into your ear.

"Yes, you're literally deep inside of me, I'm guaranteed to be interested in what you have to say,"

"I love you"

"I love you, too..."

#technoblade #dsmp x reader #techno x reader #mcyt smut #dreamsmp #c!technoblade x reader #c!techno #first fic sorry lmao #c!techno x reader #eli scribe #Elias original

1K notes · View notes

bonjour-rainycity · 4 years ago

Text

The Grandfather Clock Chimes | 1921

Pairing: Carlisle/Esme

Rating: G

Word count: 1977

Warnings: None

Summary: The first time Carlisle and Esme are alone together.

A/n Thanks to @jessicanjpa for the idea to do a solo Carlisle/Esme fic! I’m obsessed with them at the moment, so writing the first hopeful, awkward, thrilling moment when they’re on their own made my heart all kinds of happy!

In the entry way, the tall grandfather clock noted the hour.

Esme counted five chimes.

Carlisle was rarely home this early.

His arrival through the grand front door had startled Esme, who had become quite used to their little routine, but did not seem to shock the bronze-haired boy composing at the piano. No, Edward had merely smiled in that shy, all-knowing way of his, and welcomed the doctor home before announcing his intent to visit town. Esme had watched him go, shocked into physical silence, but inside, her mind raced, shouting panicked thoughts at the boy.

She had never been alone with the doctor, and had no idea what to say to him.

Stifling a grin, Edward had patted Esme’s hand in a half-hearted attempt to soothe before he took his leave, off to town to ‘collect supplies,’ whatever that was supposed to mean.

And that’s how Esme and Carlisle came to find themselves alone in an unnecessarily large house, sitting unnecessarily far apart in the unnecessarily spacious living room.

Esme sat straighter in her chair, if that was even possible.

On the sofa across from her, Carlisle mirrored her action.

The seconds ticked by.

“I was reminded of you while at work today,” Carlisle spoke suddenly. His voice disturbed the heavy silence between them, and Esme blinked to buy time while she found her voice.

“Oh?”

Though her response was minimal, Carlisle felt encouraged — the brief, thrilling moment when she spoke to him was much better than the silence.

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, leaning forward in his seat in a futile attempt to close the space of the entire room that lay between them. “A woman visited her brother in our burn ward, and she had the same length hair as you do, with the same bounce to her curls. For just a split second, I thought it was you — but of course, it was ridiculous to believe it could be.” To illustrate this, he shook his head slightly, admonishing himself. “Regrettably, you are confined to the house and our land for the time being, so obviously, you could not have been visiting me at the hospital. Not to think I would presume that, were you to leave the house, you would visit me at the hospital,” he was quick to correct, glancing at her nervously. “No, you could be there for any number of reasons, I’m sure. Though,” his eyes darted to the wall just to her left, avoiding her slowly yellowing eyes, “those reasons are escaping my mind, at present.”

Despite nerves that made her wonder if she still possessed the ability to pass out, Esme smiled. Carlisle always seemed so proper, so put together — nothing ever flustered him.

Nothing, it seemed, until today.

Without Edward there, Esme could afford to be honest with herself in this brief moment of mental privacy. And, since she was being honest with herself, she could acknowledge that she quite liked seeing the doctor flustered.

In her silence, Carlisle continued to babble. “Once I got a better look at the woman, it became doubly clear she could not have been you. Her hair, while a shade of brown, was nothing like the unique caramel color of yours….” He trailed off once again, his gaze falling from the wall to a spot by Esme’s foot.

Esme pursed her lips against a smile. His nervousness had an unexpected effect on her — it seemed to embolden her, almost, to push past the uncertainty of her own. She attempted a slight change in topic. “How was your time at work?”

His perfectly golden eyes snapped to hers, a measure of relief in them. “Quite pleasant, to be honest. All easy fixes today. That is not often the case.”

“Is that why you were allowed to come home early,” Esme prodded, unable to fight the smile that tugged on her lips. She continued to be bold, watching his expression carefully as she spoke. “I admit, I found it a pleasant surprise to have you home before your usual time.”

Hope — beautiful, lighthearted, blossoming hope — lightened Carlisle’s eyes. He leaned forward, now in danger of falling off the sofa. “You did?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, caught off guard by his exuberance. She realized how her careless words could have been interpreted, and hurried to cover her tracks. For all his happiness at present, it was clear he did not share her feelings — best not to scare him off. “It is good for Edward to see you often — though he is older than me in our immortal years, he is still a boy at heart. He needs your attention, your guidance.”

Carlisle’s face sobered, though he quickly softened the lines into a small, understanding smile. “You are right, of course. I should spend more time with him. I am grateful for your insight.”

Esme’s useless heart could have melted right then. Always so polite and considerate, her doctor was, and it never failed to chip away at her carefully constructed reservations.

They fell into silence again, and Esme bit the inside of her cheek — a human gesture carried into this new life. Her hands laid over each other on her knee, touching the skirt of the light blue dress she wore — a gift from the man who sat at her opposite. Her fingers interlaced and tightened as she raised her eyes to his once more, trying to provoke her courage into gathering again.

“What did you and Edward do for fun before I arrived?”

Carlisle’s eyebrows raised, and so did Esme’s. She hadn’t planned on asking that.

Carlisle’s lips stretched into a nostalgic smile, and Esme decided right then that it was the most beautiful expression one could make.

“We spent a lot of time exploring the areas we lived in — visiting shops on cloudy days, hiking in the vast forests, even swimming in the lake sometimes.”

Then, his expression clouded, and Esme nearly had to sit on her hands to keep herself from rushing over and caressing his cheek, wanting to offer him every ounce of comfort she could.

“But I must admit,” Carlisle continued, sounding sad in a way that broke Esme’s heart, “those days were few and far between. Edward is…an introspective soul,” he decided on his phrasing finally, sounding like he chose the words with great care. “There are many days when he prefers to stay at home and lament over a choice he had no chance to make for himself.”

Esme had noticed this. Despite all the good times she and Edward had together, there was many an occasion when he would insist that they were all damned. Him and herself she could believe with little argument, but Carlisle? His damnation was a more difficult point for her to be convinced of — he seemed too pure, too wonderful, too good to be stopped at the gates of Heaven.

“I think he requires a push sometimes,” Esme reasoned, having gained great insight into Edward during these past few months of her new life. “He is intelligent, he needs something to stimulate his mind and take away from those dark thoughts. Perhaps visits to museums or—or an opportunity to play his compositions publicly, like at one of those galas you’re always being invited to.” The ideas came to her suddenly, tumbling out of some vault in her mind she wasn’t aware she possessed. “Maybe even school would be good for him.”

At this, the corners of Carlisle’s lips turned down, and Esme sucked in a breath — had she said something wrong?

But Carlisle shook his head, speaking gently. “It would not be right to leave you home by yourself, not while your control is…still in its early stages of success,” he finished delicately, always hesitant to insult even the most deserving being.

“Right,” Esme agreed, looking at her lap as she thought. A new idea sparked in her brain, and her eyes snapped to the doctor’s with enthusiasm. “I could teach him!”

Once again, Carlisle’s eyebrows raised, this time in clear surprise. “Is—is that something of interest for you?”

“Oh, yes,” Esme nodded, excitement overtaking her. “Though I don’t remember much of my career, I know I was a teacher in my human life — I would love the opportunity to rekindle that passion.”

Carlisle grinned, and Esme had to amend her earlier thought — this was the most beautiful expression one could make.

“I think that is a fantastic idea,” he enthused, hands settling on his knees. “I will go into town tomorrow morning and order all the necessary supplies. Are there any subjects of interest you yourself would like to expand upon? I would be happy to pick up the materials.”

Esme tilted her head as she thought on this. There was something, a curiosity that had always played at the back of her mind.

“Architecture,” she answered, then surprised herself when a playful smile overtook her lips. “If I learned about it, maybe I would stand a chance restoring this crumbling mansion of yours.”

Carlisle dipped his head in a teasingly bashful acknowledgement and promised to find her the proper books and supplies.

Esme leaned back in her chair, mildly embarrassed to find how far she had extended herself in Carlisle’s direction. “Perhaps you could be a guest lecturer of sorts — when your schedule allows, of course.”

Carlisle blessed her with her favorite grin once more, and Esme basked in it. He tilted his head as if explaining some inside joke. “Esme, we do not sleep. I am sure I could find time to help with your project.”

If she thought his smile would do her in, it was nothing compared to hearing him say her name! How lovely it sounded coming from his lips, resonating in the gentle baritone of his voice. She wished she could pretend she did not hear it, to ask him to repeat himself, and have the chance of hearing him say it again. Then, perhaps, she could return by speaking his own name — his familiar name, as he had used hers — something she rarely allowed herself to do.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when the front door opened and Edward’s scent filled the home.

The breath she would have used to speak tumbled from her mouth in a sigh. So soon…

But the clocked chimed again — six tolls, this time — and Esme was startled to discover that she and Carlisle had been together in that living room for over an hour.

How had the time stretched in an eternity, yet been over in mere minutes? What was this man’s presence doing to her?

Esme’s eyes sought Carlisle’s once more and she felt a pleasant warmth upon realizing that his eyes were searching hers with an equal fervor. They stayed like that for an immeasurable moment, locked in a gaze of unexpected intensity.

She hoped, down to the deepest parts of her useless heart, that there would be more moments like this, where it was just the two of them. Yes, part of her was relieved at being freed from this constant state of being unsure, but another part regretted Edward’s rapid return.

Part of her would have been perfectly content to sit in the hesitant, hopeful, awkward, thrilling silence with Carlisle for an eternity.

She didn’t quite know what to make of that.

Knowing their time for this evening was done, Esme and Carlisle stood and met the boy in the foyer, welcoming him home. While they inspected and praised the packages he brought — items for the house and gifts for the two he was quickly starting to consider as his parents — Carlisle and Esme avoided each other’s eyes.

Only Edward could know what the other was thinking.

And, out of respect for them both, he would not tell them that they were thinking exactly the same thing.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! You can find my masterlist here :)

148 notes · View notes

dayseternal-blog · 4 years ago

Link

Summary: % Sweet - What’s a guy to do when he has a cute customer? Bubble tea shop AU.

Part 1 of a series of fluffy short one-shots in Modern AU.

For @badluckbrebis for NaruHina Secret Santa 2020! I have more planned for this gift exchange, so please stay tuned. I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE THESE.

Rating: G

% Sweet

With a gallon of milk in each hand, Naruto saunters down the road from the nearby supermarket back to Kyuu-Tea, his part-time.

The sun’s finally starting to set, sending a golden hue across the cooling afternoon. It’s been good weather. Which means they’ll have a good amount of customers heading in for a boba drink before dinner. Hopefully, that girl, too-

The sound of a car door shutting closed draws his attention.

Her. Long, dark blue hair and skin as creamy as genmaicha milk tea.

His heart thumps almost violently in his chest like a gunshot at a race. He’s making a mad dash back to the shop, throwing the door open, bursting in, and he announces to Sasuke with an uncontrolled yell, "SHE'S COMING! I saw her!!"

Sasuke stands straighter behind the counter with a concerned and curious, “Who?”

But he’s already rushing into the back to shove the milk into the fridge before flying back out to the floor. “The girl from last night,” he gasps as he frantically straightens chairs and takes panicked glances at each table for any stray straw wrappers lying around.

Sasuke’s brows are high on his forehead as Naruto runs back behind the counter and pushes him away from the register.

And hardly five seconds later, he sees her appearing on the other side of the windows, pulling the door open, laughing with a friend with double buns. The friend’s got that street-sporty look that he’d usually be into, but the girl is just soo pretty...and especially after what Sakura told him...

Naruto can’t help smiling stupidly at her.

She glances at him, and her gaze dances away, a shy smile coloring her sweet face. She approaches the counter, her eyes focused on the menu, but he’s quite certain that she’s already decided.

“Hi,” he greets.

“Hello,” and finally, she looks at him head-on, and damn, he’s really never seen eyes like hers before in his life.

“The same as last time?” he asks.

Those light eyes widen in surprise, and he can’t help mentally patting himself on the back. “Oh, yes,” she murmurs in soft tones that leave him wanting to hear more.

“Medium Winter Melon Tea Latte?”

She nods.

“With light sugar?”

She nods again, that blush on her cheeks almost good enough to compensate for her silence.

He taps her order onto the touchscreen. “...And small boba?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He grins despite knowing that he’s way too excited about such a customary phrase. “That’ll be $4.95.”

She nods again, opening her purse and retrieving a $5 bill for him.

“Thank you...here’s your change.”

She takes it and promptly drops the nickel into the tip jar.

He’s still smiling at her even as she turns around.

She’s cutely biting her lips, and he hears her quietly remark to her friend, “He remembered my order.”

“What, really?” the other girl gasps.

He smiles wider and steps away from the register, super proud of himself. “Sasuke, can you get the next one for me?”

“Oh.” Sasuke hands him the plastic cup for that girl before taking his spot at the register back.

And Naruto gets to work, all the while wondering if she’s watching him or not.

Gods, he really hopes she’s into him like Sakura said she is.

Sealing the lid to the cup, he grabs a big straw for her and neglects calling out that her finished order is ready in favor of taking it directly to the table where she and her friend are seated. “Here’s your Winter Melon Tea Latte.”

Again, she looks at him with that incredibly surprised expression. “O-oh, thank you.”

“No problem.” He grins for a second before turning around, but disappointment quickly settles in. That’s pretty much the end of their interactions for the rest of the night.

The number of customers starts picking up again, as he predicted.

But his straying gaze to her table doesn’t go unnoticed. She catches him every so often, blushes, and looks away.

He hopes that he’s not coming off as creepy. It's just that he can’t stop thinking about her.

And who can really blame him? When they came last night, Sakura quickly told him before they left the shop that her friend thinks he’s hot!

Hot, as in like, should he try to pursue her? Or was that just a passing, shallow compliment?

But they’re here again and…

Turning to Sasuke, he blurts out his conundrum in as hushed an urgent whisper as he can. “Should I try talking to her?”

But Sasuke seems not nearly as invested in this as he should be. “If you wanna talk to her, then talk to her.”

He wishes he wasn’t such a dork. Then maybe he’d have the nonchalant attitude necessary to just walk up to girls and start hitting on them.

They could leave at any second now. And now is as good as it’s going to get while there’s a lull in the work.

So sucking up his self-consciousness, he strides over to their table again.

She’s looking at him shyly.

“Uh, hi,” he starts. Really smooth of him.

Her friend is making eyes between the two of them, and, honestly, this is the most awkward thing he’s ever tried to do in his life.

“Hello,” she greets.

The friend also says, “Hi.”

“I heard you-” He abruptly stops. What’s he actually trying to say here, that he heard she thinks he’s hot?! “-I, I’m friends with Sakura, and uh-”

She’s nodding.

Thankfully, the friend intervenes. “Yeah, Sakura wanted to show us this place where her friends work. You guys have good tea.”

“Thanks.” He awkwardly smiles, wondering how he got himself into this mess. Why can’t he talk like a normal person right now? “Glad you guys liked it enough to come back again.”

She smiles and nods.

“Uh…” Now what. Now what is he supposed to do. “...Can I have your number? O-or, I could give you mine if you’d be more comfortable…”

She’s nodding, taking out her phone.

“...with that… um…” He watches her unlock her phone and open up a new contact page. “My number is…”

She taps in his phone number, and he really hopes she’ll actually contact him, and that he’s not going to be the next fool in their girl-talk.

But with that sweetly shy look, she peeks back up at him, and his hope multiplies ten-fold. He must be doing something right for her to look at him like that...

“Um...what was your name again?” she nearly whispers.

Embarrassed heat slams into his face and beats down at his neck. “Oh!" He really is a fool of all fools. "I’m Naruto. Naruto Uzumaki. Sorry…”

She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips as she enters his name into her phone.

“A-and your name?” he ventures to ask. He wishes he could start this whole conversation over. They are definitely going to be laughing about him after this.

“I’m Hinata. And-” She looks at her friend. “-This is Tenten.”

Tenten raises a hand up from the table as if to separate herself from their conversation. “Don’t mind me.”

He grimaces in renewed embarrassment, muttering an apology that he’s not sure the other girl heard over Hinata’s much more embarrassed cry of, “Tenten!”

The buns girl is just laughing at them.

“So uh, Hinata,” he redirects, “Text me sometime?”

She nods, her cheeks adorably flushed. “I am. Right now.”

Unchecked, stupid joy floods him, and he knows he's smiling way too much to look cool. “Great, thanks.”

The little bell at the door chimes as more customers walk in.

He has to get back to work. But first, he makes sure to seal this with a promise. “I’ll talk to you later, then?"

She nods easily, and he turns around to give Sasuke a victorious grin.

Back behind the counter, his phone vibrates in his pocket, and a quick glance shows a short message: “Hello this is Hinata Hyuuga :)”

A flashed smile at Hinata, a wave of his phone to show that he got her message, and she’s blushing that adorable smile back at him. “Thanks for texting me back,” he taps out and sends before he finally starts focusing on making drinks.

Only a few minutes later, he notices them cleaning up, getting ready to leave.

“Thank you!” he shouts out.

She turns, mouthing a “thank you” in return, with that sweet smile that dazzles him each time, and he can already tell she’s exactly what he wants.

Even if her boba tea is 25% sweetness, Hinata is definitely 125% extra sugar.

#nhweek #nhweek2020 #naruhina secret santa 2020 #badluckbrebis #❤️❤️#thank you for reading!#naruhina fanfiction #short one-shot #more to come!!!

81 notes · View notes

shroomcult · 4 years ago

Link

@soulxmakaweek

Soma week 2021 Day 2: Healing

All too young was Maka Albarn exposed to the bitter resentment of a crumbling marriage.

She never had to bear witness to domestic violence or explosive arguments between her parents. No glasses were thrown against walls, no doors were slammed, no vitriolic exchanges that ended in another charging out the door and speeding out of the driveway.

It had been slow, and cold - like watching frost spread on a windowpane until nothing could be made out from the other side. The days when her parents loved each other, smiled while in the other’s presence were nothing more than distant and dream-like memories.

“I love you” was only something a desperate and conniving man said to get the outcome he desired. Not that it was any use. Papa could throw that phrase around all day, and yet Mama walked out of their lives all the same.

It also meant nothing when it came from her mother’s own mouth moments before she stepped out of the threshold of their front door for the final time. If her mother loved her, she would have taken her only daughter with her instead of leaving her with a blubbering fool.

Maka shook this thought out of her head.

No. Mama does love me - of course she does. She just has important work to do, she’ll come back for me when she’s ready. When she’s healed.

A feminine giggle could be heard from down the hall - from her father’s room. It effectively tore her from her thoughts.

So she hadn’t been hearing things. He really had the audacity to sneak a woman into their house for a little sleep-over not more than a week after the separation. As if she wouldn’t notice.

Well, she hadn’t heard the woman come in late last night, but surely Spirit was aware that his daughter was always an early-riser.

She stepped out of her room, passed the sinners' den that was her father’s bedroom and into the kitchen to sit at the table with her book - and wait.

She wanted to make this as difficult for him as possible. She wanted to see the intruder for herself, to look them both in the eyes.

It hadn’t taken long before the snakes slithered out. She heard the master bedroom door creak open as hushed voices filled the hall leading out to the living area. She could distinctly make out the sound of her father hushing his secret guest.

As soon as they appeared in the living room and in full view of the kitchen, Maka set her book down and cleared her throat purposefully.

Spirit’s face drained of all the light that had been present only moments before. He looked as though someone had aimed a gun at his skull and demanded his wallet, his hand quickly removed from the mystery woman’s hip like it had been burned.

“M-Maka! Oh, hello sweetheart … what are you doing up so early?” he forced a smile, but his eyes conveyed nothing but guilt.

“I was having trouble sleeping. With all the noise.”

If he hadn’t already looked ready to crawl into a ditch, he certainly did after that comment.

His bedtime companion let out an airy laugh of discomfort before quickly excusing herself from the house she hadn’t belonged in to begin with.

The sound of the front door closing behind her had been deafening in the remaining silence between father and daughter.

“Maka-” Spirit tried to begin, but he clamped his jaw shut when she shot up from her seat, the chair scraping severely on the tile behind her.

She leveled him with a stare that he was familiar with as she tried to emulate the sternness of her mother to the best of her ability. He withered under it.

“I hate you.”

He stammered uselessly, his eyes glassy as she turned on her heel and made her way out the house, slamming the door with all the force she could muster.

Her vision warped and blurred as she stomped through her neighborhood and made her way out to a main street.

She soon broke into a sprint, lungs burning along with her eyes as her feet carried her away with little thought as to where she was going. Her throat squeezed tight, making breathing all the more difficult but her pace did not falter until she came to a full stop in front of her subconscious choice of destination.

She stood before a familiar grouping of apartments with faded but colorful walls. She’d been here only a handful of times, just to kick Soul’s ass into gear when he wasn’t studying like he should be. For the most part, she had no need to visit his apartment because he met her at the academy.

Why him of all people? Why is he the first person I wanted to see when I feel like this?

She liked Soul just fine. Trusted him in battle at the very least.

But she wasn’t sure how much he really fit the description of friend. They stuck close together out of necessity. They didn’t exactly play nice with each other all the time - he was a difficult person to get close to, stubborn and distrustful. Perhaps she was too.

Even while her mind continued to question her reason for coming to him, her body moved of its own volition, feet taking her up the worn concrete steps to his door towards the end of the hall.

It wasn’t fair for her to show up here on a weekend and drag him out of bed to dump her problems on him, yet she pounded on his door like she had every right to anyway.

It took him quite a bit of time, but she heard someone growl “what the fuck” from behind the door before it swung open revealing her very irate weapon partner in pajamas with his already ridiculous hair in a nest of pure bedhead.

The hostility softened from his baggy eyes the moment he recognized the wetness on her cheeks.“What’s wrong?” he tried to ask only to get crushed into a hug seconds later.

She sobbed into his shoulder and clutched the back of his Nirvana shirt like her life depended on it. She was immediately embarrassed by her behavior, but she had trouble closing the floodgates at such a point of mental volatility and decided she’d much rather bury her face against him than meet his concerned gaze.

It took a few moments, but his body finally relaxed and he rested his hands timidly on her shoulder blades, letting one of his thumbs rub circles in an awkward attempt to soothe her.

She was almost caught by surprise when his uncertain contact tightened into almost a protective grip, and he allowed his entire palms to smooth over her back.

“Here, get inside,” he murmured against her ear, slowly releasing her and guiding her by the arm into the safety of his living room.

He only motioned for her to sit down on the couch before trudging to the kitchen to rustle around in his cupboards.

She felt a twinge of gratefulness for the opportunity to clear her face and steady her breathing as she listened to the sound of him starting up the microwave. She wasn’t some baby to be coddled after all.

She didn’t get much time to compose herself before he was making his way back to her, a small saucer with a cup of hot tea rattling in his hand.

He set it down on the coffee table in front of her and took a seat on the couch beside her. He sat quite a few inches away, but reached out to pat her arm for a moment. Ah, back to awkward.

“Uh - Tea’s for you. Chamomile, is that fine?”

She nodded, carefully taking the mug from its place and bringing it to her lips, allowing the steam to settle into her face and relax her for a moment.

He didn’t say anything else, just nodded and hunched his shoulders forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he stared in front of him at nothing in particular.

Either he wasn’t in the mood to play therapist and prod her for information or he was trying to respect her boundaries. Maybe it was a combination of both.

She found her voice after a few more sips of tea, offering him a vague complaint.

“I can’t stand to be around him anymore.”

She could feel that he was staring straight at her side profile, but she couldn’t meet the boy’s unnerving red eyes for the moment.

She fiddled with the cup in front of her instead, gathering her thoughts as his eyes patiently drilled through her peripheral.

“He just repeats the same dumb mistakes. Over and over again. How can someone be so stupid?” she spat, thinking of a hundred crueler words that could describe her father even better than stupid could.

Soul looked away for a moment, scratching the back of his head.

“He is pretty stupid, I’m not gonna argue that. I think I’d rather say that he’s selfish and optimistic though. He knows what he does is fucked. He knows, and he still does it because he hangs on to the hope that maybe he won’t face the consequences.”

“Well, he’s faced plenty of consequences! My mother is gone, he’s going to have a divorce, and I hate him! How is that not a consequence to him?!” she cried out, placing her mug down with enough force to send droplets of tea around the table.

Soul seemed unfazed by her rough treatment of his personal belongings, shrugging half-heartedly. “Again, not saying he isn’t a complete idiot. Just saying there’s more layers to it. Call him what he is - a bastard. Shouldn’t blame it all on stupidity, that’s lettin’ him off easy.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said with a heavy sigh, already feeling most of the fight leave her. “I understand why Mama left. Yet, her decision still hurts so much, Soul. Did she not think about me at all?”

His lips set into a tight line and he was wringing his hands out in a clear sign of discomfort. Had she broached a weird subject with him? Did he have issues with his own parents like this?

It occurred to her that she honestly didn’t have a single clue about her partner’s personal life prior to joining the DWMA. Did that make her a bad partner?

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly towards the floor, “It’s normal to hurt from something like that. I’d like to tell you that she won’t stay away for long, but I don’t really know that, Maka. I’m sorry.”

“I know - I’m not expecting you to have answers. It just helps that you’re listening, I guess. So, thanks for that,” she tried to force a smile, but Soul was entirely unconvinced of it, only offering a sympathetic quirk of his lips in return. Still, she continued, “There’s some messed up part of me that wishes they could have just stayed together. That somehow things could go back to the way they were when I was younger, like none of this ever happened.”

He was staring at the floor again, but quickly met her eyes with a dull, haunting sadness that seemed beyond his years.

“It’s better that they split. Nothing good comes from forcing it just to keep up an image, trust me.”

The way his voice trembled like his throat was closing up encouraged Maka to change the subject.

“I don’t want to go back there,” she whispered, drawing her knees up to her chest as she felt that familiar, unwelcome heat gather behind her eyes again.

“Then don’t. You know I’ve got the extra bedroom. It’s pretty normal for partners to live together, ya know.”

Her eyebrows jumped to her hairline at this suggestion. “Like, I can just move in here? with you?”

“I mean, yeah. Why not?”

She couldn’t really come up with many downsides when she truly thought about it. It’d be helpful to have her weapon partner close by. There was the possibility that they could drive each other crazy enough to completely ruin their already hard-earned resonance.

And yet - that wasn’t a very good excuse. What kind of flimsy excuse of partners would they be if they couldn’t maintain decent resonance rates just from spending more time together?

They were stronger than that. This could work.

Another thought tugged at her heart. “I would be leaving behind my family.”

“We could be our own family,” he asserted with confidence, but it wavered when he saw the way she looked at him - like he had suggested something romantic between them. His cheeks and the tips of his ears lit up pink and he immediately backpedaled, “Uh- like, partners? Right? We have each others’ backs … like a family,” he trailed off, scratching his cheek and looking anywhere but at her face.

For all his snark and stoicism she realized he was rather shy. It was kind of cute. What the hell did I just think?! She attempted to compensate for her own internal embarrassment by bumping his shoulder roughly with her own.

“Okay. sounds good, partner. So what’s the plan for the rest of the day? And don’t tell me you’re just going to sit around and watch TV.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that. It’s Saturday, for fuck’s sake.”

“No, that isn’t engaging enough,” she said, flicking his cheek and earning herself a scowl in response.

“Fine. I have an idea for a therapeutic activity,” he said as he got up and crouched down beside the cabinet under the TV, pulling out two game remotes.

Maka was already shaking her head in disapproval.

“C’mon bookworm. Play me in Mortal Kombat. You can pull my spine out - it’s fun and the violence will make you feel better, promise.”

“I’m not playing some brain-rotting, man fantasy, thank you very much.”

He ignored her entirely and began working on hooking up his console.

“Just pretend you’re fighting your old man,” he suggested over his shoulder.

She smiled despite herself and placed a light kick against his back from her spot on the couch. “Fine, but you have to come with me to Papa’s place later today to help me get my stuff.”

“Yeah, sure thing. How much you wanna bet I could make him cry?”

In that moment, she came to the conclusion that she had chosen a good family.

She was going to be okay.

#SoMaWeek2021 #SoulxMakaweek #Soul eater #Soul Evans #Maka Albarn

24 notes · View notes

welcometothemxdhouse · 4 years ago

Text

Lectures (pt.3)

I know this took a while i’ve just restarted uni after a year off so it has kinda been chaos. Originally i was only going to make this a three part small fic but i’m actually kinda enjoying thinking about how i’m going to develop Frederick in a timeline outside of the tv show. I want to try and keep his personality as close as possible, and i know there is a dark side to that which i may explore, but mostly this is just me wanting to give him a hug.

Also just a mention; all the words in italics are like internal thoughts.

This is gender neutral except one line which indicates that reader is female. I wanted to write the line because it is important to me but there was no way for me to make it gender neutral-i’m sorry, i hope you can easily skip over it.

Warnings: Actual smut this time lmao. Nothing crazy just basically oral (male receiving). Also mention of an age-gap/student-professor relationship.

Taglist: @feedthemadness-sweetie @prurientpuddlejumper @jonesy201 @madamsnape921 @charlottegrice

Three weeks had been and gone before you were alone with Doctor Chilton again. It was excruciating watching him peacock around the lecture hall twice a week as if nothing had happened-as if you didn't fall asleep every night with the thought of his lips on yours and his hands on your thighs.

You were snapped out of your daydream by the sounds of annoyed groans, disappointed sighs and an exam paper being dropped on your desk. You looked up just enough to spot the grade written in black ink before dropping your head down into your hands. Fuck, you thought, i’ve really gotta work on that. Before you even had time to consider dropping out for the 100th time this semester, the stern voice of your professor muttered what you’d been hoping to hear for almost a month,

“See me in my office after class.”

It wasn’t a question but a demand and fuck if it didn’t shoot electricity straight to your core. You knew there was a possibility he really did just want to talk about the exam but considering the reactions of everyone around you and the way Doctor Chilton was currently giving them a collective telling-off about how “nobody takes the class seriously” and “no one was proving themselves intelligent enough to be in this class”, you assumed he wanted to see you privately for a different reason.

You began to pack your things and followed your best friend out of the hall. Ever since you told them about what happened between you and Doctor Chilton they had stopped being so mean to him with everyone else, unfortunately right now they were clearly too angry to care.

“I worked my ASS off for that exam and what? He just decides i’m too dumb to take his class because I misunderstood one question? Which, by the way, was phrased shitty anyway”, you interrupted them by grabbing their arm and dragging them to a halt, “WHAT?” they snapped in response.

“Chilton wants to speak to me about the exam.” you replied. Your friend stopped and stared at you for a second, the smirk rising on their face matching the blush rising on yours.

“The exam, huh?”

“Yes. The exam”

They freed their arm from your grasp and condescendingly patted you on the cheek before turning on their heels and walking away,

“Have fun!” they shouted from down the corridor. Well...at least they stopped being angry for two seconds.

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

You found yourself, once again, in the corridor outside your professor’s office, only this time the awkwardness of the first meeting was gone. Assuming he wouldn’t have returned from the lecture hall yet you leant against the wall and began mindlessly scrolling on your phone. Your thoughts began to wander to the last time you had been here:

You had just begun to reach down and unbuckle his belt when the sound of a heavy knock on the office door made Doctor Chilton practically jump out of his skin.

Suddenly you became aware of a presence in front of you. You looked up quickly, assuming it was Frederick trying to pull you from your daydreams for the second time today but instead locked eyes with a guy you recognised from one of your classes.

“Hey?” you muttered, trying to wrack your brains for any memory of his name.

“Hi”, he replied, meeting your stare so intently you felt yourself shift uncomfortably on the spot, “I saw you stood here all alone so I assumed you’d want some company”

The actual audacity of men, you laughed to yourself, where the fuck do they get it?

“I’m good, but thanks anyway.”

He lifted himself off the opposite wall and stepped closer to you, crowding you so close that you subconsciously squeezed your knuckles and held your breath for what was to come.

“If you are going to make out, please do it somewhere other than outside my office.”

You whipped your head around to see Doctor Chilton standing next to you both nonchalantly, leaning on his cane with one hand and unlocking the door with his other. When he raised his eyes to meet yours you threw him your best ‘i am two seconds away from kicking this guy in the balls’ face before said guy turned his attention back to you,

“Apologies Professor”, he smiled to himself, “you know my name Y/N, message me.”

You watched the almost-stranger leave before turning back around to meet Doctor Chilton with a sigh,

“I actually don’t know his name.” You whispered, just loud enough for Frederick to hear and you smiled to yourself as he let out a small laugh in return.

Frederick signalled for you to enter his office first and then closed the door behind the both of you. He paused as if he was debating what to say to you before settling on a quiet,

“Are you okay?”

You wondered briefly if he was normally this gentlemanly. If this is what the real Frederick Chilton was like then his strict, obnoxious image was not doing him any favours. You decided you liked this version better.

“Yeah i’m okay. Not to get all feminist on you but it’s nothing every girl isn’t used to.” you paused and dropped your head to look awkwardly at your shoes, “i guess that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with though.”

A painfully long silence followed and you wondered, just like last time, if you’d put him off with your stupid comments. You were just about to apologise when his voice, softer than usual, mumbled

“You can leave if you want, Y/N. I’m not a monster, i’m not going to force you to be here.”

You almost gave yourself whiplash with how quickly you moved to reassure him. You stepped closer to him and rested a hand on his cheek, relishing in the feeling of his stubble scratching your palm as he tilted his head to lean into your touch.

“I want to be here, Doctor Chilton.”

“You can call me Frederick while we’re alone, Y/N”

You reached up on your toes and tentatively pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Okay, Frederick.”

You moved to pull away until Frederick grabbed both sides of your face and pulled you back to him, moaning softly as you lightly bit his bottom lip after a few seconds to deepen the kiss. His hands moved to circle your waist as he walked you back towards the door, reaching behind him and twisting the lock. As soon as you heard the click in the door you detached yourself from Frederick and smiled as you heard him whine quietly at the sudden loss of contact. You grabbed his hand and lead him to his desk, pulling the chair out from behind it and pushing him down to sit. As soon as his legs hit the chair you saw his body stiffen and his eyes began darting around the room, looking anywhere that wasn’t at you. Your stomach twisted in a knot as a million worries passed through your mind within seconds.

“Frederick...? What’s wrong?”

“I just...”, he flicked his eyes back to you and away again, “I don’t do this often.”

Your breath hitched as you realised what the issue was. He was nervous. This handsome, smart, sexy professor was nervous about having sex with you. Damn this man and his adorableness. If your time alone with Frederick so far had taught you anything it was how easy it was to forget this man was your senior by a substantial amount of years. You momentarily wondered what happened in the course of his life to make him have to cover this shy, awkward, sweet personality with the one that makes everyone hate him. You must be so lonely, Frederick Chilton. You walked over to the desk and perched on the edge, the irony not lost on you later that all three of your first encounters began with you on one of his desks. You leant forward and traced his jaw with your index finger,

“If you don’t want this, we can stop.”

“No i do want this, i want you.” He paused again, “i made you wait three weeks...i don’t want to disappoint you.”

He hardly had time to finish his sentence before you surged forward and captured his lips again. The height difference between the desk and the chair meant his neck was exposed to you above his collar as he reached up to match the energy of the kiss. You dipped your head and trailed open-mouthed kisses down his neck and across his jawline, the whimpers and groans that slipped out of his mouth made shock-after-shock fire down to your core. Watching “Professor Chilton” outside of this office would never have given you a clue that he would be as submissive as he seemed to be now. You made a mental note to explore that later on if this ever happened again. Oh this is definitely going to happen again. As you moved off the desk Frederick’s hands instinctively went to rest on your thighs like the last time you were in this position. You, however, had other ideas. You shuffled to your feet then rapidly dropped to your knees. Frederick’s eyes widened and you heard his breath catch in his throat as he realised what you were doing.

“Fuck Y/N” he groaned, looking down and almost coming in his pants at the sight of you with your dishevelled hair and kiss-swollen lips reaching to unbuckle his belt.

“Is this okay...” ,you asked, stilling your hands and peering up from under your lashes, “sir?”

The moan that came out of Frederick as you simultaneously brushed your hand over the bulge in his trousers was positively abhuman and shit it was hot. You undid the button and zipper on his trousers before pulling them down just enough to lift his dick out of his underwear. If you weren’t dripping before then you certainly were now. You had no idea how he could ever be worried about disappointing you with a dick the size of his - your jaw was practically aching just looking at it. With no hesitation you settled back on your heels and began kitten-licking the tip before licking a stripe along the underside of his dick and taking him into your mouth. Frederick grunted and moaned above you as you took him deeper with every dip of your head, eventually gagging slightly when he hit the back of your throat. The sound of that alone made Frederick grasp the back of your hair with both hands and pull you off him in a panic,

“If you keep doing that i’m gonna..” he stuttered, embarrassed. When you looked up at him he was so flustered it was almost sweet. You wrapped one hand back around his dick and reached around to place your other hand on top of his on the back of your head.

“Come for me, sir”

You tapped the hand on the back of your head as a signal for him to push your head back down and you took him in your mouth again, bobbing up and down with even more ferocity, scraping your teeth lightly along his veins a few times. You felt his dick throb against your tongue and you moaned, hoping the vibrations would be what he needed to push him over the edge.

“Shit Y/N i’m...” and with one last bob of your head you felt his come hit the back of your throat and you instinctively swallowed.

You pulled off Frederick with a obscene ‘popping’ noise before meeting his eyes and licking your lips, making sure he knew you’d taken every last drop. You buttoned up his trousers and raised yourself to perch back on the desk-you wanted to revel in the scene in front of you for a second. Frederick was a mess. He was breathing heavy and beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead. His hair was sticking up in every direction and his hands had settled to rest on his thighs as he tried, unsuccessfully, to stop them from shaking. He wasn’t lying, he really doesn’t do this often.

“What is the saying? Take a picture, it will last longer?” he snarled, clearly off-put by your staring.

“Maybe one day i will.” You smiled as you hopped off the desk and nudged his legs open with your knee so you could stand between them. You bent down and pressed a heavy kiss to his lips before walking towards the door.

“See you soon, Frederick”.

#Frederick Chilton #frederick chilton x reader #frederick chilton fanfic #frederick chilton x y/n #hannibal fic #hannibal fanfiction

39 notes · View notes

blogging-time · 4 years ago

Text

When I Kissed The Teacher

Dialogue Prompt List – Long List My Fic Masterlist

Prompt: “Let’s drink wine and trash talk our co-workers.” - Logan and Roman. (Friendship) - Submitted by @louisthewarlock

Summary: Roman Crowne has just been dumped by yet another co-worker. Logan Sanders makes it his personal mission to console the heartbroken Spanish teacher while also convincing him to turn off that godforsaken ABBA soundtrack.

Warnings: Post Break-Up (Not Logince), Alcohol Mention.

Pairings: Platonic Logince/Foreshadowing Romantic Logince, Past Royality, Past Prinxiety, Past Roceit, Background Intruality.

Word Count: 1,688

~ ~ ~

“Well this seems like a perfectly healthy and not at all counter-intuitive way to conduct oneself post break-up,” Logan remarked as he slowly entered the almost vacant looking Spanish classroom.

The sight awaiting him was that of his co-worker – Roman Crowne – sitting slumped over a rather busy looking table, his unusually messy head of hair tucked uncomfortably between his hastily folded arms. Surrounding him were various pages that Logan couldn’t quite decipher, as well as some familiar looking textbooks that Roman would use to teach his sophomore classes when the school board once again forbid him from making “Pan’s Labyrinth” an official part of the school’s curriculum. The most notable item at Roman’s disposal however had to be his mobile phone, as it was currently playing “When I Kissed The Teacher,” repeatedly on Spotify.

“You know most people actually knock before inviting themselves into a colleague’s classroom, right?” Roman half-heartedly muttered against the cheap plywood.

“Well you should know that most teachers actually prefer to work at their own desks instead of downgrading to a small student’s table. I guess we’re both just feeling a little unconventional today.”

With a heavy sigh and even heavier limbs, the Spanish teacher finally mustered up the energy required to pry his face off the aforementioned table. As soon as the pair made eye-contact, Logan couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at Roman. No matter how many times he found the man in this heartbroken state his tearstained face simply never failed to upset him.

“There’s a window,” Roman responded vaguely before Logan could even make an awkward attempt to console him. Then, upon recognizing the science teacher’s confusion, he unenthusiastically waved his hand and explained, “There’s a window embedded in the door to this classroom – I’m sure you’re well aware of it. Had I chosen to lay about and wail over my lost love at my own desk then surely any old passer-by could have caught me in my moment of lament.”

As sympathetic as Logan was towards his friend’s situation, he still couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how dramatic the man was being.

“Janus Marshall merely terminated his relationship with you, Roman. He himself is not deceased.”

“Hark! For his love for me is dead at least – dead and buried beneath the heels of some younger, prettier thing! Its ghost takes the form of the man I once danced with, and it taunts me as I pass him by in the corridor on my way to lunch.”

“Would you kindly stop and think rationally for five minutes instead of writing another soliloquy?” Logan may sound exasperated, but in reality, he simply hates seeing his friend’s thoughts spiral out of control like this. “Janus made it abundantly clear to you months ago that he would be migrating to England at the end of the year in order to teach Psychology at Oxford. Since neither of you were ever interested in long-distance relationships, I thought this break-up would seem inevitable to you.”

Roman visibly deflated upon hearing such a logical argument, yet somehow Logan didn’t feel victorious.

“I know… I suppose I just got a little carried away again. Deep down I’d honestly hoped we’d be able to make it work.”

“But why?” Logan asked, “Why would you allow yourself to get your hopes up time and time again? Every time you’ve dated a colleague your relationship has ended within six months or less.”

“Now hold on just a moment, Charles Rush-In! Just because I happened to date – and consequently was dumped by – a few of my colleagues doesn’t mean having a relationship with one is inherently flawed and destined to fail.”

“While your current statistics would highly suggest otherwise, that isn’t the part that concerns me the most. What concerns me the most is that you’re clearly upset or made to feel uncomfortable every time you’re forced to work with an ex-partner.”

“Name one example.”

“Patton Hart.”

“You mean the Home Economics teacher? I love Patton! Well… not in that way… not anymore at least… Yeah things were a little awkward at first… and then things got awkward again eight months later when he asked if I would be okay with him dating my brother… but both of us are on very good terms now!”

Logan quirked an eyebrow at that, but ultimately decided it was Remus’ responsibility to tell Roman about his current engagement plans.

“Okay then, what about Virgil Rae?”

“Ah yes, the English teacher who never stopped reading too much into things.”

“You and him seem to argue a lot.”

“To be fair we also argued before and during our relationship too.”

Logan clicked his tongue in perfect time with ABBA before naming, “Janus Marshall.”

“That’s a fresh wound! It’s hardly fair for you to twist the knife in that!”

“I can’t help but disagree considering you’re currently spending your lunch break marking papers and crying in your classroom just to avoid encountering Janus – something you wouldn’t have to do if he wasn’t your colleague.”

Roman couldn’t deflate anymore, so instead he was forced to sink further down in his admittedly rather uncomfortable plastic chair. Mentally he made a note to stop by the thrift store and his aunt Dot’s place after work to see if he could somehow acquire twenty-six cheap cushions that would make hour long lessons in these chairs more comfortable for his students.

“Why are you so determined to prove the successful office romance trope is unattainable?” he asked in a voice that already sounded so defeated.

“Why are you so determined to prove me wrong?” Logan countered.

Roman met Logan’s eyes for just a moment before completely averting his gaze. Logan coughed into his elbow for just a second in a manner that conveniently covered both of his cheeks. A minute passed, and neither man acknowledged either his or his co-worker’s sudden actions.

Eventually Logan decided to break that uncomfortable minute of silence with a sigh of his own.

“Do you have another class immediately after lunch?”

“Not today. I was supposed to be teaching Freshman Spanish for the next hour, but apparently Principal Sanders has called in a public speaker. I won’t have a class again until last period. How about you?”

“It appears I’m in a similar situation. I typically have the hour free after lunch on a Thursday until my Juniors come in for their Chemistry class at 2PM. If the circumstances today were any different then I would undoubtedly use this time to either grade my students most recent homework or to formulate a lesson plan for next week.”

“If the circumstances were any different?” Roman asked with a raised eyebrow and an only slightly watery eye.

“I have a bottle of Chardonnay in my car,” Logan answered. Then, upon recognizing the Spanish teacher’s concern, he quickly waved his hands and explained, “Your brother gifted it to me a few weeks ago, stating that it may help me to ‘loosen up around handsome men,’ - only he used far more vulgar phrasing than I. I can assure you that I would never drink and drive. I’ve simply never felt the need to consume alcohol since receiving the gift, and so I let the bottle sit forgotten in my car until now.”

“What? I haven’t driven you to drink already have I?” Roman joked, but Logan didn’t miss the way another silent tear disobediently slid down his still reddened cheeks.

Again, neither man acknowledged the sudden presence of emotion.

“Believe me, Roman, if any Crowne were ever going to drive me to drink then it would most certainly be that unfathomable brother of yours. My idea was more along the lines of… well…” The science teacher paused for a moment as he remembered how much more important Roman was to him than his reputation. “Let’s drink wine and trash talk our co-workers.”

Upon proposing the idea, Logan let out a nervous breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. Despite the simplicity of their plan, inviting Roman to share a glass of wine with him during work hours just so that they could say negative things about their generally very respectable colleagues to him felt so deeply personal and borderline exhilarating.

Roman must have recognised how much the offer meant to Logan, as he too seemed shocked that the usually oh-so calm and collected science teacher would propose something so unorthodox.

“You want to share a drink with me now?”

“Well encountering your colleagues won’t be an issue after work hours – Perhaps if we start highlighting all of their potential flaws now, you’ll be less inclined to test fate and pursue another doomed relationship with one of them later.”

“Hey!” Roman shouted incredulously, but he was genuinely laughing now.

The sound was so infectious that his co-worker soon found himself chuckling quietly to himself.

“I’ll ask the canteen staff if they can spare two small cups so we don’t drink too much,” Logan offered, “Plus I keep more than enough spare change in my wallet at all times to ensure we can afford a cab ride home. We won’t be stranded here at school if you accept. All I ask in return is that you turn off that infuriating song – I’ve heard it more than enough times now, thank you very much.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr Berry,” Roman responded, his lips forming a playful smirk as he pretended to mull the proposition over. “What album would you suggest we listen to in its place?”

“How about ‘The Wall’ by Pink Floyd? I believe I still have that cassette sitting in my car right now, along with ‘The Dark Side of the Moon.’”

“Oh, wow…” Roman drawled as he blinked his eyes rapidly in only semi-feigned surprise. “I think you just aged ten years for every word you just said, Lograndad.”

“Of course, you can always just sit here and listen to the sound of Janus’ voice instead.”

“On second thought-” Roman announced, standing up rather quickly as he grabbed his nearby coat and bag, “-Pink Floyd sounds like an excellent choice. Why don’t you lead the way?”

~ ~ ~

General Tag-List:

@sholaghhh (Formerly @lunamay2006) @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @saphael-malec102 @anastasialestina @seraphlies

Additional Tags:

@sympathetic-deceit-trash

Note: It’s been a long time since I’ve posted a fic, so this tag-list may be a little outdated. If at any point you want to be added/removed from my tag-list then feel free to let me know!

As always, feedback is much appreciated! I was pretty out of practice here, so I’m sure I’d benefit a lot from constructive criticism!

For spelling, punctuation and grammar I followed Microsoft Word's English (UK) rules. Feel free to correct any errors you may find in the comments, but please keep in mind that some words are spelt differently here in the UK!

I hope you’re all have a fan-der-tastic day!

~ ~ ~

#Thomas Sanders #Sanders Sides #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #Logince #Background Characters:#Remus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Background Relationships:#Intruality #My Fic #Post Break-Up #Alcohol Mention #Reblogs > Likes

107 notes · View notes

bffsoobin · 5 years ago

Text

Sunny Day Confessions

↳having Beomgyu as a best friend comes with an uncountable number of benefits. You thought that you had come close to experiencing them all. That is, of course, until he offered up his confession on a silver platter and waited for you to make the next move.

➤ fluff, smut, best friends to lovers

Word Count:2,412

Requested?: yes!

Warnings: This includes mature content! Please do not read this if you are under 18 or generally feel uncomfortable!!!! Insecurities, dirty talk, oral (f),use of Noona (not sexually), grinding.

A/N: I feel like I got way too carried away with this so I’m sorry if it’s like way too long or weird. Also this is my first time actually writing smut so I know it’s probably not great but hey practice makes perfect. Also if you’re a person who just wants fluff, you can read up to the keep reading line and that’s all you’ll get! Hope you enjoy! ps I know I suck at titles so I apologize!!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

“Beomgyu, I’m serious! Get back here with that!” you yelled, running through the lush grass toward your best friend who was currently holding your phone hostage. The warm breeze whipped past your face as you ran, carrying the loud laughter of Beomgyu with it as he bounded up to stand on top of a patio chair. With his left hand- which held your precious device captive- raised totally above his head, the height advantage left you no real hope. You whined again and made a futile attempt to jump up to height and snatch your phone only to stumble over your own two feet.

“Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re taller or faster, Noona,” Beomgyu taunted, waving your phone around as it glinted in the sunshine like a trophy. Your nose involuntarily crinkled in disgust at the nickname. You were only a year older than Beomgyu, and you had known him since you were both in diapers and drooling on yourself. Despite your dislike of the honorific, Beomgyu insisted on using it whenever he felt like it.

“Dude, please. Just give it back. You’re acting like a child!” He only rolled his eyes and continued his waving and sticking his tongue out at you. “What? Are you scared I’ll find something scandalous? We’re all adults here, Y/N.” You heaved a sigh and placed a hand over your eyes, ready to admit defeat from your best friend and just sink into the warm grass. Honestly, he was right. You couldn’t think of anything he could find on your phone that would be very earth shattering. He cheered loudly, taking your gestures as a sure sign of his victory as he began making his own background music to lower himself down from the metal chair with signature Beomgyu dramatics. You plopped into the grass and let him have his moment while you plucked at the pieces of grass resting under your fingers.

His singing came to a halt before you felt him nudge at your leg with his foot a few times. You stayed unresponsive, shutting your eyes against the glare of afternoon sun. Beomgyu sighed, obviously unhappy with your lack of response as he laid down next to you as close as he could get. He latched his hands around your upper arm and shook.

“What now?” you didn’t even bother to open your eyes, just turn your head to the right to face him as you spoke.

“Open your eyes, Noona. Please! You can have your phone back,” he was whining now, and you could imagine his lower lip jutting out as he tried to win you over. Upon opening your eyes, you were shocked at just how close his face was to yours. Your noses were just inches apart, and you could make out every single line and dot on the boy’s face in the brilliant sunlight. Long eyelashes brushing over his rosy cheeks with every blink, hair falling away from his forehead in a fan around him. He looked beautiful. You mentally slapped yourself for even forming that thought. He was your best friend, and that was something you would never mess up. And who were you to believe that he would find any interest in you either? Swallowing the lump in your throat, you smiled at him and sat up to snatch your phone from the ground between you. At the exact moment you grabbed it, a notification ping rang through the air.

Upon reading it, you immediately frowned and made a sound of disgust. Beomgyu was sitting up by your side immediately.

“Everything okay, Y/N?” You nodded and gave him a noncommittal smile that you hoped would trick him into believing you. He furrowed his eyebrows and sneakily tried to read the text before you could move your phone. You were quicker though, flipping the phone over and dropping it back into your lap.

You gave another smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes and laid back down in the grass, waiting for him to just drop it all. Huffing again, Beomgyu plopped himself right on your hips, pulling a surprised gasp from your lips as he looked down on you and snatched up your phone. The surprise kept you front protesting as he easily read the text notification that had originally upset you. You watched his face shift from confusion to anger to sadness as he read again and again before glancing up at you. Before he could even speak, you began, “it’s nothing. I just sent her some photos I took earlier and I didn’t think I looked that good in them so I asked her opinion. And yeah, I mean, she’s right. I don’t look good in the pictures.”

The silence was stifling as Beomgyu simply stared at you. Rustling leaves and the birds chirping at one another became backdrop music to the awkward staredown that had you shrinking under his intense gaze. “Why would you believe any of that? Why would you take her word for anything? You’re beautiful. I’ve always found you beautiful, and kind, and funny, and you’re so smart. You’re perfect.” his voice was soft and caring; akin to the way he would speak to you when you had a headache over school work.

“Beomgyu, please, don’t.” A pit of despair was starting to roll around in your stomach as the position you were in felt way too intimate and his stare much too intense. You were about to ask him to get up, squirm away from his presence and go inside to drown your sorrows in a bowl of ice cream.

“Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t make you feel better? Don’t tell you to ignore your shitty friend? Don’t tell you that I-” he looks up at the sun, squints and swallows hard enough for you to hear before leaning down even closer to your face. “Don’t tell you that I’m in love with you?”

Your whole world spins, like the feeling you get right before you’re about to puke. You’re too hot, too cold, too confused to wrap your head around hearing the phrase you’d been dreaming of for years. He’s patient, his weight on your hips a constant reminder of his presence. The presence that has permeated every part of your life for as long as you can remember. When you finally work up the courage to make eye contact with him again, a shiver runs down your spine and shakes your whole body. Beomgyu is smirking, reading every inch of your facial expressions before leaning down until your noses touched. Your breath hitched in your throat as he placed a hand on your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked sweetly, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the texture of your cheek. All it takes is a nod for him to descend on your lips and give you a small peck, testing the waters before you chase his lips for more. You fumble a little bit, nerves getting the best of you before Beomgyu wraps you back up in his presence, his full lips working magic on the tensions in your body. He still tastes like the strawberries you had with lunch about an hour ago, and you eagerly enjoy the feel of his lips on yours as you part your mouth even wider. Neither of you show signs of stopping until Beomgyu pulls back to heave in a breath and caress your jawline. His lips are shiny and swollen and only make you hungry for more. Apparently, he has other plans as he begins to kiss all around your face until he reaches your neck and your giggles melt into sighs.

“You sound so pretty, Y/N,” Beomgyu groans into your neck as he continues his assault on your skin. Your head began to spin as you were dizzy on his scent and the weight of his body on top of yours underneath the hot sunshine.

“We- we can’t, not here,” you gasped and grabbed at his shoulder for leverage as you worked to sit up. He let you out from under his weight and fixed his darkened eyes on you. He held his hand out to you without a word, silently asking for your consent to continue what the two of you had started. To his surprise, you yanked him up by his hand with impressive force and practically ran into the comfort of your air conditioned living room. As soon as you passed the threshold, Beomgyu was back to towering over you and crowding your body with his warmth. His breath ghosted past your ear as he bent down to kiss the side of your face. Your eyes fluttered shut at the movement, and he took your moment of weakness as an opportunity to whisper in your ear.

A hand slipped under the soft fabric of your shirt as Beomgyu spoke “all those times you told me about the guys you liked, the ones who took you on dates you never really liked, all those guys you let into your bed… I always knew I could be better.” The fabric was pulled over your head, leaving you feeling dizzy. Despite the fog building in your brain, you smirked and began backing towards your bedroom door and tapped at your lips in thought, “Hm, I’m not so sure about that.” A fire sparked in Beomgyu’s eyes, igniting his competitive streak had him surging toward you and ushering you into the bedroom. The door clicked behind him as you laid back on the pillows on the bed and Beomgyu kneeled between your parted legs. Getting an eyeful of the marks on your throat and your breasts on display drew a deep moan from his throat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll prove it to you, just tell me what you want,” he was playing dirty, tracing his long fingers over your inner thighs and waiting for your response.

“You, Beomgyu. I want you,” his hands descended on the button of your shorts, making quick work of them and your underwear in one pull. You shuddered at the exposure and made to close your legs before Beomgyu gave a dissatisfied tut and leaned back to pull his own shirt over his head. Momentarily distracted by his toned body, you whine and almost miss the cocky grin that graces his golden face. He runs his large hands down your thighs, massaging slightly as he parted your legs to expose your core.

“Look at that. I know nobody else makes you this wet,” Beomgyu mused as he laid himself down on your bed so that he was face to face with your center. Your chest heaved in anticipation, carding a hand through his locks as you tried to think up a witty reply. The boy under you didn’t even give you the chance before descending onto you with an open mouth. You pull at his hair as he slips his tongue into your slit and pushes your knees up to your chest to open you wider. Gasps of surprises slip past your lips as he makes short work of licking up everything your body has to offer him before he pulls away to smirk up at you. His face is red and shiny, lips swollen with his efforts and you moan his name louder than you’d like to admit. He chuckles darkly, wasting no time in going back to work, wrapping his lips tightly around your clit and sucking harshly. More arousal gushed out of you as your whines grew louder, more frequent. Beomgyu returns the groans in the form of wonderful vibrations every time you tug at the locks weaved between your fingers in earnest.

“Please, please please,” you were losing all sense of self, only caring about the magic Beomgyu was working between your thighs until he pulled away and propped himself up on his elbows.

“Please what? I know you have better manners than that,” his voice was teasing, but the facade only lasted until you bucked your hips up towards his face in need and pleaded again. “I need you. Beomgyu, please, let me come, I need-” air left your lungs in a high whine as Beomgyu returned with renewed vigor, licking broad stripes right where you needed his touch the most. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening as you approached the height of your climax, teetering right at the tipping point and contemplating begging for more until you caught sight of Beomgyu’s still clothed hips grinding against the forgiving material of your mattress. The thought of him getting himself off while eating you out was just enough to push you over the edge as you finally let go with no warning, grabbing for Beomgyu’s hair to ground you as the world spun. He didn’t let up his movements until you whined in overstimulation. Beomgyu sat up on his knees, towering over you as you tried to catch your breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he wiped the few tears that had welled up in your eyes and pressed a feather light kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Beomgyu,” you reached for him as he took the hint to pull you up into a sitting position across from him. There was no time to care about the mess between your legs, or the way your head was still spinning a bit.

“I love you, too. I forgot to tell you earlier. But I have, for years and I was afraid that you didn’t like me back,” your confession lifted a weight off of your chest and caused his eyes to crinkle up at the corners.

“Of course I liked you back. I think I’ve loved you since like 2nd grade. And you definitely wouldn’t have made me this hard if I didn’t like you.” Your eyes widened at his bluntness, but you couldn’t stop the mischievous smirk that crossed your face as you glanced down to his lap to see the bulge straining against his jeans. Taking him by surprise with a harsh kiss, you laid him down on his back and ran your hands over his soft skin.

“My turn?” he teased, putting his hands behind his head casually. As much as you wanted to roll your eyes and walk away from him, your blooming admiration won over your instincts to be bratty to your best friend. His breath hitched as you began to toy with the button. “Your turn.”

315 notes · View notes

skullrock · 4 years ago

Text

the campers, chapter four - Steve x Reader

gif by @harringtown

chapter four: the routine

series summary: Steve gets a job as a camp counselor at Camp Know Where, intending on using the summer to discover himself. When things start to go wrong at camp, the only people that can help him are the Party, Hopper, and his mortal enemy - you. [Enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort]

chapter summary: The first week of camp is in full swing, bringing a few surprises with it.

warnings: swearin’!

word count: 4k (hehe)

a/n: this chapter encompasses the time span of a week so it’s a lil long and has some stuff happening but I hope you enjoy! things are spicin’ up but not like you’d expect! you can catch up on the series here! (ps Hop didn’t die in s4 because I said so <3)

===

Camp Know Where buzzes with excitement as the new campers file in on Monday. This is Steve’s first ever orientation - well, besides the one he just went through. He’s never been in a position like this, and he’s nervous as he checks people in. But it’s an easy job.

Until the Party walks in.

Steve stares at them all, mouth agape. El, Mike, Max, Lucas, Will - they’re all here, all carrying bags. Mike takes the lead, glaring tensely at Steve, as usual. Steve avoids him and looks at El. “Are you allowed to be here?”

She nods. “Hop’s letting me.”

Steve shakes his head and finds their names on the roster. He should have known, should have seen their names, but it’s actually a nice surprise. Well, except for Mike. But he’s happy everyone else is here.

“Where’s Dustin?” Lucas asks.

“Helping with move in.” Steve looks up. “Does he know you’re here?”

“It’s a surprise,” Will says, beaming.

“That’s nice,” Steve says slowly. “Well, don’t be dickheads, okay? Don’t make my job harder for me.”

El shakes her head, but Mike scoffs, “You’re a counselor?”

Steve gestures to his shirt. “Did you think I just disappeared for the past two weeks?”

“I hoped so.”

Max hits his arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

They all step past the table, and Steve puts his head in his hands. They’re gonna kill me, he thinks. A part of him is really happy they’re here, though. He’s not sure if that means he really is fond of them, or if he’s just happy that he can keep them safe here. He straightens and continues helping others check in, directing them to their cabins.

You come up a while later, suppressing a smile as you approach him. He looks flustered, perfected hair now a mess. His cheeks are red and his brows are furrowed as he tries to figure out how many more kids are left to come in.

“How’s it going?” you ask.

He looks up and smiles softly. “So great.”

“It’s not all this boring,” you explain. “Or stressful. It’ll be fun soon, I promise.”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “You better not be lying to me.”

“What if I am?”

He thinks for a moment. “I’ll flip your kayak.”

You laugh - a loud, ringing laugh. Steve smiles, pleased to have earned it from you. He wants your friendship to go smoothly, he wants you to like him. After yesterday’s confrontation and subsequent confession of enjoyment, he was starting to think maybe it was going to work out. Maybe you both weren’t going to dislike each other.

You straighten, still smiling down at him. “I’d like to see you try, Steve.” You knock twice on the table he’s at. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Steve nods, and you linger for just a second longer before heading off.

===

Steve continues to surprise you through the first week.

Though you still don’t get the appeal of him, you notice that many of the campers love going to see him for their intramurals. And he’s really good at teaching kids how to dodge a ball, or serve, or kayak. You’d never seen nerds so excited to interact with a jock, but they were, and it was actually heartwarming to see. You watched from the sidelines on your breaks as Steve helped teach kids tennis and soccer, his face red from the sun but beaming. He’d pause to wave at you before continuing, and you had a hard time prying yourself away from the scene. It was like it was in his nature to be a teacher, to care after others - and you’d never really seen that in a preppy jock before.

You also never expected a guy like Steve, known jerk, to be so good at interacting with kids.

You’re walking along the shore before dinner on Thursday when you hear shouts coming from the lake. You squint as you look out before seeing the source.

Steve had taught the kids a new game on the kayaks. They’d pass a ball with their paddles back and forth, and if they could get the ball into the seat of their opponent, they got a point. It was probably extremely dangerous, but the kids had fun, and so did he. He was soaked to the bone after every game, but his face hurt from laughing, and that was enough.

You watch from the shore as he and three other campers play, and you shake your head. Another counselor, Mia, comes up behind you and laughs. “He’s pretty popular, huh?”

“Always has been,” you say, turning to face her.

“He’s nice to watch, isn’t he?” She stands on her tiptoes to look past you. “I could watch that man’s arms for days.” You roll your eyes, and she frowns. “You don’t think so?”

You sigh. “He’s just… Steve. I don’t get the appeal.”

“You’re the only one, it seems,” she says, smiling again. “What is he, your villain origin story?”

It’s surprising how accurate the phrasing is. “It’s complicated.”

She shrugs. “You seem to get along well now, at least. Put in a good word for me, yeah?”

Your words catch in your throat as she walks away.

Part of you does like Steve. You find enjoyment in him - he’s goofy, he’s funny, he’s kind, and he’s smart. But he’s also the person who made you cry every summer. He’s your childhood bully - how could you enjoy his company? You confuse yourself with your own feelings. It’s like mental gymnastics, trying to hang on to your anger and resentment while equally wanting to like him.

You shake your thoughts out of your head and walk off the shore, away from Steve and his charm.

===

The week ends on Friday, leaving everyone exhausted. The Party kept Steve busy when he wasn’t leading intramurals, draining him fully of his energy. They were going to watch a movie with Suzie in one of the recreation rooms, leaving Steve by himself. He was worn and tired, sunburnt and hot. But he still jogged up to you when he sees you after dinner.

“Y/N!”

You whirl around to face him, a friendly smile crossing your face as he comes up.

“Hey,” he says. “Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“Just since Monday.”

He shrugs. “Felt like a long time.”

There’s a silence before you clear your throat. “How was your week?”

A wide smile spreads over his face. “It was amazing!”

You let him gush, because you’re genuinely interested. He tells you about how easy it is for him to talk to the campers, how he created Kayak Ball (“still working on a better name”), and how he’d made some friends with other counselors. Which leads him to ask, “Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”

Shit.

The annual First Friday Bonfire was tonight, and you’d forgotten all about it. It was usually a very spiritual experience - people would write stories from their past, things that bother them, share it to the group, and then burn the paper in the flames. It was like a reawakening - fire is cleansing, after all. Just last year, you’d wrote about the Steve standing in front of you, hair disheveled and grinning dorkily. You burned the paper and went on with your life.

You never expected he’d be here. It’s a bit mind-boggling.

“Yeah,” you say. “Are you?”

“If you are,” he says, suddenly uncertain. “I don’t really know -”

“Steve, everyone here loves you. You’ve made friends.” You hope the bitterness you feel isn’t being translated into your tone. “You can hang out with these people. They like you.”

He nods, frowning. “I know. It’s just….” He sighs heavily. “I’ve never had people… like me before.”

Your stomach falls as you remember what he had told you about - how he hadn’t talked to Tommy since junior year. These were the first adults he had interacted with in years; he was bound to be nervous.

“I’ll be there.” You reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “But you don’t need me. Everyone here thinks you’re incredible.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the only thing the girl counselor cabin talks about.”

You see a blush creep up his cheeks. “Really?”

You don’t want to indulge him - you shouldn’t indulge him - but you do. “Every girl here has the hots for you. Maybe even some of the boys.”

Steve’s breath catches. “Every girl?”

You stare at him awkwardly. “Well - n… no, not every girl, but - enough.” You feel embarrassment creeping hotly through your veins. “Not - not me, if you’re thinking -”

“No, no,” he says, just as awkwardly as you. “No, I know that.” He smiles slightly. “You hate me.”

A smile turns the corners of your lips. “Yeah. I hate you.”

“Right.”

A long and awkward silence ensues before he says, “Yeah - okay. I will see you tonight.”

===

Hours later, you saunter over to the counselor bonfire, located right off the shore of the lake. It’s a beautiful, clear night - a slight breeze rustles the trees and the fire licks the stars. You’re a bit late, and Steve’s nervous that you won’t show up. Despite this, he is literally surrounded by the female counselors, who are eagerly asking him about himself.

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble as you approach.

“Look who it is!” Josh shouts out as you near. “Y/N, we’ve been waiting for you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” you say dryly, entering the circle.

Steve pats the log beside him - he had saved you a seat. With all these girls surrounding him, he saved you a seat. He had to tell them, “hey, don’t sit there, it’s reserved,” while he waited for you to show up. It’s a sweet gesture, one that sends your heart beating a little too fast for your liking. You sit beside him, giving a tight lipped smile.

The girls all smile at you, as if it’s all some type of game. And you know why they’re so amused - you had dramatically cut them off each night when Steve would be brought up. You’d throw a pillow over your head and shout at them to just shut up already. They thought you weren’t immune to his charms, just as they weren't. You roll your eyes at them.

Josh hands you a piece of paper and a pencil. “We’re doing the burning ceremony in a few.”

You take the paper and pencil from him gently, sitting it on your lap. Beside you, Steve is clutching his paper tightly to his chest. You bite the inside of your cheek as you think about what to write down - you’d already metaphorically burned Steve last year. You simply write down my past with no elaboration, intending to feed everyone a fake story and then throw it into the fire.

Steve himself didn’t need to think very long about what to write down. His biggest regret was the way he had treated people. A nauseous jerk tugs at his stomach when he thinks about high school, when he thinks about Nancy and Jonathan, when he thinks about the mask he always hid behind. He’s reminded of it every single day here with you - memories that he can’t quite touch but that he knows are there. The feeling of guilt when he looks at you, at the way your brows furrow and eyes narrow at him. How, even now, the pleasantries hide behind past aggression.

He doesn’t blame you.

And maybe, perhaps, burning a piece of paper will make him feel better. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever done.

You listen as everyone goes around and tells their story. Some talk about relationships, or mental health. Each story is met with support from the circle, almost like group therapy. When all comments are said, the paper is thrown in, and everyone claps and cheers as it burns. You can sense that Steve is getting more and more nervous as he gets closer to talking, and you wonder what’s on his paper.

When it’s your turn, you stand up. “I wrote down my past.” You clear your throat. “Uh - I’m not proud of who I used to be. I used to be so quiet and shy. But I’m happier now, and louder, and I’m not afraid of the space that I take up.”

Steve’s eyes burn a hole into your side as you tell your story. He remembers the girl you’re talking about. He remembers how quiet you were, always minding your own business. And his chest hurts when he realizes that he’s probably why you were that way.

It takes a lot of strength for you to not side-eye him.

Everyone tells you that they’re proud and you throw the paper into the fire, sitting back down and crossing your hands over your lap. There’s a tenseness between you and Steve, but no one realizes the connection.

Steve stands, his hands shaking. It takes him a second to find his voice.

“Um. Well, when I was younger - not younger, just a few years ago - I was a jerk.”

You tense up, staring intently into the fire.

“I was such a dick. I made the worst decisions and the worst friends. I used to follow the crowd, because I thought that’s what I had to do to make them like me.” He licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “And I knew it was wrong - I knew it was - but that’s not an excuse. I let it go on for too long, and I hurt a lot of people. And that really kills me each day.”

You squeeze your hands together.

“I’m trying so hard to not be that person anymore, and I’m glad that I’m not. I got away from those people and I found better friends. Friends who believe in me and like me for me.” He clears his throat and sniffles. “But I’m so worried that I’ll turn back into that person again. I know there are people who will always know me as that person, and that sucks.” His eyes land on the top of your head. “But not as much as it sucks for them, I’m sure.

“I’m just ashamed,” he continues. “I wish I could change what I did. I wish I could make everyone believe that I’m not that guy anymore. I wish I wasn’t so scared. Most of all, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Everyone’s silent. Steve asks, “Do - do I throw it in now?”

“No,” Josh says. “Uh - wow. I don’t even know where to start.”

Steve feels the shame creeping into his chest again and bows his head.

“First of all, man, you’re allowed to change. You can change, and it’s obvious that you did,” Josh says.

Steve looks up, shocked at the validation.

“Yeah,” Nico, Steve’s roommate, interjects. “Dude, you’re one of the nicest, goofiest people I’ve ever met.”

A few yeahs echo around the circle.

“And it’s a good sign that you regret what you’ve done,” another girl, Emily, says. “That shows growth.”

You sit tensely, feeling cold in front of the fire. You know he’s talking about you. And you know he means what he’s saying.

You interject a few moments later. “What matters is that you’re trying to change. That’s the best you can do.”

Steve looks down at you, brows furrowing, but it feels like a weight has lifted off of him, freeing him. Feels like his collar bones aren’t cracking under pressure. His eyes are soft and filled with tears - he wasn’t expecting any of this.

You swallow hard, feeling your own tears swelling in your eyes. “And I think that - I think that it’s obvious you aren’t like who you were before.”

Never in your life did you think you’d say that, and never in Steve’s life did he think he’d hear it.

A few people agree, reinforcing that it’s okay for him to be ashamed, but it’s okay for him to grow, too. It’s a bit much for Steve, who makes a strong effort to not burst out into sobs. You can’t meet his eyes yet, but when he sits down after throwing the paper in, you reach for his hand and squeeze it. It’s more than the truce at the breakfast table - it’s an understanding. It’s forgiveness. It’s comfort. It’s friendship. You decide to truly, finally swallow your past, let the flames do their job, and embrace the new Steve.

Your hand leaves after just a second, but he understands the message, and you both smile the rest of the night.

===

It’s Sunday night now, and you’re doing rounds. It’s a little after one in the morning. You check on every cabin to make sure kids are asleep and safe, then decide to sneak a dip in the lake. It was a cool night, but the water was calling. You approach the pier but stop when you see another body already sitting on the edge, shoulders slumped.

You can tell despite the distance that it’s Steve, and you can tell that something’s wrong.

You make your footsteps loud so he can hear you coming, and you take a seat on the wood beside him. The lake is bright from the moon, and it illuminates on Steve’s sullen face. “You okay?”

He nods softly. “I just wanted to take a walk,” he says, but his voice cracks.

You frown. “Is that all?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, but you can see that his cheeks and eyes are red and swollen. Finally, he whispers, “I had a nightmare.”

Steve had awoken in a sweat, kicking his sheets off of him and gasping for breath. It was another dream about the Upside Down, and it hit him unexpectedly and hard. Nico had stood over his bed, worry etched onto his face, asking Steve if he was okay. Steve brushed it off and said he needed to go on a walk. When he slipped outside, he cried, hugging himself as he walked to the pier. It was the brightest spot at camp, the only place he felt safe. He had learned the lake like the back of his hand in three week’s time, had found a home in it, and he went there to pull himself together.

A nightmare was a bit of an understatement - it had felt so real. He went weeks without one, happily, assuming the distance from Hawkins was helping. It was disheartening to have one here. Embarrassing, too. He wonders if Dustin or any of the kids had been having them.

The anguish on his face and cheeks is apparent and you whisper, “Hey,” taking his hand and squeezing it again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head numbly. He would like to talk about it, but knows he can’t. “Just a stupid dream.”

You frown. “It’s not stupid to feel scared.”

Steve sniffles. “I know.”

“But do you know?”

Steve stills, eyebrows knitting together again. “I… it’s hard to feel like it’s not stupid.”

You nod. “I know how you feel. Well, at least a bit.”

“Do you have nightmares?”

“No,” you whisper. Your thumb absentmindedly rubs over his. “But I have anxiety. And I know how it feels to think it’s stupid to feel that way.”

Steve nods. “I just kind of… push it down. I try not to bother people with it.”

“You’re not bothering people who love you for talking about it. Have you told Dustin?”

“Yeah, but… he’s got his own problems.”

You nod in understanding. After a few moments of silence, you say, “You can talk to me.”

He laughs solemnly. He wishes he could talk to someone about it. Someone outside of the people who were there, or outside of the shrinks that Doc Owens had recommended. Anyone with a new perspective. But he can’t, because the person he’d confide in would die, and he really doesn’t need that on his conscience. That’s not something you could burn in a fire and forget about.

“I’m serious,” you say. “I can help.”

Steve kicks his feet back and forth in the water for a few minutes. Then he looks over at you. “How do you stop being anxious?”

“You don’t,” you say, laughing. “It just gets easier to hide. But having friends helps, and loving yourself helps.”

“I don’t have either.”

You elbow his side gently. “You have friends, Steve. And I’ll be damned if you don’t like yourself by the time you leave here.”

He’s quiet again, then says, “It’s really hard for me to think of people as friends. It’s hard to think that people actually want to hang out with me. Tommy and Carol used me for money and an empty house.” He shrugs lazily. “The attention just feels so… superficial now.”

And it makes your heart ache, because maybe that’s why he won’t give in to the girls here. He thinks they don’t like him for him - they only like him for his looks. Even if he wants them to like him, if he wants someone to love, it’s hard to accept it. The realization ignites an odd anger in you; he doesn’t deserve to feel like this.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But at least you’re aware of it, right?”

He nods and shrugs again. “I guess.”

More silence.

“Your speech on Friday…,” you say softly. “It meant a lot.”

“It didn’t have to -”

“But it did.”

He swallows and turns to face you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” you say, rubbing his thumb again. “I forgive you.” You smile. “For real this time.”

He smiles, too. “Apparently, since you can’t stop holding my hand.”

You retract it quickly, holding it to your chest. You didn’t realize how long you’d been holding it, and you blushed deeply. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You sure?” he grins. “Because someone told me every girl here likes me.”

You kick water towards him and he laughs, kicking back. You’re happy to see the light back in his eyes.

“So Kayak Ball, huh?”

“It’s the next big thing.” He seems proud of it.

You hum. “So I’ve heard.” You splash water towards him again. “You gonna teach me?”

Steve laughs incredulously. “You want to learn?”

“Yeah,” you smile, shrugging. “Maybe I can stop by tomorrow on my break.”

He smiles widely. “You’re gonna get your ass kicked.”

You push up and reach out for his hand, pulling him up with you. “Let me walk you back to your cabin, okay?”

“You don’t have to -”

“I don’t want you to get lost in the woods.”

You walk together in silence, but Steve feels comforted. Like maybe he could go back to sleep when he lays down instead of worrying about dying.

“Hey,” you say when you approach his cabin. “Um… Mia? She wanted me to put in a good word for her.”

“As in?”

“As in, you should sit with her at lunch.” You wink. “She’s one of those ‘every girls’ that likes you.”

His eyes widen and then he smiles, shaking his head. “You mean it?”

“No, it’s a prank.”

He laughs softly and shakes his head again. “Well, thanks for the tip.”

You smile and nod. When you turn to walk towards your cabin, you say, “Goodnight, Steve.”

He waves after you. “Goodnight.”

===

taglist (join here!): @troop-scoop @therealestdookie @jasontoddisfantastical @mybestfriendthedingus @anonymousonion23 @darth-el @unknownherelm @random-thoughts-003 @metuel18 @dark-academics-and-florals @magicstrengthandcourage @mathchampagne @magnitude101999 @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @sunshine-and-riverwater @dark-academics-and-florals @scooprtroopr @heart-eye-harrington @sourapplebaby @comedy-witch @mochminnie @thatkidofwarandpeace @lukeskisses @ssanjuniperoo @harrington-ofhawkins @write-from-the-heart @yazmin626 @bravest-at-heart

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington au #the campers #this chap is truly horrific but what can u do truly!

129 notes · View notes

threeletterslife · 5 years ago

Text

08 | Illegirl

→ previous | next

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity (LITERALLY, WHAT’S NEW), kissing/making out but iN tHe cLaSsRoOm

→ wordcount: 8.3k

The car ride is so silent, you can literally hear the gears of your brain working as all sorts of thoughts fly through your head.

Jimin hasn't said a single word to you since you've left the school and neither have you. It's like the awkwardness is being fueled by the silence. God, you want to say something so bad, but what would you say?

Haha, sorry Jimin, but yeah, I might like you???

You mentally slap yourself, sighing. From the corner of your eye, you see Jimin steering steadily, both hands gripping the wheel tightly.

You almost scoff at the thought but... What if Jungkook was right? What if... he likes me too?

You've never really thought of that possibility before. Why hadn't it crossed your mind until now?

Because you're not supposed to fucking like your teacher, Y/N.

Right.

But still...

"Jimin?"

Your own voice surprises you as you can visibly see your ex-friend jump in his seat. Immediately, you regret ever speaking but it's too late now.

"Yes?"

Damn. You never realized how much you missed his smooth, beautiful voice until now.

"I... This... I miss this." You literally want to shank yourself for your inability to form coherent, non-humiliating phrases.

Jimin looks shocked but he doesn't turn his head to look at you. Instead, he mutters a soft, "Me too."

Silence follows after that, and you're worried you made the situation worse. Just as you think it's ruined forever, Jimin speaks again. "We kind of drifted apart, didn't we?"

You nod vigorously. "We shouldn't have... Right?"

"Right."

Silence again.

"I'm sorry," you say at the exact same time as Jimin. Both of you laugh, the awkward atmosphere lifting bit by bit. It feels exceptionally good to laugh with him.

"What are you sorry for?" Jimin chuckles. "You made no mistakes."

You flinch at the word, god, you hate it. "Okay, can we not call that a mistake?" you blurt out before you can even process what you said. Oh shit.

Jimin cocks his head. "What would you want to call it then?"

Ohhh, you fucked up, Y/N.

"I dunno... A... A?" You're stuck. You're screwed. You're roasted. "Um --"

HONK! BEEP! SCREECH! And an angry: "DRIVE, ASSHOLE!" saves you.

Multiple impatient people are slamming their palms hard on their wheels, erupting a shit ton of raucous noise in the evening air.

"It's a green light, go!" you shriek, laughing as your teacher hurriedly smashes his foot down on the excel.

Both of you are still laughing by the time Jimin pulls up on your driveway.

"So, an asshole now, aren't you?" you joke, snorting.

Jimin huffs. "People are so impatient!" He turns to you, grinning slightly. "But that's me included. Now, where were we? Something about 'not a mistake?'" he teases lightly.

Your face starts to flush an ugly shade of rose. "Just don't call it that!" you exclaim. "What else am I supposed to say? It was the best kiss I've ever had? Huh?"

It takes you a moment to process what you'd just said. Y/N, are you fucking kidding me.

Now it's Jimin's turn to flush pink. "Best kiss?" he says softly.

"O-oh, um... Actually..." You can't even deny it though. Granted, you've only ever had one other kiss in your life and that too, was with your goddamn teacher.

"Do you... hm..." Jimin trails off, hands still gripping the steering wheel as he refuses to make eye contact with you. "Do you... feel the same as me?"

You make a face. "What kind of vague question is that? How am I supposed to know how you feel? If I knew, I would've either cried from rejection or cried from happiness already!"

Jimin cocks his head, eyes still trained to look in front of him, not at you. "Damn," he mutters to himself.

"Damn straight!" you exclaim, getting weirdly worked up. "You know the fuck what? Let's say I do feel the same as you. Would you be glad or happy?"

"Aren't they synonyms?" Jimin asks, a small grin on his face.

You huff. "You're such an asshole! Glad, if you don't like me. Happy, if you like me back! Isn't it obvious?"

Suddenly, Jimin whirls around, facing you straight and grinning like a madman. Startled, you lean back. "Like you back? You like me?"

Oh, fuck. You forgot how much of a nervous blabbermouth you are. You sigh. Actually, you know the fuck what? What have I got to lose?

"Fine, you goddamn asshole. I like you," you blurt out. Immediately, your whole body feels so much lighter as if your confession had just lifted fifty pounds off your chest. So logically, you continue on.

"It's probably illegal for you to like me back so I won't even ask if you return my feelings. Ugh. I swear to fucking god I've been such a miserable little shit ever since we stopped talking. You're an asshole for avoiding me, you know that? And a dumbass for calling the best moment of my whole life a fucking mistake." You pause for a deep breath, nearly choking on air doing so. "But who am I kidding... You're no asshole or dumbass," you sigh, massaging your forehead as you squeeze your eyes shut.

"You're amazing, smart, a workaholic, yes, but also a caring friend and teacher... I just—" You quickly bury your face in your hands. "I'm not crying, I just lost my train of thought," you say, your voice slightly muffled. Sniffling, you continue. "You make me just... lose my fucking words. You make me blabber like a goddamn second grader! You make me cuss so much, goddammit!"

You hear Jimin's low chuckle and jerk your head up, glaring through your teary eyes.

"Y/N, Y/N!" Jimin chuckles. "Are you really blaming your foul mouth on me?"

"Are you fucking kidding me, Park Jimin?" you rage. "I just confessed my whole heart out and that's the first thing you say?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—" Jimin laughs. "You're so adorable. I'd pay good money to see you confess to me again."

Your eyebrow twitches in annoyance... maybe even humiliation, you don't know anymore. Aggressively, you wipe away the tears welled up in your eyes and look away.

"Y/N?"

You pretend you can't hear.

"Y/N."

What was that? Must be some bird --

"Y/N!"

An angry bird at that...

"Yoon Y/N!" A hand grabs your arm, forcing you to look at the man you really didn't like at the moment. (Despite the fact you're literally whipped for him.)

You expect Jimin to apologize for being an ass, but to your surprise, he laughs. Okay, this bitch!

"I'm sorry, sorry, Y/N!" Jimin giggles. "I swear I'm not laughing at you. I'm just... I can't believe -- I like you too!" he blurts out.

What.

What the FUCK?

"YOU ASSHOLE!" you shout, shaking your arm away from Jimin's grip. "YOU MADE ME CONFESS LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT!"

Your teacher laughs again. "On my defense, I didn't think you were going to blurt out a confession. Besides, you don't have any idea how much pain I've been in, thinking you didn't feel the same. I'm laughing because of the irony! I'm not laughing at you, Y/N!"

You huff. "You're lucky I like you so much. Or else I would've shanked you."

Jimin scoffs. "You? Shank me? Please, Y/N, you're half my size."

"Oh, we're roasting each other now? Okay, fine. Who's the one who can't, for the life of him, keep his hands to himself when he's drunk, hm?" you say, proudly.

"That doesn't work anymore, Y/N. I think I'm safe to say that day I kissed you drunk was the best mistake I've ever made," Jimin announces, grinning widely.

You flout. "Asshole."

"But you know you like me."

"Oh, shut up or else... or else..." you trail off, "or elSE I'M GOING TO INVITE YOU IN THE HOUSE! HA!"

Jimin bursts out laughing. "Not really a threat, but I full-heartedly accept."

Something in your chest explodes at that moment—it's a burst of emotions, warm, fuzzy and cordial. You've got to admit, Jimin is an asshole. Too bad you're whipped for him—and he's whipped for you.

"I haven't been here in forever," Jimin chuckles as he enters your house. "Thanks for inviting me in," he teases, reminding you of your stupid outburst earlier. You scowl as your face flushes a brighter shade of red.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you mumble as you throw your backpack on the couch and head towards the kitchen. "Wanna eat anything?"

"Not in particular," your teacher answers, sliding into one of the kitchen seats. He places his elbows on the marble counter and rests his chin on his folded hands, looking at you in a way that has your heart leaping around in your rib cage.

Fuck. You don't know how long you can contain your happiness, literally feeling as if you'll burst out screaming that your crush likes you back in any second.

"Suit yourself," you murmur calmly, swinging open the refrigerator door and hiding your flushed face behind it. "Get yourself together, bitch," you whisper to yourself, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to calm your palpitating heart. Then, you put on a confident face, grabbing a bowl of pre-washed strawberries and shutting the refrigerator door.

"Actually, do you happen to have gum?" Jimin asks once you set the bowl of strawberries down on the table counter.

"Gum?" Your eyebrows raise.

"Yeah, mint gum."

Strange request, but okay.

"Uh, yeah," you reply, quickly opening a drawer to take out a pack of your favorite mint gum and tossing it whole to Jimin. He catches it midair with unsurprising finesse, unwrapping a piece and placing it in his mouth before looking up and smiling at you. His smile literally kills you.

I must be dreaming. There's no way all of this just happened. There's no way—

"So... what now?" Jimin asks, chewing on his gum thoughtfully. "We like each other but what happens after that?"

His bluntness makes you blush ever harder as you quickly pick up a strawberry and shove it in your mouth to prevent yourself from blurting out anything imbecilic. While slowly chewing on it, you give yourself some time to think.

What does happen now? What do you do if the person you like, likes you back? Hell, this isn't even a normal case—this boy, man, if you will, is my goddamn teacher.

After intense contemplation, you swallow the last of the strawberry and speak your very well put together answer: "I don't know."

Jimin blows a bubble with his gum, popping it somehow gracefully as he chuckles. "Well, you should know something. It's kind of illegal for us to be together—I don't know the exact laws but I'm pretty sure somewhere in the teacher handbook there's something about not having relationships with students..." he trails off. "But technically, if no one finds out, we won't get in trouble." He gives you a suggestive look, wiggling his eyebrows.

You burst out laughing. "Oh my god, Jimin—you're just so..."

"So... what?" he teases, scooching closer to your smaller frame.

"So... I dunno... Didn't I tell you? You make me lose all sense of the English language," you pout slightly, turning out your lips as you give Jimin a look. "And I have a fucking A+ in that class too."

"You're adorable," he comments, leaning in to ruffle your hair. And he doesn't pull away. Instead, his eyes linger around your lips, making you very, very self-conscious about them.

"A-Are you going to kiss me?" you whisper without thinking, your warm breath hitting Jimin's lips. Lips that curve up into a faint smile.

"Do you want me to?" His warm, minty breath makes you feel like you're floating in the soft clouds in Heaven but you manage to stay sane.

"I dunno... I mean, yeah? Wait, maybe. Actually..." you stop yourself before you stutter even more. His question had caught you so off-guard you didn't even know what to say.

"I'm taking that as a yes," Jimin mutters, his lips slightly grazing yours. You lean for more contact when—

"Wait, lemme spit out my gum real quick."

What.

You watch, slightly horrified as Jimin just sticks his chewed, mint gum on his finger. He looks like he has no intention of walking over to the trash can to throw it away.

"Sorry," Jimin says, giving you a sheepish smile as he cups your cheek with the hand that doesn't have the gum stuck on it. "Just wanted to have minty breath."

You roll your eyes. "For what?" It's a dumb question and you know it. You don't even expect an answer—and you don't get one.

Jimin quickly leans in, his lips meeting yours halfway. It's a small, chaste peck that barely gives you a chance to taste the mint on his tongue. But you're not complaining. Not when things are unfolding like this.

"If I haven't made it extremely obvious already, Yoon Y/N, I like you," Jimin mutters, breath hitting your cheek as he softly kisses it.

That comment alone has your stomach twisting around in knots. Blushing, you manage to reply a shaky: "You and me both, Jimin."

He chuckles, giving your lips another little peck before he pulls back, fondly admiring your face. "You have no idea how long I've liked you."

Feeling a surge of confidence, you slowly wrap your arms around Jimin's neck, giving him a smile. "Try me. Bet I've liked you for longer."

"Oh? Is it a competition now?" He leans in to kiss you, and this one lingers around on your lips just a tad bit more—actually, quite literally since he hasn't pulled back yet.

"Isn't it always?" you respond against his lips. Finally, finally, finally! you can taste the mint on his tongue as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. It's less like an explosive feeling of euphoria and more like a feeling of something slow, sensual and loving.

Jimin hums, moving forward to press you against the back of your chair, making sure every part of your body's touching his.

You've never really been a smooth talker—no fucking surprise—so you're very much glad you can express yourself with your actions. And Jimin, that little bitch, he's a somewhat of a smooth talker and an obvious connoisseur of kissing.

You melt against his body, his lips suckling yours as his fingers tangle in your hair. Honestly, you could stay like this forever—this warmth, this feeling, this silence. Dare you say this feeling was better than scoring hundred's on your tests—

But of course, things never go smoothly when you're involved.

With a loud gasp, you slightly pull away from the kiss, frowning. "Jimin, your hands..."

"What about them, baby girl?" he coos, leaning in to kiss you again.

"No, your hands, Jimin. They're in my hair," you say slowly, brows furrowing. God, no.

"Yes, baby, they are," Jimin says, staring at you as if you've just lost it. "Has my kissing really made you lose your head?" he jokes.

Oh my god. It looks like you just have to go out and say it then—

You close your eyes, deeply sighing. "You had gum on your finger, Jimin. It's in my hair, isn't it?"

"OH SHIT!"

You ended up having to cut a strand of your hair.

Yeah, thanks to your new fucking boyfriend, not only did you get a (quite literal) taste of his romantics, you also got his chewed up gum in your hair. How! Great!

But are you complaining? Not really.

Not when you're cuddled up with him on the couch and it feels more cordial than home itself. You can't believe you, the most pragmatic person you know, is literally playing around with stupid platitudes, but you might as well just found home with him.

You look at the cylindrical bottle with disdain, lips pulled out in a full pout. Picking up the concealer with a maximum of two fingers (to minimize the surface area you touch), you turn around to glare at your boyfriend who's watching you with adoration in his eyes.

"I don't even wear makeup," you whine for the hundredth time. "This is all your fucking fault, Park."

"Hey, hey!" Jimin raises up his hands in defense, giving you a sheepish look. "I quite remember that you liked it when it was happening... Oh, JiMiN, yEaH rIghT tHeRe!" He gives you a shit-eating grin.

You're blushing even harder than before, rolling your eyes and huffing. "Shut the fuck up."

"Now, now, that's no way to talk to your dear teacher, Y/N," Jimin teases. He walks over to you (you were very adamantly scrutinizing your bruised neck) and he wraps his arms around you. "If it helps, I can help you apply it?" He rubs his face into the soft material of your loose hoodie.

You groan. "Fine. You better know shit about makeup because I sure don't."

"We can learn," Jimin answers as he spins you around and takes the concealer from you. "What's learning without a few failures?"

Two hours later and half a bottle of concealer wasted, you're looking at your covered up neck in the mirror with satisfaction. "I feel like if your clumsy ass hadn't spilled the concealer halfway through, we would've finished earlier," you tease, poking Jimin's cheek affectionately.

Jimin scowls, checking his watch as he sulks. "It's only half-past four... We can still have our date at the park."

You smile as your boyfriend grabs your hand, tugging you towards the front door. "Of course... But hey, can we be back by seven? I have this test tomorrow—"

Jimin laughs, squeezing your hand. "Without a doubt... nerd," he mutters the last bit under his breath.

"What did you call me?" Your brows furrow up and you glare at Jimin.

"Oh, just the ray of sunshine in my dark, muddy life."

Conversations have never been your cup of tea. Sure, finding the root-mean-square-deviation was a piece of cake—or writing a literary analysis on The House of Mirth didn't even make you break out in a sweat. But conversations... That shit's hard.

There's so much you want to say, so much you'd like to share. But you have to factor in the others' reactions to your words to make sure you're not saying something rude or offensive. God, things are so much easier when you're just talking to yourself.

"No, but I really think mermaids are real!" you huff. "We didn't think of the possibilities of the oarfish or the deep sea hatchetfish or the fucking viperfish until we found them, you know! 95% of the ocean is undiscovered, alright? Mermaids are out there!"

"It's scientifically impossible!" Jimin huffs, squeezing your interlocked hands.

"Park, a shit ton of things were called 'scientifically impossible' before they were proven to be quite feasible," you sigh, patting Jimin's shoulder. "Admit it, Jimin, mermaids are real."

"Oh, c'mon, Y/N. I thought you were a woman of practicality!"

"What's more to it than you thought wrong?" you giggle. "Mermaids probably exist! What if I told you I'm a mermaid, huh? Would you run away?"

Jimin rolls his eyes. "You're impossible."

"Much so like the so-called non-existent mermaids," you pipe up, giving your boyfriend a shit-eating grin.

"Y/N, I'm literally so ready to—FUCK, DUCK!" Jimin yells, turning your body around and pulling your hood over your head and dipping his face into the small space under the hood as if he was trying to hide both of your identities.

"What? Huh? What's wrong?" you whisper, face flushing from the close proximity between you and Jimin.

"Holy shit, we shouldn't have come to a local park, holy shit!" Jimin murmurs, hands shaking as he wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer.

"Who are we hiding from? What?" you hiss. "Jimin, what's wrong?"

"Students!" he hisses right back.

The blood flowing in your veins runs cold and your freeze before you start to hyperventilate. "Students?" you repeat in horror, barely believing it yourself until you see them through a small space between the hood and Jimin. "Fuck! Oh, shit! Fuckshitholyhell, they're coming, oh my god, oh MY GOD—"

Before you can scream and blow your cover, Jimin's lips are on yours, face dipped further into your hood as he kisses you softly. You're too shocked to say anything, only to respond by moving your lips against his, steadying the hood over both of your faces with heavy precaution.

He only pulls away when you're 110% sure you're tomato-red and panting for air. "What... was that for?" you ask, breathless.

Jimin grins. "To play the part of a romantic couple having their date at the park. No one looks twice at a couple engrossed in PDA," he murmurs. "They're gone, by the way."

"Oh thank the LORD! We should really—mmf!"

Jimin's lips crash down on yours for the second time that day, stopping you mid-sentence, again. You're not even mad—although PDA was something you always hated (being a watcher), you never thought how exciting it would be on the other side of it.

Or maybe Jimin's just a good kisser. There's something about how his lips tug and release, how there's just the right amount of affection and the way he makes you want to literally glue your lips onto his for eternity. (Ignore the last part that's borderline creepy.) But for real though. He's so perfect.

You sigh into the kiss, hands tugging on Jimin's shirt as he kisses you harder in response. The sounds, the taste, the feeling puts you on cloud nine, and you barely even notice when your hood falls down from the force of which he's kissing you.

And when both of you pull away for air, his nose still lightly pressed against yours as he pants softly, you can't help but grin so wide it physically hurts. Both of you catch your breaths together.

"I'm kinda glad this played out like this," you mutter, nuzzling your head into Jimin's chest.

"Today's date... or us as a couple?" Jimin chuckles kissing the top of your head.

"Both, of course."

Jimin laughs lightly. "You know, you can't really scientifically prove that mermaids exist, but I sure can scientifically prove that we're meant for each other."

"God, Park. That was another level of greasy," you tease as Jimin flushes furiously. "I'd like to see you try one day... With all that scientific evidence."

Your boyfriend just smiles, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he tugs you close into his arms. "Why don't we test my hypothesis out right now?"

You don't even get to answer because his lips are on yours.

Who would've fucking thought?

It's crazy how that night your teacher had drunkenly kissed you, both of your fates had been sealed. You would've never thought in a million years that you'd be so emotionally and physically attached to another being that wasn't Jin.

But here you are. With Jimin. How he looks at you when he thinks you're sleeping. How he tucks in a loose strand of your hair behind your ear so he can softly kiss your closed eyelids. How he hugs you so tight in the privacy of his cozy living room. How he loves it when you play with the silky locks of his hair and how you love it that Jimin's all you can really think about.

You're crazy for him—to the point you wonder if it's even healthy. But rest assured, you know he's crazy for you too.

Every single moment the two of you meet, your heart feels full, your shining smile never leaves your face and your eyes twinkle from sheer mirth.

Yes, he's your teacher, out of your league, almost a decade older than you. But you really don't care. Age is only a number and a teacher is only an occupation.

It could sound wrong at first glance—a teacher and his student in a loving relationship. Yet you can't really stop two people from being together, right?

Besides, life with Jimin as your boyfriend is good. Great. Amazing. Too good to be true. Ineffable.

Dates are never a problem. Underneath his nerdy persona, Jimin is a romantic freak. He's learned a thing or two from the pile of Nicholas Sparks novels he keeps under his bed. In turn, he's also learned a lot of cliché but romantic endeavors. Which is exactly why you've been stuck in the car for the past five hours, driving to the goddamn beach at an ungodly time of day.

"Jiminie," you whine, shifting positions in the cramped shotgun seat of the car for the umpteenth time. "Are we there yet?"

"God, Y/N, you've been asking that every five minutes!" Jimin laughs. "We're almost there."

"That's what you said three hours ago," you sigh, stretching your feet out. "Why did we have to go to a beach so far away, huh? And so early, jeez, it's literally five in the morning, and we started this road trip at midnight!"

"Oh c'mon, you know the answer to that." Jimin gives you a sideways, knowing glance. "We can't have any students interrupting our date—unless you're into that kind of stuff."

You snort, shaking your head. "Still doesn't explain why we hit the roads so early."

"You'll see." Jimin smiles, taking his eyes off the road for a quick second as he looks at you with adoration. You can't help to shut up when he looks at you like that. Come to think of it, you think Jimin knows that that look is the only way that'll get you to stop talking. He's using it against you. That little bi—

Your stomach growls loudly, interrupting your own thoughts. It's that kind of growl that sounds like a mixture between a fucking fart and a burp. The most embarrassing kind, of course. There's an awkward silence that follows and then, laughter. Jimin's snorting, slapping his thigh with one hand as the other keeps the wheel steady while you're cackling like a goddamn hyena (you've never been blessed with a pretty laugh).

The situation wasn't even that funny. In fact, you felt like a sixth-grader again, giggling at immature shit all the time. But it must be the tiredness talking—er, laughing.

"Well you're hungry, aren't you?" Jimin manages to say, attempting to steady his breaths.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," you choke out, grabbing your gurgling stomach to shut it up. "Are we there yet?"

"Oh my GOD, Y/N," Jimin laughs again. He takes the liberty to literally reach over and pat your head. "You're acting like a goddamn child. Like I'm dating a kid."

You pause to think. "Okay but technically, you are kinda dating a child," you say, stifling a small yawn. "What a pedo."

Your boyfriend scoffs but grins. "Hey, hey, hey!" he protests, "just because you're a minor doesn't mean you're a child. Besides, aren't you turning 18 soon?"

"Eh, late birthday," you reply, shrugging. "I'm turning 18 in August."

"Well fuck, Y/N," Jimin sighs. "What are you so young for?" He shakes his head disapprovingly.

You roll your eyes. "Oh yeah? What the fuck are you so old for?"

"Excuse me, 24 ain't that old," Jimin pouts, lips pulling out so plumply that you have the sudden urge to kiss them. "It just seems old in comparison to 17!"

"Whatever you say... grandpa."

"I'm one word away from driving five hours back where we came from," Jimin teases, making you shut up right away. "That's more like it. We're almost there, anyways. Just in time too."

"Just in time for what? We better make this quick. You know, before Jin finds out that we've both vanished without a single text," you say.

"Relax, Y/N, you and I both know that Jin likes to sleep in 'til two during the weekends. We'll be on a time crunch, but it'll be fine," Jimin answers, shrugging.

You pout like a petulant child. "But just in time for what?"

"Oh! What do you know? We're here!" Jimin exclaims, flat-out ignoring you and your sulking ass. "I'll get the beach towels, you stay right here!" Your boyfriend excitedly opens the car door, rushing to the back of his trunk to rummage through the supplies.

"Hmph." You cross your arms, a bit pissed that Jimin won't tell you shit, especially when you're not the biggest fan of surprises. It's still slightly dark outside since the sun is barely peeking over the beach horizon. Which reminds you that you should be in bed, sleeping.

Oh well. Jimin time is worth sleep time.

"For you, m'lady."

Suddenly your side of the car door opens with Jimin behind it, grinning widely at you. He's holding that typical picnic bitch basket and that basic beach mat for couples. Then, you look down to see a fucking red carpet, starting from the parked car all the way to the sand.

"What the fuck."

"Why? Do you not like it?" Jimin asks, brows creasing in worry as you express your shell-shock.

"No... I love it. It's just. Damn. I'm just impressed..." you trail off. "You did all of this for me."

"Why wouldn't I?" Jimin grins, holding out his hand for you to take. "C'mon, let's walk down the red carpet."

You giggle, taking your boyfriend's warm hand as you giddily hop out of his car. "What did I do to get the honor of walking down this special carpet?"

"Well, for one, you miraculously survived this five-hour road trip. And two, you're dating me, a well-known celebrity, so you get privileges," Jimin teases, poking your cheek as he starts to guide you down the colored rug.

"Celebrity my ass," you snort. But you pull your body closer to Jimin's as he protectively wraps his arm around your figure.

Jimin chuckles. "Well if I ever become a famous rapper, my name should be Statz, you know, for statistics."

"Yeah, sure, and people will drop their asses to your passionate rapping about the wonders of the z-score table," you giggle. "I see you more as a dancer. You've got the body."

"Oh?" Jimin quirks his eyebrows. "Been looking at my ~body~?" he asks suggestively.

"Shut up, I'm underage," you snort, hitting his chest. "Besides, I catch you looking at me all the time. Don't act so innocent, grandpa."

"Okay, we're both guilty then," Jimin smirks, squeezing your intertwined hands before letting go. "Hey, look at that, we're just in time." He smiles, spreading out the beach mat and placing the picnic basket in the middle.

The soft sound of the waves and the salty breeze helps you relax. But the silhouette of your boyfriend setting up a romantic scene for you keeps your heart beating madly.

"We're watching the sunrise," you whisper, your voice coming out as a small squeak.

"Yup. Took you long enough," Jimin quips, grinning as he helps you sit down on the soft mat. "Just you, me and the sunrise, you know?"

You smile, snuggling into his warm arms. "It's perfect."

"Okay, good, 'cause I kinda might've forgotten to put food in the picnic basket... not to ruin the mood or anything. Ugh, I knew I was forgetting something but I didn't know what it was until I picked up the goddamn basket from the trunk and was like 'oh shit, it's fucking empty' and panicked. But I was like, nah, I should just bring it for show, makes it more romantic, right? So here we are with an empty picnic basket," Jimin rambles, scratching the back of his head nervously. "I hope you don't get hungry."

You laugh lightly, reaching for Jimin's hand to console him. "Hey, it really doesn't matter. My stomach should learn to take hunger once in a while."

"It's still perfect?" Jimin asks tentatively.

"Ineffably perfect," you murmur, leaning back against your boyfriend's chest to look out at the scenery. "Think the sunrise's starting."

And it was. You and Jimin sit in silence as vibrant colors of yellow and orange slowly mix with rich shades of magenta, painting the most beautiful canvas; the morning sky.

You're in awe with the beauty, living in the tranquil moment.

Then you hear a soft whisper. "I love you."

Your eyes turn wide and you gasp quietly, whipping your head up to see Jimin looking away from you.

"W-What?" you manage to say.

Even though it's still slightly dark, you can see the blush creeping up on Jimin's cheeks as he whispers again. "I... I think I love you, Y/N."

Now you're flushing all shades of red as your heart threatens to burst out of your chest. He loves me. He loves me! HE LOVES ME! You don't know what to say, what to do, what to think.

"W-What?" is all you can utter. Quite stupidly.

"Y/N, I..." Jimin sighs, looking you in the eye, "I love you."

You're in shock. Never have you ever been confessed to. Never have you ever been exposed to this kind of romance. Never have you loved someone to this extent either. There's a first time for everything.

And so you muster up all the courage running through your veins, clear your parched throat (when had it become so dry?) as you look right into your boyfriend's twinkling eyes. Jimin smiles, squeezing your hand. "Yeah. I love you," he repeats, surely, confidently.

You smile back, leaning in to place a chaste kiss against his lips. "You and me both."

You don't wanna sound like you're from a fucking fairytale or some shit, but damn you really think you got your happily ever after.

Yeah, like every princess out there you're practically an orphan, but you're surrounded by the most caring and loving bunch of people ever. And plus, you have your prince. Prince Jimin. (Why the fuck does that have a nice ring to it???)

But anyways, you basically have it all: a loving boyfriend, a hearty group of friends, an affectionate cousin and some impossibly immaculate grades. Now you kinda get why some people say they peaked in high school. You'll probably end up the same... yikes.

And acknowledging that, you know you've got to use the most of this peak in your life. You've been going out on frequent dates with Jimin (telling Jin they were math club meetings) and hanging out with Taehyung, Yoongi and Jungkook at school.

Now it's not so much of a struggle to be happy. And your happiness shows.

It's funny how putting a smile on your face can change a lot. You're no longer a turtle dwelling in her thick shell. You're no longer afraid of befriending people. You're no longer afraid of getting hurt because you have people to help you back up on your feet. You've put yourself out there, waved to a few people, exchanged salutations. And now, it seemed as if everyone knew and liked you.

"Hi, Y/N!"

"Hey, girl, what's up?"

"Y/N! Hey!"

"How did your philosophy presentation go?"

"How are you?"

"Damn something good happen today?"

The last one was Taehyung, suggestively moving his eyebrows up and down as he nudges your side. No doubt teasing you.

"Ooh, did Jungkook... confess?" Yoongi mock gasps, placing a delicate hand over his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "No, I'm just..." You huff. "I dunno, do I really need a reason to be happy?"

"Well then, do you need a reason to be so sassy?" Taehyung shoots back, chuckling.

"Excuse me, I wasn't being sassy!" you argue, crossing your arms. "Yoongs, help me out here!"

"I agree, she really wasn't," Yoongi chuckles, bobbing his head up and down in approval as you smile. "Sass is just ingrained in her personality, duh."

Your jaw drops open at the sheer betrayal. "What the fuck."

"Oh, how could I have forgotten?" Taehyung laughs as you glare daggers into him. "Kinda forgot the second definition of 'sass' is 'Y/N.' Think I read it on the Merriam-Wattster dictionary before. Right Yoongs?"

"Right. All that SAT vocab practice last year really got to us, huh?"

"Guys, guys, be nice to Y/N!" Jungkook interrupts, literally appearing out of thin air as he casually swings his arms around Taehyung and Yoongi. You're inwardly glad that Kook's here to save you from your suffering.

"Hey, you always pick Y/N's side!" Taehyung pouts. He crosses his arms against his chests and leans against Yoongi. "It's soooo unfair."

The shorter male snorts, playfully pushing the taller off of him. "Yeah, I fucking wonder why."

"I'm so sick of both of your sarcasm," you announce, throwing your hands up in defeat. "But whatever." You turn to smile at Jungkook. "Hey, Kook. Any plans after school today?"

Jungkook immediately perks up, grinning from ear to ear. "No, why?"

"Well I dunno, I was wondering if we can go to the bowling alley," you say, scratching your head shyly. You're not usually one to initiate any hangout, leaving Jungkook absolutely shocked.

"U-Us?" He asks, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

"Yeah, the four of us, you know? Why are you so surprised?" you giggle, nervously twisting strands of your hair. "Not good at bowling?"

Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head as he stands up straight and tall. "Uh no. I'll have you know that I used to take bowling lessons. Prepare your ass to be run over by the professional."

"Mhm, sure." You nod your head, voice dripping with pure sarcasm. "Bet. Loser buys dinner."

"You're on. Yoongs? Tae?" Jungkook asks. He turns to his friends who look at him disapprovingly.

"Hold up, we never agreed to this!" Yoongi complains as his face wrinkles in distraught. "Save me and my empty wallet!"

"Same, I'm kinda a broke fuck sooo..." Taehyung trails off.

"Fine. We all play then. But whoever scores the lowest between Jungkook and I will pay. Good?" you dictate as your competitive and slightly bossy side takes over.

"Perfect as usual," Jungkook sings as he swings his arm around you. "I'm thinking lobster night, what about you guys? And we'll thank Y/N in advance for the meal since I'm so gonna win."

You feel his warm arm around your shoulder, and instinctively, you lean in. His figure is warm against your side, his proximity letting you smell his fresh, clean scent. "Watch it, Kook. Don't make promises you can't keep," you chirp, smirking confidently. "I know a great lobster place downtown. Hella overpriced, but totally worth it. We'll go there."

"Great! It's all set then," Taehyung says, clapping his hands. "I'm practically drooling already!"

"I love freeloading off of my besties!" Yoongi chimes in, a great grin tattooed on his face.

"Don't worry you're not freeloading completely. You'll pay for dessert," Jungkook chuckles, momentarily taking his arm off of you as he slaps his friend's back. The shorter male grumbles unintelligible things, glaring daggers into Jungkook.

"Hold up, I just have to tell my cousin not to wait for me after school," you say, fishing out your phone as Jungkook slips his casual arm off of you. "Or else he'll worry and call the fire department, the police, the navy and the fucking president."

"Your cousin? The Kim Seokjin?" Taehyung says in awe as his eyes turn glassy. "He's so hot."

"Hey!" Yoongi protests, elbowing Taehyung in the stomach. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked hella jealous. "I mean... er, that's very inappropriate to say to your teacher!"

The last remark makes your face burn hot, (considering you've done worse with your teacher) so you quickly attempt to cover it by ducking your head down to dial Jin.

Your cousin answers in three rings. "Y/N????" he practically screeches. Even an idiot could tell he was worried, almost as if you called to break some bad news to him. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah, hi," you chirp calmly. "No nothing's wrong I—"

"Oh thank god," Jin sighs into the phone. You slightly flinch as you hear a front-row sample of your cousin's dramatic breath. "So what's up?"

"Uh, yeah well, listen, Jin, you don't have to pick me up today after school. I'm going out with a couple of friends."

"Come again? Friends?? What frie—o-oh, uh, I mean, really? Um yeah, have fun then and be safe!" Jin slightly stutters.

"Excuse me, what do you mean, what friends? I have friends. A lot of them!" you announce, frowning. You grip your phone with two hands, lowering your voice: "I mean, now I do."

Jin laughs on the other line. "Mhm. Alrighty, Y/N. But for real, have fun and be safe, okay?"

"You know I will!"

"Good. Make sure to be with your friends at all times! Don't go wandering off on your own okay? Do you have enough money? When and where should I pick you up? Huh? Y/N?" Jin frowns he deattaches his phone from his ear. What the heck, you had just stopped talking. But that's when he realizes you'd ended the call quite some time ago.

Your cousin scoffs, shaking his head. He assumes you must've been so excited and ended the call early. A grin blossoms on his tired face. He can't remember the last time you had hung out with other people other than him and Jimin. Jin's glad that things are looking up for you—and he hopes things will stay that way.

"Did I ever mention how proud I am of you?" Jimin whispers. He nudges you softly as your cheeks slowly turn into a pale shade of pink from sheer contact with your boyfriend.

Scribbling down the last few words of your literature essay, you smile, resting your head against Jimin's shoulder. "I think this is the tenth time today, actually." You feel so safe by his side, perched on a chair pulled up by his desk. It's almost as if his classroom is your second home since you spend so much time with him in there. "But you can say that a million more times and I won't ever mind hearing it again."

Jimin laughs heartily, eyes scrunching up beautifully and lips pulling apart gorgeously. "God, I love you." He leans in to peck your lips lightly, sending your head soaring ten miles up the sky. The warmth of his mouth on yours lingers even after he pulls away, and you reach to touch your own lips to chase the heat.

"I love you too," you giggle, "aren't you glad I didn't say 'you and me both' this time?"

"Well, in your defense, you really didn't know it was common etiquette to say it back. Besides 'you and me both' can be our thing, you know? It can be just as romantic as saying 'I love you too,' " Jimin swoons, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand.

"I actually like that idea," you say, reaching up to ruffle Jimin's soft, black hair. "Say you love me again, please?"

"Jeez, am I starting to get you into clichés?" Jimin chuckles, leaning into your delicate touch. "I love you, alright?"

You snuggle up against your boyfriend's warmth, giggling as you take his hand in yours. "You and me both, Jimin."

Your boyfriend can't help but grin wildly at you. And you return his grin, flirtatiously batting your lashes to tease him. Subconsciously, your tongue darts out of your mouth, slowly wetting your lips. Jimin watches your every movement, eyes narrowing as his breathing slows.

Before you can say another word, his warm hands grasp your thighs, hoisting you up onto his desk leaving his papers flying across all corners of the room.

You squeak in surprise, gripping on Jimin's button-up shirt. "What the fuck, Jimin? You're so clum—"

You're interrupted when his lips come crashing down on yours, his hands coming up to caress the sides of your face as you rest your hands in his hair. Deciding to tease your boyfriend a bit, you part your lips only slightly, which Jimin takes as an invitation to attempt to slip his tongue through. But he soon finds out the small space between your plump, kissed lips is just not enough.

You giggle, satisfied with your teasing as Jimin becomes visibly frustrated. He whines, mouth still on yours as he pushes your bodies hard against each other. But you refuse to give in. Your boyfriend's hands fly down to your thighs, gripping them hard. "Stop teasing," he mutters breathlessly into your mouth.

His hands are leaving warm imprints on your legs, and you revel in the feeling, softly kissing the corner of Jimin's lips. "Or what? Do you have an event planned or something?" you say smartly.

You literally swear on your perfect grades that you hear Jimin fucking growl. You're still contemplating if you're dating a goddamn wolf or not when your back is roughly pushed back on the wooden desk. You yelp in shock, forced to peer up to see Jimin, smirking as he hovers over you. "Yes, I do quite have an event planned," he teases right back.

Now you can't help but stare at him with hooded eyes. It's almost as if you forgot that you were human, a fucking student, for goodness' sake. Your actions seem animalistic, full of something people would call lust.

Jimin's careful not to crush you with the weight of his body as he leans in to kiss you again. This time, you let his tongue slip through your parted lips.

There are no thoughts in your head. Only the feeling that you need to be closer to Jimin, that you're not close enough to him, even though he is practically on top of you. You can feel your temperature soaring up as his mouth devours yours in a deep, passionate way. He tastes like mint, your favorite.

"Jimin..." you sigh, legs intertwining with his as you firmly grip the front of his shirt.

You don't know if your boyfriend took that as some sort of sign, or if he was getting too hot, but the next thing you know, he's starting to unbutton the white collared shirt. You don't mind at all.

Instead, you tug Jimin's head closer to yours, deepening the fiery kiss and sending heat coursing through your veins. Both of you don't need to pause for breath as if the lack of oxygen would never keep you apart.

Jimin's still fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and you contemplate breaking the kiss to help him out. But his lips are so warm on yours, moving in sync while pulling and parting. Without realizing, you let out a little moan. Normally, you'd be embarrassed, but you were too occupied to care. Besides, no doubt Jimin heard; his fingers were moving faster than ever, trying to discard his tight shirt off of his body. Something you have nothing to complain about—

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

You break the long kiss apart, not to breathe, but to scream. Fuck. You can recognize that (shrill) voice anywhere.

There your fucking cousin was, standing in the doorway. He looks like as if he's been to and survived the goddamn Western Front back in World War I. And you kind of know why.

For one, you're still pinned under Jimin in a vulnerable (rather unflattering) position. Your face is flushed, lips swelled an angry red and clothes beyond what a normal iron can fix. Jimin's shirt is three-quarters unbuttoned, revealing his abs to the wrong person at the wrong time.

It looks fucking bad. And both of you know it.

Jimin's the first to react, scrambling to get off from atop of you and fumbling to button up his shirt. "J-Jin! We er... I mean, I thought you were gonna be in a meeting for two more hours!"

Your cousin is silent as if he was still taking in the atrocious scene. You're in a hurry to fix your hair and clothes, avoiding eye contact to save your own ass. Jin was going to burst out screaming any second now and you and Jimin both knew it.

"MY COUSIN???? AND MY BEST FRIEND?????" Jin hollers as predicted. His forehead vein protrudes unattractively as his eyes bulge out.

You and Jimin both flinch back, you gripping Jimin's arm for support out of instinct. Jin catches the action and screams: "NO! DON'T TOUCH HIM! DON'T TOUCH HER! WHAT THE—I-I—THIS IS — OH MY GOD ILLEGAL—WHAT THE ACTUAL F—"

Your poor cousin is a blubbering, shrieking mess. And honestly, you can't blame him. You and Jimin had started slacking off, being quite careless when it came to public displays of affection. It was both of your faults that your cousin had found out like this.

You helplessly look at Jimin in hopes for some sort of comfort, but upon looking at his scared face, you realize how much trouble you were actually in.

"WE ARE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS AT HOME. GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS. OHMYF—" Jin abruptly stops his yelling to massage his head. "Oh my god," he breathes. "We're going home."

Jimin looks at you, eyes reflecting pure fear as he wordlessly begs you to ride in his car. You're just as frightened, not knowing what your unpredictable cousin would say or do. Would he make you break up with Jimin? Would he ban you from seeing your boyfriend again? Force you to move schools?

Nevertheless, you're about to nod to agree when Jin turns around, glaring at both of you. "Y/N, you're coming with me. Jimin, I'll see you in the living room in five minutes."

Your cousin grabs your arm, dragging you away from your boyfriend who still looks shellshocked. You don't blame him. This had not ended the way you thought it would.

The last thing you see before you're pulled out of the classroom is Jimin raking his hand through his hair in frustration, mouthing the words, "We're fucking screwed."

It does nothing to calm your nerves.

—previous | next

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin angst #teacher au #jimin fanfic #illegirl

178 notes · View notes