#THE KICKER IS IT DID COUNT AS A WIN

[skyplayssplatoon3]

THAT'S ONE WAY TO WIN, I GUESS???

[theharrowing]

Sun Seeker 🌞 3: We should make a habit of this

Namjoon does not do impulsive. He doesn’t understand the fuss about body modifications, and he has never considered getting one. That is, until he meets Yoongi—the prettiest man he’s ever seen, who happens to be a tattoo artist—and he can’t stop thinking about going under Yoongi’s needle to have an equally pretty design tattooed onto his skin.

🌻 Namjoon x Yoongi 🌻 word count: 16.3k 🌻 strangers to lovers, tattoo shop au, smut, fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+ 🌻  warnings: namjoon in his entirety fit with the lace and mesh shirts, smut! (dirty talk, semi-public oral sex, ass to mouth, anal fingering, frotting, teasing, anal sex, dick piercings, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, safewords, praising, pain kink exploration, semi-public anal sex), fluff! (flirting, confessions), a smidgen of angst (anxiety), getting ears pierced (brief description of needle & piercing). side taekook. 🌻 written for the Namgi World Tour Fest! 🌻 thanks to @neoneunnajimin for beta reading! 🌻 posted jan. 2023 | read on ao3

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For their third date, Namjoon wants to wear something nice—something to really knock Yoongi's socks off and make his jaw drop. It is for this reason that Namjoon has been standing in his closet with his hands in his hair, stressing the fuck out. He needs to call in reinforcements.

Namjoon Are you busy?

Namjoon is an appreciator of art, and he likes to think he knows which colors go well with others, and which do not. But putting an outfit together—color, form, material—it eludes him. He wishes he had the same eye as Taehyung. 

Tae Tae 🎁 You literally just saw me three hours ago. Obsessed, much???

Namjoon Some best friend you are.

Tae Tae 🎁 Fine, you win! What is needed of me, best friend?

Namjoon I'm stressing out about what to wear. 

Tae Tae 🎁 To the club? Wear anything.

Namjoon "Anything" to me is not the same as "anything" to you. You could wear a sheet with a belt wrapped around it, and you would look put together.

Tae Tae 🎁 That's not a bad idea...🤔

Namjoon Tae, I'm serious.

Tae Tae 🎁 Me too. I have a floral sheet that might look great with my knockoff Gucci belt.

Namjoon You're impossible.

Tae Tae 🎁 Hush, now. I'll save you. Give us 20. 

Namjoon Us?

Tae Tae 🎁 Yes, us. Jeongguk and I are a package deal now. 

Namjoon Fine. See you in 20.

"This is too much," Namjoon whines as he stares at his reflection. He looks good—damn good, if he is being honest. But he has never dressed in anything like this before, and it makes him feel nervous. 

"Nonsense!" Taehyung exclaims as he holds various silver necklaces up to Namjoon's neck and cocks his head side to side, trying to choose one. "You look fucking hot. Yoongi is going to die."

"Killing Yoongi is not the goal," Namjoon grumbles as he nibbles the inside of his lip. 

Taehyung waves Namjoon off and shakes his head, then holds the whole bunch of necklaces up as if deciding that he wants Namjoon to wear all of them. Which, Namjoon thinks, is ridiculous. Except, Taehyung drapes all of them over Namjoon's wrist—which he has taken the liberty of grabbing and positioning where he wants it—and unclasps them one by one to wrap around Namjoon's neck.

As soon as Taehyung takes a step back and studies his hard work, Namjoon has the overwhelming urge to tear at the clothing and jewelry and start over. He feels like a fraud staring at his reflection, and he hovers his palms over the yellow lace long-sleeve button-up shirt that Taehyung has left halfway unbuttoned and tucked into black jeans, which have been distressed with bleach, he assumes, leaving horizontal tan streaks down the length. But the real kicker is the white mesh shirt underneath, covered in silver sequins, which shows—in all of its somewhat sculpted glory—Namjoon's chest.

Namjoon had already felt self-conscious about the shirt upon first trying it on, and Taehyung wolf-whistling while exclaiming, "Mesh on top of big, beefy tits, what a gift," certainly did not help.

"This...isn't me," Namjoon mutters, feeling more apprehensive the longer he stares at himself.

"Nonsense," Taehyung insists, reaching around with both hands from behind Namjoon to delicately part his bangs over his forehead. Namjoon is used to Taehyung being in his personal space and fucking with his hair, and he does not flinch.

"I'm sure Jeongguk is outfitting Yoongi in just as devastating of an ensemble as we speak."

Evidently, when Taehyung informed Jeongguk that they were going to play dress-up with Namjoon, Jeongguk had the brilliant idea to dress Yoongi, claiming he also seemed pretty nervous about their date. Namjoon finds the notion of Yoongi being nervous both hard to believe and incredibly endearing. He likes the idea of Yoongi fussing over his hair and clothes, and he blushes at the thought of him getting flustered and grumbly when Jeongguk recommends something too outlandish, presuming he and Taehyung have similar ideas.

Namjoon opens his mouth to ask when they are going to finally leave for the club when a loud ping comes from Taehyung's phone, which is sitting on his bed. A smile creeps over Taehyung's lips, but he finishes what he is doing—using his pinkies to place the hairs over Namjoon's forehead just so.

"You look stunning," Taehyung beams as his hands fall to Namjoon's shoulders. "I have a jacket you can throw over this, too, so you don't walk into the club feeling instantly self-conscious."

"That's a relief," Namjoon responds, looking at his friend in the reflection, who rests his chin on the hand that sits on Namjoon's shoulder.

Taehyung is somewhat dressed down for his style, in a plain white tee tucked into mustard slacks with a thick leather belt around his waist. Draped over the edge of the bed is a black blazer covered in lilies that resemble a watercolor painting in bright reds, deep blues, and inviting greens, which he plans to wear to bring the look together. 

Namjoon puts on a black bomber jacket, but he knows that if he zips it up, Taehyung will give him hell. Still, it is pretty obvious that he is wearing two layers of see-through material, and he hopes that whatever Jeongguk has dressed Yoongi in is somehow more over the top than what Taehyung has put him in, just to ease his mind. 

His hopes are thwarted, however, when they show up to the club, only to find that Yoongi's outfit is pretty standard. 

"Great work, Gguk, but...a white tee? Really?" Taehyung mutters loud enough for everyone to hear. 

Jeongguk—dressed predictably in a black tank top tucked into black slacks that are accessorized with a chunky black leather belt—blushes as he slings a black jacket over his shoulder and gives Taehyung a forlorn expression. "He threatened to cut my mesh shirt into strips if I brought it near him."

"Hyung!" Taehyung scowls, turning his focus on Yoongi, who Namjoon realizes is staring at him with his mouth hanging open.

Yoongi blinks as if he has just been pulled from another dimension, and turns his attention to Taehyung long enough to mutter, "S-sorry, did you say something?" before returning his gaze to Namjoon, and Taehyung laughs it off, clearly giving up on complaining. 

And it is not as if Jeongguk didn't do a good job. Sure, Yoongi is in a plain white tee, but it hugs him perfectly, showing hints of the muscle beneath it, and it is tucked into the tightest black jeans Namjoon has ever seen. The ends of the jeans disappear under tall black boots, making Yoongi's already slender legs appear longer and thinner, and he wears a blue bomber jacket and a cute, black beret. 

If someone were to ask Namjoon before how he felt about the beret as a fashion accessory, he would probably have shrugged and said he had no opinion. But seeing Yoongi donning one with his pretty, overgrown dark brown hair pulled away from his face, showing off his forehead, piercings, and neck tattoo in all of their glory, Namjoon thinks that perhaps the humble beret is his favorite invention to date. 

Both Namjoon and Yoongi stare at one another while the overwhelming sights and sounds of the club blare brightly and loudly around them. Fingers snapping in Namjoon's face pull his attention to his very impatient best friend, who gives him an incredulous glare.

"Drinks?" Taehyung asks.

"Yes," Namjoon responds, incapable of thinking about anything beyond the general idea of having a drink.

"Preference?" Taehyung asks a bit more sharply.

Namjoon shakes his head. "N-no. I don't know. Just...whatever you guys have."

With a scoff, Taehyung mutters, "I'll bring you whatever Jeongguk orders for Yoongi," as he makes his way from the table to the bar. Jeongguk follows behind, leaving Namjoon and Yoongi alone, and Namjoon finally finds the ability to move his limbs in order to approach Yoongi and pull him into a hug. Woody musk and a hint of citrus fill Namjoon's nose, and he inhales deeply.

"Taehyung put you in lace," Yoongi mutters slowly as if caught in a trance. "And mesh."

Namjoon chuckles, feeling his apprehension somewhat melt away from the attention Yoongi is giving him. He responds, "I'm disappointed I don't get to see you in mesh," earning a scoff from Yoongi.

They pull out of the hug and take two seats on one side of the table, rotating their bodies to face one another. Their knees bump, and both men chuckle until they get lost in each other's eyes, and the laughter dies. 

Yoongi has a light dusting of black eye shadow outlining his eyes, and silver hoops in his ears, and Namjoon blurts out, "You are so fucking pretty," as his eyes struggle to decide where to look.

"I'm pretty?" Yoongi asks as he pushes Namjoon's jacket open to expose more lace and mesh. "You're...I mean...seriously, Joon. I feel like it's my birthday."

"Stop," Namjoon mutters, feeling self-conscious as his cheeks warm.

"I can't believe I get you all to myself later, and you come dressed like this."

"Hyung," Namjoon whines, but the thought of Yoongi running his hands over his mesh-covered pecs does excite him quite a bit. 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow and smirks. "If I didn't want our first time to be so special I would drag you into the bathroom right now."

The sound of a glass being set on the table makes both men flinch, and Namjoon turns to find Taehyung looking at them with a surprised expression, and Jeongguk pursing his lips together while he looks anywhere but at the two men seated in front of them. 

"And they say romance is dead," Taehyung chides as he sits down and slides two glasses of what appears to be whiskey to Namjoon and Yoongi. "There's quite a bit to unpack, hyung. Where to begin, where to begin?"

"Thanks for the drink, Tae," Namjoon shouts as he grabs his glass, sniffs to confirm it is whiskey, and takes a gulp. The caramel color liquid burns slightly as it coats his tongue, and he can't help but cringe as he adjusts to the flavor. 

"The bathrooms here are surprisingly clean," Taehyung continues as he sits across from Namjoon. "And the ones upstairs are individual rooms, in case you want some privacy."

"Alright, Taehyungah," Yoongi says in an annoyed grumble, despite the look of amusement that tugs at his lips. 

Jeongguk settles at the table across from Yoongi, and everyone drinks. In an attempt to change the topic, Namjoon asks Yoongi how long he has been tattooing, and Yoongi blushes as he mutters, "Since I was 15," taking him by surprise.

"It started as little stick-and-pokes, and occasionally one of my cousins would let me tattoo oranges with his equipment. When I got older, I bought a machine and apprenticed under the same cousin, and the rest was history."

"He was piercing, too," Jeongguk adds, "before I came along and freed up his schedule so he could only tattoo."

"Is that so?" Namjoon asks with a raise of his eyebrow, and Yoongi nods. 

Namjoon's eyes flit between Yoongi's eyebrow, ears and lip. "How many piercings do you have, hyung?"

Yoongi's eyes widen, and he nibbles on his lip, looking away from Namjoon. If Namjoon is not mistaken, Yoongi seems embarrassed by the question, which has Namjoon's mind absolutely racing. 

"Hyung?" Namjoon presses, nudging Yoongi with his elbow.

Yoongi picks up his drink, holds it to his lips, and mutters something under his breath before taking a drink. Unsure what he said, Namjoon leans in close, looking between a shy Yoongi, an amused Jeongguk, and a confused Taehyung. 

"What was that, hyung? I missed it."

With a loud clearing of his throat, Yoongi turns toward Namjoon, eyes looking down at the drink in his hands, and says, "Twelve."

"Twelve?" Namjoon repeats, counting the piercings he can see—two in each ear, one in his eyebrow, and one in his lip—then begins to imagine where else a piercing could be. "Interesting, because I only count six."

The dim lighting of the club paired with rainbow lights flitting all over makes it hard for Namjoon to see the blush that he imagines is turning Yoongi's cheeks a pretty shade. He curses the unfortunate circumstance, determined to tease Yoongi into spilling the beans, anyway. 

Yoongi chugs back the rest of his whiskey and stands in a rush, asking, "Anyone else need another drink?"

"Now, now," Namjoon says, reaching for Yoongi's hand and holding it tightly. "This conversation is still in full swing."

With an incredulous glare, Yoongi stares down at Namjoon. Then, with a huff, he sits. "My nipples and my belly button are pierced," he blurts out, avoiding eye contact with Namjoon, who chuckles.

"And you have two rings in each, I presume?" Namjoon asks with a smirk.

Yoongi shakes his head—small, quick movements—biting back a smile. "You presume incorrectly."

"I can't believe hyung is too shy to tell his new boyfriend that he has his dick pierced," Jeongguk blurts, making Taehyung gasp.

At this piece of information, the world comes to a screeching halt. Namjoon's mouth falls agape—brain absolutely empty of thought—and he stares at Yoongi, who shifts around in his seat, glaring at Jeongguk with a deadly look. 

Jeongguk giggles into his drink while Taehyung mutters, "Whoa, for real?"

When Namjoon continues to stare at Yoongi in a daze, Yoongi reaches over and smacks Namjoon on the arm, whining, "It's perfectly normal to have a dick piercing!"

"Is it?" Namjoon asks through a chuckle.

This time, Yoongi's mouth falls open, and he stares at Namjoon as he shifts around in his chair with a huff. "Don't shame me!"

"I'm not shaming you, hyung," Namjoon defends, "I've just never seen a dick piercing before."

"Well," Jeongguk chimes in—helpful as ever, "Technically two dick piercings and one on his balls."

"Your b—" Namjoon begins, struggling to finish the sentence. 

Yoongi's expression darkens, and he smirks playfully, asking, "Wanna see?"

Of all the things that might count as moving too quickly and possibly technically breaking the three-date rule, grabbing Yoongi by the hand and asking Taehyung exactly where the upstairs bathrooms with locking doors are located is probably high on that list. Namjoon, however, does want to see these piercings, and he takes his eyes off Yoongi only long enough to slam back his whiskey.

"Tae, where are those bathrooms?" Namjoon asks, turning back to Yoongi, whose expression is a priceless wide-eyed mix of shock and excitement. 

"Up the stairs, to the left, all the way back," Taehyung supplies.

Namjoon takes Yoongi's hand and stands, tugging Yoongi to his feet as he snakes past clubgoers who mingle near the bar. As they scale the steps, Namjoon's heart pounds heavily, aided by the thud of the bass booming too loudly in his ears. 

The upstairs bar is crowded, but to Namjoon's delight, there seems to be nobody waiting for either of the gender neutral bathrooms, and he taps the door to the nearest one open with his foot, turning on the light and pulling Yoongi inside. 

Yoongi appears out of breath as he enters the room, leaning into the door to close it behind him. As soon as Namjoon locks the door, Yoongi reaches to his neck and pulls him close, licking over his lips and groaning when Namjoon gives him access. Kissing Yoongi ignites something in Namjoon, and he crowds his space, grabbing his face gently as their tongues glide over one another. Namjoon nibbles on the metal hoop in Yoongi's lip until he whines, and when they pull out of the kiss, Namjoon lets his hands fall to Yoongi's shoulders, with his eyes on his pretty spit-slick lips. 

"Are you sure?" Yoongi asks, rubbing his hands over Namjoon's shoulders and chest.

Namjoon gently takes the collar of Yoongi's jacket in both hands and opens it just enough to reveal his pecs. Sure enough, under the white shirt, Namjoon can spot two bumps where each nipple is, indicating barbells through each one. 

"You're full of surprises," Namjoon groans, feeling dizzy from this revelation. "How did I never notice?"

"I had silicon retainers in before, so they didn't show through my clothing, and you probably wouldn't have felt them." Yoongi responds with a sly smile.

"So you put these in tonight, for me to discover?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi grins, nodding his head. 

One of Namjoon's hands falls, and with his index finger, he rubs over Yoongi's belly until he lands on another set of metal balls. Yoongi gathers his shirt in both hands, untucking it in the front, and lifts the fabric enough for Namjoon to see a simple silver bar in his bellybutton. Namjoon swoons. 

Suddenly, the realization that Namjoon dragged Yoongi into a public bathroom to look at his dick settles over him, and he begins to feel a little foolish. He swallows a lump and studies Yoongi, who seems to pick up on his anxiety and cocks his head.

"I just pulled you into the bathroom to see your piercings without considering how nerve-wracking it might be to show them to me," Namjoon admits.

"I offered," Yoongi responds with a smirk.

"But were you serious?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi chuckles, nibbles on his lip, then begins to slowly unbuckle his belt. "It's not like I wasn't planning on letting you see them tonight, anyway."

Suddenly, the fluorescent lighting is too bright, and the smell of cleaning products is too strong. But Namjoon does not want to be anywhere but in this small, disorienting room with Yoongi.

"Are you sure you wanna see?" Yoongi asks one more time, and Namjoon takes a deep breath as he nods and mutters, "Yes. Please."

Yoongi's belt falls open, and his mesmerizing hands go to work undoing his fly. Once his pants are undone, Namjoon sees a hint of tight, dark blue briefs, and his mouth begins to water as his stomach swoops. He is really going to see Yoongi's dick, right here in this bathroom, and he cannot come to terms with it.

"You look scared," Yoongi says as he reaches into his briefs.

Namjoon looks up at Yoongi's face, then down at his crotch, and shakes his head. "Just struggling to comprehend reality, but I am very much not scared," he mumbles. 

Yoongi chuckles, then pulls his briefs down, and Namjoon sees two of the piercings—a circular ring right where the base of his dick and his scrotum meet, and a barbell on the underside of Yoongi's length. Then, Yoongi moves his hand down, gripping his shaft loosely, and Namjoon sees the final piercing. A thick, metal ring sticks through the head of Yoongi's cock—in through the hole and out just below the crown. 

"Wow," is all Namjoon can say, not only because he has never seen pierced genitals before, but because Yoongi's cock is out in the open, slowly enlarging with blood. 

Without thinking, Namjoon drops to his knees and stares up at Yoongi, whose eyes widen as big as saucers as they follow his movement.

"Y-Yoongi-hyung," Namjoon mutters as his pulse echoes loudly in his ears. 

"Yes, Joon?"

"May I—I mean—I really want—" Namjoon swallows a lump and Yoongi chuckles. 

"What is it?"

Namjoon looks up a Yoongi through his eyelashes as he asks, "May I suck your dick?"

Yoongi huffs out a heavy breath and nods as he begins slowly stroking his length, but Namjoon reaches up and gently takes Yoongi by the wrist, stopping the movement. 

"I want to feel you get hard in my mouth," he says, smiling with delight as Yoongi lets out a quiet gasp.

Namjoon sits high on his knees and rubs his hands up and down Yoongi's thighs, feeling the slightly scratchy denim under his fingertips. Yoongi watches with a somewhat dazed expression as Namjoon with his mouth close, waiting for Yoongi to consent one more time.

"Please don't make me beg," Yoongi breathes.

Namjoon grins, then leans forward and licks a strip from the scrotal piercing, over the bar in his shaft, up to the ring in the head, gently teasing the cold, hard steel with the tip of his tongue. A deep moan leaves Yoongi's lips, and Namjoon has to hold back making a sound of his own—feeling arousal flutter from just his voice alone. 

"So after we get out of here, and you take me back to your place to fuck me," Namjoon says between flicks of his tongue over the large metal ring, "will I be able to feel these?"

"Yes," Yoongi moans.

The feeling that washes over Namjoon is intoxicating—warmth covers him from head to toe, tingling. Arousal courses through him like oxygen, and he very desperately wants Yoongi to bend him over and show him precisely how these piercings feel inside him. 

Without another word, Namjoon opens his mouth and swallows Yoongi's semi-hard length. Yoongi gasps and groans, hips trembling and jerking forward, and Namjoon breathes through the urge to gag, feeling a bit rusty after not having a cock between his lips for longer than he would care to admit—not to mention the intrusive feeling of having a metal ring hit his throat adding to the sensation. It does not take long for him to adjust, and he begins slurping and sucking, letting drool fall past his lips and make a big fucking mess as Yoongi hardens—thick and heavy on his tongue. 

"Your mouth feels incredible," Yoongi groans, gripping Namjoon by the hair and gently thrusting his hips. 

Namjoon moans as he sucks Yoongi eagerly, unconcerned about Yoongi's hips pressing him in just a little too deep. The metal barbell in Yoongi’s shaft tugs occasionally on Namjoon’s bottom lip. It doesn’t hurt, but it does feel strange enough to make him want to giggle, which he does his best to hold in. 

Outside, someone knocks on the door, and Yoongi moans, "Occupied," as his fingers tug harder on Namjoon's hair.

"You're gonna make me cum," Yoongi mutters softly, and Namjoon slowly sucks Yoongi all the way to the tip, releasing his lips long enough to say, "Good," before sinking back down.

Yoongi trembles and softly moans as he gets closer, and Namjoon sucks in his cheeks, feeling impatient and wanting to taste his release. Luckily, Namjoon's desire is granted quickly, and Yoongi grips onto his hair and gasps shaky breaths, muttering, "I'm cuming," moments before thick, salty liquid hits Namjoon's tongue and slides down his throat.

"Holy fuck," Yoongi groans as Namjoon continues to gently suck, milking him of every drop. The tugging on his hair gets harder as Yoongi whimpers, "Joon you're gonna fucking kill me,"

As Namjoon clearly stated earlier, killing Yoongi is not the goal, so he releases Yoongi's cock, sitting back on his heels while he licks his lips. Yoongi bends, takes Namjoon's cheeks in his hands and kisses him deeply, groaning as his tongue strokes over Namjoon's.

"You're insane," Yoongi mutters, letting go of Namjoon's face to tuck himself back into his pants.

"Insanely attracted to you," Namjoon responds with a grin, knowing precisely how cheesy he sounds.

"Your lips are pink and swollen, Joonie. You look like you've been sucking dick."

Namjoon chuckles and begins to stand, groaning as his legs protest after being bent against hard tile. "I can't imagine why I would look like that."

Yoongi advances, pushing Namjoon by the hips until his ass hits the sink, and their bodies are pressed together. Namjoon was too distracted by pleasuring Yoongi to worry about the erection in his jeans, but with Yoongi standing flush against his body, it is all he can think about.

"We should get out of his bathroom," Yoongi mutters, and Namjoon nods in agreement. "But your dick is hard."

Namjoon shrugs. "It's fine. I'll walk it off."

"How soon until we can get out of here so I can repay the favor?" Yoongi asks, mouth dragging across Namjoon's lips.

Namjoon hums and attempts to give it some serious thought, but his brain feels short-circuited. "One more drink?" he suggests after a moment.

"Perfect," Yoongi groans, sucking Namjoon's bottom lip gently between his teeth until Namjoon whimpers into his mouth, releasing with a deadly smile. 

People are waiting in the hallway when they exit, and Namjoon ducks his head down, avoiding eye contact as a smile tugs on his lips. He has never been with someone who would initiate, much less agree to semi-public sex, and he wonders what other exciting, experimental things he and pretty, spontaneous Yoongi might do together. 

Yoongi holds Namjoon's hand as they approach the upstairs bar and order two more glasses of whiskey, then they continue to hold hands all the way downstairs, to where their friends are waiting. Taehyung takes one look at Namjoon and gasps, and Jeongguk grins, asking, "Have fun?"

Namjoon hums and nods, and Yoongi shrugs, muttering, "I don't know what you're talking about," causing everyone, including himself, to laugh.

"How was the bathroom?" Taehyung asks.

"Clean," Namjoon says, and Yoongi hums in agreement. 

"Well, the floor was clean,” Namjoon continues. “I didn't really see anything else."

Yoongi smacks Namjoon on the arm as Taehyung and Jeongguk share a knowing glance, and Namjoon lifts his drink to his lips and smiles.

"We're gonna head out after this drink," Yoongi announces. 

Namjoon half expects Taehyung to whine about them leaving so soon, but instead, he says, "I'm surprised you came back at all. I was expecting a good night text to come through any minute."

“Wow, you really thought I would bail on you?” Namjoon teases, feigning being hurt as he takes a seat, hand still held tight by Yoongi. 

“Well, you got a tattoo, which is something I never thought you would do,” Taehyung responds incredulously. “And you…examined the bathroom floor…whatever that—I don’t want—“

Jeongguk waves Taehyung off, shushing him, and Namjoon can’t help but chuckle. He has been stepping far out of his comfort zone lately, and it feels good. 

“So,” Jeongguk says with a grin that Namjoon recognizes as pure mischief, “what do you think of hyung’s piercings?”

Taehyung flails, attempting to shush Jeongguk by holding a hand over his mouth, but the youngest is undeterred. 

“What?” Jeongguk half-shouts. “Those are my handiwork! I want to know if Namjoon-hyung thinks I did a good job!”

At this, Namjoon laughs hard, squeezing Yoongi’s hand and holding tightly to his drink so that it doesn’t spill. Tears threaten his eye line, and his chest rocks. What Jeongguk said was not even that funny, but Namjoon just feels so elated, anything might set him off. 

“You did very well, Jeonggukah,” Namjoon finally says, sneaking a glance at a very amused Yoongi. “Excellent craftsmanship.”

“Alright,” Yoongi grumbles, clearly done with the conversation as he tugs on Namjoon’s hand. 

Namjoon continues to chuckle but manages to drink some of his whiskey. The music in the club is loud, overproduced, and technically not very interesting, but the beat continues to boom in time with Namjoon’s pulse, and he is glad to be right where he is, with all three menaces in his presence. 

Taehyung and Jeongguk finish their drinks and get up to get another round. As soon as they turn to the bar, Yoongi leans close, pressing his lips to Namjoon’s neck. 

“I still can’t believe you did that,” he grumbles against Namjoon’s skin. 

“I honestly can’t either,” Namjoon responds with a smile, turning to stare into sharp but soft eyes. “You make me want to be impulsive.”

Yoongi stares at Namjoon, cracking a soft smile. “Does that worry you?” 

Truth be told, it does worry Namjoon a little. But not because he does not trust himself to make good choices. All that worries him is that he might be too swept up in a whirlwind of Yoongi, only to crash back to earth harder than he could possibly imagine. But, all of these concerns have already been aired, and Namjoon does not want to drudge them back up at a time like this, so he smiles and says, “Only a little.”

“We can take it slow—“ Yoongi begins.

Namjoon squeezes Yoongi’s hand and shakes his head. “I don’t want to take it slow with you. I want all of you, as soon as possible.”

Yoongi’s eyes flash, and he lifts his drink, gulping half of it down. Namjoon drinks some of his, as well, feeling the warmth of the liquor settle in his chest as excitement begins to gently but insistently quake through him. 

“What you said in the bathroom,” Yoongi says, leaning so close, Namjoon can only see a Yoongi-tone blur from the corner of his eye. “You want me to fuck you?”

Namjoon nods and turns his head so he can look into Yoongi’s eyes. “If that works for you.”

“That does work for me,” Yoongi responds with a grin. 

Namjoon takes two big gulps of his whiskey, finishing it. His mouth and throat feel thick and heavy, with a bitter taste, and he exhales through it as he sets his glass down. Yoongi finishes his drink and places his glass beside Namjoon’s, and they glance around for their friends, finding them still at the bar. 

Without a word spoken between them, Namjoon stands and pulls Yoongi toward the boys. They squeeze through a small crowd and pull Taehyung and Jeongguk into a hug once they finish placing their order with the bartenders. 

“Have fun but be safe,” Jeongguk says with a stern look. 

“Text us when you get home,” Taehyung adds. 

“Yes, dad,” Namjoon and Yoongi grumble at once—Namjoon finding it hard to keep a grin off his face. 

Taehyung and Jeongguk collect their drinks and walk toward the dance floor, trailing Namjoon and Yoongi, who have to pass that area to get to the exit. With one more wave goodbye near the edge of the writhing throng of bodies, Taehyung places a hand on his heart and shouts, “They grow so fast.”

Jeongguk sighs, mimicking Taehyung, shouting, “I’m so proud of our boys.”

Yoongi stands so close to Namjoon that the bounce of his shoulders can be felt, and Namjoon laughs, tugging Yoongi outside.  

“Those little shits,” Yoongi grumbles once they are out on the sidewalk. 

Namjoon lets go of Yoongi's hand and wraps his arm around his waist, pulling him close, humming in agreement. Yoongi snakes an arm around Namjoon’s waist, and Namjoon could swear the spot under his large, warm hand tingles from the touch. The club is close enough to their neighborhood that they fall into step toward Yoongi’s place; nobody bothered to drive. 

“I wonder what other firsts I can get you to do,” Yoongi muses, turning his pretty smile to Namjoon.

With a hum, Namjoon shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“I’m still a certified piercer,” Yoongi suggests with wide eyes, swimming with mirth. 

Namjoon glances between Yoongi and the sidewalk ahead, and scoffs. “I don’t think I need a piercing, hyung.”

“Not even your ears? You’d look good with some silver hoops.”

Warmth blooms over Namjoon, covering him like a hug. Even if he is not sold on the idea of piercings in his own ears, he likes Yoongi telling him he would look good. 

“Already trying to get us to match, hyung?” Namjoon teases. 

Yoongi chuckles and squeezes Namjoon’s side. “I guess that’s something only couples do.”

Unsure what to say, Namjoon hums and keeps his eyes ahead. With his tendency to jump too fast and fall too hard, he hesitates to comment on a timeline for them to become a couple. 

They stop at a corner and wait for the walk sign to grant them permission to cross the street, and Yoongi leans and smacks a kiss against Namjoon’s cheek, making Namjoon flinch and turn to find him smiling brightly. 

“We’ll get there,” Yoongi says. “And when we do, we’ll be the cutest in our couples outfits.”

Namjoon can’t help but grin. “Is that so?”

With a lift of his eyebrows, Yoongi nods. Namjoon resists the urge to kiss him silly—to say fuck it and ask him right in this moment if he would like to make it official. 

But the light changes and Yoongi takes his hand once more and tugs him across the street. It takes Namjoon a few steps to pick his feet up properly, and he stumbles as he traverses, doing his best to keep up. It could be the whiskey, but it is more likely Yoongi who is intoxicating him, and he does his best to get his balance. 

"Drunk, Joon?" Yoongi teases, glancing back when their feet hit the curb. 

Namjoon feels winded, like he has just run a marathon, and he tugs Yoongi close, pulling a low grunt from him. "You make me dizzy, hyung."

Yoongi sucks his lips between his teeth before releasing them with a shy smile. "Pretty sure that's from the whiskey."

With an adamant shake of his head, Namjoon lets his gaze trail from Yoongi's eyes, down to his lips, and back. "It's you."

Yoongi falters—hesitates as if he has something to say or do—but then he squeezes Namjoon's hand and continues to yank him along. They are already so close to Yoongi's apartment, Namjoon is starting to feel nervous. Nervous, but also more excited than he has been for anything before. 

As Yoongi's apartment comes into view just over a block away, Namjoon's hand starts to sweat. The night air is just chilly enough to make him shiver, but where Yoongi's palm rests snugly against his, the skin tingles with warmth. If Yoongi notices, he does not seem to mind, just holds Namjoon tightly, rubbing his thumb gently over his skin. Namjoon wonders if he is just as nervous. 

"I think it's nice how we paired off," Yoongi says softly. 

Namjoon glances at him, finding Yoongi looking ahead with a small smile on his lips. Yoongi turns briefly to lock eyes with Namjoon, and his smile widens.

"What do you mean?"

"Taehyung and Jeongguk. They're both younger and are very similar in personality. Eccentric. But sometimes, they're like the sun and the moon. Taehyung is bright and sweet, and Jeongguk is dark and moody."

Namjoon hums, smile tugging at his lips as he watches the sidewalk before him. 

"And then there's us," Yoongi continues, making Namjoon turn to look at him again. "I'm the Jeongguk and you're the Taehyung."

Namjoon chuckles and squeezes Yoongi's hand. "I was going to say the opposite."

"Really?" Yoongi asks through a chuckle.

"Remember how emo I was on date two? I feel like I'm the dark and brooding moon and you're the bright sun."

After a pause, Yoongi says softly, "So I'm the sun you seek."

This stops Namjoon in his tracks, turning to Yoongi as his heart pounds wildly in his chest. The thought has crossed his mind before, but it is such a large, profound thing to voice aloud that it takes Namjoon's mind a moment to catch up. 

"I suppose you are," Namjoon responds, voice breathier than usual.

Yoongi crowds Namjoon's space, gently taking him by the cheek and slotting their lips together. It is less of a kiss and more an exchange of oxygen, warm whiskey-sweet breath passing from one to another. 

"I hope I can continue to shine for you, then," Yoongi mutters against Namjoon's lips. 

Namjoon grins, eyes open and watching Yoongi's pretty lips. "I will need at least six hours of direct sunlight a day in order to thrive."

At this, Yoongi smiles widely in return, rubbing his blunt fingernails gently along the column of Namjoon's neck. "Only six?"

With a gentle peck to Yoongi's lips, Namjoon continues their trek, tugging him across the vacant street and to the steps of their destination. Yoongi takes the lead, unlocking the front door and tugging him along, toward the elevator. Once the silver doors slide closed, Yoongi steps in front of Namjoon and gently, firmly, shoves him into the corner, standing with his smirking lips only an inch away.

"Are you ready, Joon?"

Namjoon's pulse quickens, and he stares into Yoongi's eyes, doing his best to breathe. "I am," he responds through a shaky breath.

"Are you sure?"

The elevator dings, but Yoongi does not move, so Namjoon leans in, and captures Yoongi's bottom lip between his teeth, gently sucking until the older whines. "I was the one who dropped to my knees earlier, remember?"

"I remember," Yoongi groans. 

The elevator doors begin to close and Namjoon steps forward, pushing Yoongi backward, so he can reach for the button to reopen them, crowding Yoongi's space. "Shall we?" 

Yoongi leans forward and smacks a loud kiss to Namjoon's lips before spinning and pulling him toward the apartment, causing Namjoon to stumble forward once again, simultaneously light and heavy on his feet as excitement vibrates from limb to limb. The familiar smell of citrus and cedar hits Namjoon's nose the moment Yoongi's door opens, and he takes in a deep breath as he crosses the threshold. 

Namjoon enters the apartment, steps from his shoes, and gently places them near the small pile of Yoongi's sneakers. Yoongi's tall boots have zippers up the side, and he wastes no time stepping out of them and tossing them aside. 

With a deep oof, Namjoon's back is pressed against the door, which closes loudly behind them, reminiscent of the first time he entered this apartment. Yoongi advances quickly, hands on Namjoon's neck and chest, pushing at skin and tugging at fabric as he kisses sloppy and eager. Namjoon melts against the door, slowly pushing at the collar of Yoongi's bomber jacket until the older helps him remove it—hands leaving Namjoon's chest only long enough for the garment to hit the floor. 

"I want you so badly," Yoongi whines into Namjoon's mouth, and Namjoon grins. 

"Really? I couldn't tell."

Yoongi yanks Namjoon away from the door from the collar of his jacket, forcing him to take a step forward just enough for him to shrug it away and let it hit the floor. He groans, "Shut up," against Namjoon's lips, making him chuckle. 

"So feisty," Namjoon teases, rubbing his palms over Yoongi's chest, feeling the metal bars under fabric. 

Yoongi hisses and hums from the touch, sparking Namjoon to rub his thumbs in circles over the hardened buds. More deep, dulcet sounds pour into Namjoon's mouth, and he has to fight the urge to turn into a puddle right there. 

"Is my hyung this sensitive?"

"F-feels good," Yoongi whines. 

Namjoon drops his hands to where Yoongi's shirt is tucked into his jeans, and he begins to tug. Yoongi complies, lifting his hands to allow Namjoon to yank the white fabric away, taking the beret with it. As the fabric falls to the floor and Yoongi's arms return to his sides, Namjoon takes in the sight of him. 

Pretty pale skin covered in flowers, snakes, and bones; taut, toned muscle; shiny metal accents. Yoongi is breathtaking. 

Namjoon grabs Yoongi by the belt loops and tugs him close, then bends and flicks his tongue over one of the nipple piercings. The deep, needy moan that falls from Yoongi's mouth is sinful, and Namjoon licks firmer, slower, warming the cold metal with his spit. 

Fingers brush through Namjoon's hair and grip, tugging gently at the strands, urging him not to stop. Namjoon drags his lips along the expanse of Yoongi's chest, leaving lazy wet kisses in his wake before his tongue finds the other nipple, flicking and teasing while Yoongi whimpers and groans. There is a faint, heady sweetness to Yoongi's skin, and Namjoon finds it addicting. 

"Let's go to my room, Namjoonah," Yoongi whines.

Namjoon teases Yoongi just a bit more, then straightens out. "What's the matter? Am I making you weak in the knees, hyung?"

Yoongi's pupils are blown, and there is a hunger in his eyes that sends a shiver through Namjoon. "Maybe you are."

Namjoon bends and wraps his arms around Yoongi's thighs, lifting him with ease, and Yoongi gasps and wraps his arms around Namjoon's neck. Carefully and slowly, Namjoon makes his way through the dark apartment with only the golden glow of streetlights filtering in from outside to guide him.

"Tell me the way, hyung."

Yoongi chuckles and nuzzles his face in Namjoon's neck. "Turn left, last door."

As Namjoon reaches a small entryway just past the living room, he notices a door to the right, a bathroom straight ahead, and, just to the left, a door at the end of the short hallway, on the right-hand side. 

Yoongi presses slow, wet kisses to Namjoon's neck as he approaches, tapping the door open gently with his toe, then Yoongi reaches for a switch on the wall as they enter, turning the light on just enough that they can see. The room is tidy, with more artwork on the walls like pieces in the living room. In the far corner is a bed covered in blood red and burgundy fabrics, and Namjoon carries Yoongi over, bends to set him down, and cages him in with his arms, hovering close. 

"You're wearing too much," Yoongi whines. 

Namjoon's heart flutters and his eyes drift down to Yoongi's pants and back up. "As are you, hyung."

With a somewhat petulant groan, Yoongi responds, "Do something about it."

Feeling playful, Namjoon stands and slowly begins unbuttoning the yellow lace shirt, watching as Yoongi gradually loses his composure and patience. With a huff, Yoongi sits up and reaches his long, tattoo-covered arms out, hooking his fingers in Namjoon's belt loops and yanking him closer.

Namjoon chuckles as Yoongi untucks the yellow lace shirt, shrugging it away and letting it hit the floor. Yoongi sits up tall, running his palms over Namjoon's stomach and pecs with a look of awe. The mesh shirt is tight, hugging Namjoon's curves in a way that made him incredibly shy earlier, when he was putting it on. Wearing it now, while Yoongi swoons openly, sparks excitement in Namjoon.

"Like what you see, pretty?"

Yoongi sighs, nibbling on his bottom lip. "You know I do."

"Want me to leave it on or take it off?"

Another sigh, "God, I don't know."

Namjoon can't help but laugh softly as he stares down at Yoongi with affection. It is too soon to be feeling strong feelings, and yet, all he wants is to take Yoongi gently by the face and shower him with words of love and adoration. Love. Namjoon feels his stomach swoop, making him a bit queasy, and he clears his throat and attempts to focus on how horny he is, instead. 

Luckily, Yoongi helps him get out of his head by rubbing against the rough mesh material, over Namjoon's nipples, sending a wave of pleasure through him that makes him gasp. 

"Fuck it," Yoongi grumbles, gathering the material of the flimsy shirt and pushing at it, "I want this off."

Namjoon aids Yoongi in his somewhat frantic attempt, grabbing the bottom hem of the shirt and slowly peeling it off, worrying for the sake of the fabric in his clumsy hands. He even struggles to get the tight material past his shoulders and elbows, and has to wiggle a bit until it is finally over his head, jingling the many chains that Taehyung had draped over his neck. When he is free of the garment, Yoongi paws at him, hands touching and groping his chest and abs. 

"Damn, Joon," Yoongi says softly. "You are so fucking hot."

"Pretty Yoongi has a thing for muscles?" Namjoon teases. 

Yoongi grips Namjoon by the hips, giving him a firm shove backward, and Namjoon stumbles a few steps back as Yoongi stands, so close he can feel the heat of his body. As Namjoon gets his bearings—suddenly tipped off his axis by Yoongi's proximity—Yoongi's hands fall to Namjoon's jeans, and he begins to undo the button.

"Pretty Yoongi has a thing for you," Yoongi responds, leaning so close Namjoon could easily press their lips together, if only he weren't so stunned where he stands.

"Is that so?" Namjoon asks in an attempt to be playful, though his voice cracks under the sudden pressure of being undressed by the man of his dreams. 

Yoongi smirks and hums, then begins to slowly push at the waistline of Namjoon's borrowed jeans. "May I?"

"You may," Namjoon all but whimpers.

As the pants slide past Namjoon's thighs, then fall the rest of the way to the floor, Yoongi wraps his arms over Namjoon's shoulders and begins to leave warm, slow kisses against his neck. 

"I want to repay the favor from earlier," Yoongi groans, voice deep and raspy. "And then I want to prep you nice and slow. Can you handle being overstimulated, Joon?"

Namjoon has absolutely no idea, and his exhale comes out shaky as he says, "I don't know. Maybe."

With a hum and a grin, Yoongi sinks back into a seated position on the bed and says, "Shall we find out?"

Suddenly, with Yoongi at crotch level, Namjoon feels anxious. He reminds himself that he has nothing to worry about—that he has already seen and sucked Yoongi's dick—but his head still swims with the possibility of his own dick being on display. 

Yoongi rubs his hands over Namjoon's thighs, then brushes a thumb over his growing bulge, and Namjoon whimpers softly as arousal sends blood flooding to that spot. With a satisfied hum, Yoongi leans forward and rubs his lips over Namjoon's growing erection, breathing warmth through the soft, tight fabric and sending a shiver up his spine. 

"I bet you get nice and big, don't you Joon?" Yoongi asks, dragging his lips against him.

"Yeah," Namjoon responds on a breathy exhale. "I get pretty big."

Yoongi nudges him gently with his nose. "Do you always bottom?" 

The light touches and warm breath have Namjoon practically panting, desperate for more. He shakes his head quickly, blinking heavily as he mutters, "No. I would do anything for you; you know that."

"Good." Yoongi smirks as he slides a hand up to Namjoon's dick, giving it a gentle squeeze that has Namjoon moaning.

Yoongi takes the waistband of Namjoon's briefs gently in his fingers and tugs down, letting Namjoon's heavy, hard cock spring out. With a gasp, Yoongi quickly abandons his task of undressing Namjoon and takes his cock in both hands, gently stroking his length while squeezing the head. Every nerve on Namjoon's body is alight with heat as arousal tingles in his core. Yoongi's large, pretty hands are warm and engulfing, delicate yet firm. 

"I bet you'll make my jaw sore really fast," Yoongi teases as he continues to gently stroke. "I can't wait."

Yoongi sits up straight, licking from Namjoon's balls up to the crown, and back down, teasing the tip of his tongue in tight circles. Namjoon lets out a gasp that becomes a groan and intently watches Yoongi, gaze traveling between his mouth and his eyes, which stare up at Namjoon. He practically breaks eye contact when Yoongi dips the very tip of his tongue into his slit, stretching him just enough to send a wave of pleasure breaking abruptly, making his eyelids flutter. 

"You're such a tease," Namjoon groans, reaching down to gently push his fingers into Yoongi's hair. 

With another devious smile, Yoongi mutters, "Sorry, Joonie. I'll be good to you, now," and takes Namjoon into his mouth, sucking him down until the tip of Namjoon's cock brushes against Yoongi's throat. 

Yoongi's mouth is warm and wet, with a hint of cold steel, and Namjoon tightens his fist around Yoongi's hair, not enough to tug too hard, but enough to make Yoongi groan. The vibration of Yoongi's voice along Namjoon's length makes him tremble and inadvertently rut deeper into Yoongi's mouth. Yoongi seems unbothered and does not gag, then he slowly draws his head back, eyes still watching Namjoon, as he pulls out completely.

"I don't think I can take it all," Yoongi pouts with spit-slick lips. 

"That's okay," is all Namjoon's horny, caveman brain can think of to say in response. 

"Did you masturbate today?"

This question catches Namjoon off guard, and he takes a moment before answering, "N-no."

"So you'll probably cum pretty fast?" Yoongi grins.

Namjoon nods. "Probably."

"And you might even give me a nice big load to swallow."

All Namjoon can do is swallow all the drool that has pooled in his mouth and stare down at Yoongi, who once again takes Namjoon's cock into his mouth as far as he can before the tip is brushing against the soft, tight flesh of his throat. The feeling is incredible, sending a tremble throughout Namjoon's body as his pleasure continues to build. 

Yoongi sucks in his cheeks and swallows, tightening around Namjoon before he slowly drags his lips back to the tip, only to suck him down again, nice and deep, and Namjoon legitimately fears that he may cum in absolutely no time at all. 

"Fuck, hyung," Namjoon whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them back up. "Feels so good."

Yoongi groans and hums as he continues to suck, building Namjoon's arousal to dangerous heights at a breakneck speed. If this is how good Yoongi's mouth feels, he can only begin to imagine how he will feel topping him. The prospect is nerve-wracking and sends a shiver quaking through him. Yoongi must interpret the shiver as Namjoon getting close, and he wraps a hand around the length that he cannot get into his mouth, using his drool as lubricant to gently twist. 

The wave of pleasure that bursts through Namjoon makes him whimper, and his entire body trembles. With his briefs tight around his thighs, Namjoon feels unstable on his feet and reaches down behind him with his free hand to shove at the fabric until it falls to the floor so he can widen his stance. 

Yoongi continues to suck his cheeks in and swallow hard around Namjoon, letting drool fall from between his lips. His eyes are closed as he focuses on his task, but when Namjoon takes a step with his right foot to the side, Yoongi opens his eyes and stares up at him through teary lashes. The sight is so sinful—so absolutely perfect—that Namjoon begins to plummet toward orgasm. 

With both hands, Namjoon takes Yoongi gently by the hair. He has to resist the urge to rock his hips, not wanting to push Yoongi too hard when he has established a perfect rhythm. But his hips do tremble with each deep suck, and Namjoon feels himself press into Yoongi's tight, velvety throat as his high builds. 

"You're gonna make me cum, hyung," Namjoon whimpers.

Yoongi hums and moans with each swallow and stroke of Namjoon's length, and the sound is all it takes to send him reeling. 

"Fuck, that's it," Namjoon groans. His entire body shudders and quakes at Yoongi's whim. "I'm so close. I'm s—"

Namjoon's head lolls back as he cums, spraying his release straight into Yoongi's throat while he continues to swallow around the tip. Orgasm quickly becomes overstimulation, and Namjoon begins to see stars as Yoongi milks him of his release.

"Hyung," Namjoon gasps, feeling the way Yoongi must have felt in the bathroom earlier, while tugging gently on Yoongi's hair, "you're gonna make me faint if you don't stop."

Yoongi chuckles as he pulls his head back and lets Namjoon's spent cock slip from between his pretty, sticky-slick lips. Tears have smudged the black makeup around Yoongi's eyes, and he smiles up at Namjoon looking very pleased with himself. 

"You did give me a nice big load to swallow," Yoongi says as he leans forward and flicks his tongue over the tip of Namjoon's dick, making him gasp and whine. Then, he licks his lips and rasps, "Such a good boy for me."

The bulge in Yoongi's jeans is noticeable, and Namjoon drops to his knees, wobbling a bit in the process, and rubs his hands up Yoongi's thighs. "You're still wearing too much clothing," he pouts as Yoongi leans back to let him undo his fly.

Namjoon makes sure to rub over Yoongi's erection as he unzips his pants, and Yoongi groans from each touch, watching with blown pupils and a sharp smile. Although he already went down on Yoongi less than an hour ago, there is a part of him that wants to do it again, and he licks his lips at the thought. Yoongi, however, has other plans, and he sits up, gently taking Namjoon by the wrists and stopping him from doing any more. 

"I assume you got bottom ready for me, baby?" Yoongi asks.

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, feeling a surge of arousal go straight to his cock from the new nickname. "I did," he responds, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Good," Yoongi responds, then he releases Namjoon's hands and pats the bed beside him. "On your hands and knees, please."

Yoongi scoots to the side, giving Namjoon room, and Namjoon does as he is told, planting his hands on the mattress and climbing up onto his knees. He gets into place in the center of the bed, draping his arms over a pillow with his ass in the air, feeling extremely vulnerable but excited, and Yoongi stands then pushes his jeans to the floor, showing off a pretty black dragon tattoo that snakes down his hip and thigh. 

"God, you're a vision," Yoongi says as he steps out of the denim and kicks it aside. He gets onto his knees on the bed and grabs a handful of Namjoon's ass. "Just look at you."

Feeling playful, Namjoon wiggles his butt back and forth while Yoongi settles beside him, earning him a light spank, which makes him gasp and chuckle. 

"Taking a pierced cock can be quite painful for some," Yoongi says, looking Namjoon in the eye with a serious expression as he leans and grabs a bottle of lube from atop the bedside table. "I'm going to stretch you as much as I can before we start, and if you decide you can't handle the feeling, I can let my erection go down and change the metal jewelry out for softer silicone. Or, you can fuck me. Whichever you prefer."

Namjoon takes in all of the information, doing his best not to feel nervous about the possibility of it hurting. He did admit to enjoying a little pain, but clearly, this might be more than what he has bargained for.

"I want us to use the stoplight safe word system. Do you know that one?"

"Yes," Namjoon responds, voice sounding shakier than he expected. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. "I say green to tell you that I am good, and red if I need to stop."

Yoongi reaches and places a hand on Namjoon's back, filling Namjoon with warmth as he rubs from his ribs to his shoulder and down to his hip. "And if you need me to stop for just a moment, you can say yellow."

Namjoon swallows a lump of nervousness. "Sounds good, hyung."

And with that, Yoongi gets onto the bed behind Namjoon, kicking Namjoon's heart into full swing, as the bed dips and two large, warm hands spread his ass. He hears Yoongi breathe���or maybe hum—before squeezing him, and his mouth falls open gently with a soft gasp.

"I've been waiting for this moment and now I feel lost in awe," Yoongi admits with a chuckle. 

Although the attention feels nice, Namjoon wonders if he might shrivel up and die from embarrassment if Yoongi continues to stare at his spread ass for too long. Never has someone wanted to sit and marvel at him before, and he feels incredibly exposed. But then he feels warm breath ghost over his taint, and he lets in a sharp inhale as his eyes flutter closed. 

Gently, softly, Yoongi swirls his tongue over Namjoon's rim. The sensation is so featherlight but warm, sending a shiver up Namjoon's spine that escapes him as a relaxing exhale. Namjoon allows his shoulders to droop and relaxes into the blood red pillow that is clutched beneath him as he waits in anticipation for what may come next. 

"Heaven," Yoongi groans, biting gently into the soft flesh of Namjoon's cheek and sucking the skin between his lips with a pop. "You fucking taste like heaven."

All Namjoon can do is whimper in response, finding it hard to wrap his head around Yoongi's voice or his words before his tongue is dragging over his hole slowly and firmly, making Namjoon tremble and moan. Suddenly, his insecurities fade, and all he is left with is the warm, wet drag of Yoongi's perfect tongue making him come undone. 

The feeling intensifies as the muscle dips inside, stretching Namjoon gently around it. Namjoon lets his lips drag over the soft, deep red pillowcase that smells like Yoongi's musk. He cannot believe he almost made himself wait to feel this pleasure for the sake of an arbitrary rule he had set for himself. Yoongi has barely gotten started, and already, Namjoon is on cloud nine.

A fingertip joins Yoongi's tongue and gently presses inside, giving Namjoon a firmer stretch. Namjoon moans and lets out a deep exhale, gripping onto the pillowcase tightly. Yoongi is slow as he pushes his finger in deep and pulls it back, allowing Namjoon to set a steady breathing pace. Bless the length of his fingers and those thick, knobby knuckles as Yoongi steadily fills him. 

"How do you feel, Joon?" Yoongi asks sweetly before lapping over Namjoon's stretched rim. 

"So good," Namjoon whimpers.

"Ready for another finger?"

"Yes, please."

The first finger exits, leaving Namjoon feeling dreadfully empty, and he hears the cap of the lube bottle pop open. Yoongi licks over his rim hungrily, taking Namjoon by surprise as his lips and tongue make a sloppy fucking mess of him. Pleasure builds, and Namjoon groans into the feeling, sinking further into relaxed bliss. Then, the sting of two fingers entering him replaces the warm tongue, and Namjoon squeezes the pillow as he is stretched further. 

"F-fuck," he whimpers, feeling a shiver rock through him. "S-so good."

A deep, pretty groan vibrates against Namjoon's skin as Yoongi drags his lips over his buttcheek, slowly prodding his fingers in and out a little further each time. 

"You are so good for me, Joonie."

Joy and affection burst and bloom in Namjoon's chest. All he wants in the present moment is to be so, so good for Yoongi.

Yoongi is unhurried and careful as he stretches Namjoon on two fingers, and then three. By the time Namjoon is adjusted around three, he is panting and sobbing with sweat pooling on his forehead. It has been a while since the last time someone fucked him, and everything little sensation is intense. 

As Yoongi begins to press a fourth finger in, Namjoon bites onto the pillow and cries out, practically screaming that he is green when his hyung asks so gently and calmly what color he is. 

Namjoon is easily overwhelmed by pleasure—feels like he might burst at the seams and explode—and Yoongi is so patient as he drags more and more from him with each pass and prod of his fingers. Yoongi's lips and teeth suck and nip at his skin, undoubtedly marking his ass like an animal print, and Namjoon whimpers and hisses from each feeling—everything feels like so much.

By the time Namjoon is adjusted to four of Yoongi's fingers, his cock is desperately hard against his tummy and dribbling streaks of precum. With a deep, devious giggle, Yoongi brushes his fingertip over Namjoon's prostate, and the jolt of white-hot sensation that sparks through him makes Namjoon speak in tongues, feeling far too close to cum and not wanting to just yet. 

"So pliant and good for me," Yoongi praises, littering his backside with kisses. "So tight and eager to be filled."

Namjoon has absolutely no idea what he fuck to say in response, so all he does is whimper and nod despite knowing Yoongi probably cannot see him. He is pliant and good and tight and eager to be filled. So, so eager. All for Yoongi.

As Yoongi slides his fingers from Namjoon's stretched hole, Namjoon lets out a large puff of air, able to breathe again but feeling so empty. Already, he longs for stimulation, missing the way Yoongi feels. The sound of the lube bottle popping open once more fills Namjoon with excitement, and he wonders if, finally, he will get to feel Yoongi's pretty, pierced cock.

Yoongi gives Namjoon's ass a playful smack. "Up, Joonie. I want you to ride me so you can be in control."

The very thought of being in any amount of control of his body weight and limbs feels overwhelming as Namjoon lifts himself onto his knees, feeling slightly embarrassed for the large drool spot that he has left on Yoongi's pillow. 

Yoongi crawls to the center of the bed, moving the pillows out of the way as he takes a seat against the wall. He strokes his hard length in one hand while giving Namjoon "come here" fingers with the other, and Namjoon notices the slickness of his fingers, feeling a swirl of arousal at the thought of those fingers being buried inside him. 

"You already look so fucked out," Yoongi teases as Namjoon crawls to him, straddling his legs. He feels fucked out already, and can only imagine the state of his hair. 

"Felt good," Namjoon grumbles almost petulantly, suddenly a bit shy about being teased by someone so dreadfully sexy.

Namjoon wants to stop and admire all the designs on Yoongi's skin, but he knows that this is not the time. He does, however, flick his tongue over one of Yoongi's nipples, smiling as Yoongi whimpers so sweetly. Spurred on to hear more pretty sounds, Namjoon gently sucks his pierced nipple between his lips, playing with the cold steel with his tongue. A shutter rocks though Yoongi, who gently takes Namjoon by the chin and pulls him away from his task.

"Joon, baby, I love the way your tongue feels," Yoongi grumbles with a knitted brow, "but I need you to sit on this cock before I go insane."

"Baby, hmm?" Namjoon asks as he lifts his head to slot Yoongi's lips between his.

Yoongi groans and lets his mouth fall open for Namjoon to explore. A faint, heady taste accentuated by the sweet flavor of lube can be detected, and Namjoon licks it up eagerly. He thinks he likes the way it sounds when Yoongi calls him baby. But, then again, Yoongi could call him anything and it would send the butterflies in his tummy into a frenzy. 

"I like it when you whine," Namjoon teases as he trails his lips down Yoongi's chin and neck, feeling some of his energy return. "Might have to make you beg some more."

Yoongi's hand wraps around Namjoon's cock, and he ruts into the feeling, unable to control the jerk of his hips. He feels Yoongi's pierced, lube-slick length thrust against his, and he whimpers as his forehead falls to Yoongi's shoulder. Slowly, Yoongi jerks the two of them, rolling his hips upward to rub their dicks in a dizzying motion. 

"Fuck," Namjoon groans into the junction of Yoongi's neck and shoulder. 

"What was that, baby?" Yoongi teases, voice breathy but controlled. "Were you saying something?"

"Not fair," Namjoon whimpers as he lifts his arms and drapes them over Yoongi's shoulders. 

"What's not fair?"

The slide of their cocks in Yoongi's hand makes Namjoon shiver. "Everything you do feels incredible."

Namjoon manages to sit up on Yoongi's lap and lets his eyes trail down his pierced and tattooed chest and stomach, to their dicks in his hand, both swelled and leaking with precum, and one with a big metal ring sticking from it. A finger taps the underside of Namjoon's chin, making him look up. 

"Come find out what else I can do, then," Yoongi says with a smile.

Yoongi releases their cocks and grabs the lube to slick himself back up as Namjoon plants his palms against the wall above Yoongi's head and sits high, hovering his ass until Yoongi is ready. With his fingertips, Yoongi smears lube over Namjoon's hole, making Namjoon groan, then he nods. 

"Ready when you are, Joon."

Namjoon reaches below him and takes Yoongi's cock at the base, gives it a little squeeze, then begins to lower himself. The feeling of the metal hoop through Yoongi's tip makes Namjoon shudder, and he jerks his hips upward before settling back down. 

"Cold," he mutters with a chuckle, glancing down to see Yoongi has his head tilted up and is watching his face. Namjoon smiles and mutters, "Hey."

"Hi there," Yoongi responds, nibbling on his lip ring. 

Slowly, Namjoon puts a little more weight down, gasping from the stretch that Yoongi's fingers did a decent job preparing him for. Namjoon lifts his hips slightly, then pushes a little further, feeling the drag of the hoop inside him. It's...strange. But also pretty good. 

But then, Namjoon feels the bar on the underside of Yoongi's cock tug at his rim, pulling almost uncomfortably, and he hisses, lifting his hips. Yoongi uses both hands to grab Namjoon's ass and spread him wide, and Namjoon lowers himself once more, determined to get past the jewelry.

"Careful," Yoongi gasps as Namjoon gently rocks his hips up and back downward. 

Namjoon tries again, but the tug is too much, and he lifts his hips once more, nearly boiling over with frustration. He wants to take Yoongi's cock so badly it makes his head spin. 

Yoongi sits forward slightly, reaching with his fingers to Namjoon's hole, and slowly begins to slide a finger inside, beside his cock head. Namjoon sobs from the feeling and does his best to keep still while Yoongi gently stretches him further, rocking his hips ever so gently, eager to be filled. Yoongi slips another fingertip in, sending stars bursting before Namjoon's eyes, then he gently thrusts until the piercing is past the rim and nestled inside Namjoon, using his fingertips as a shield from the steel balls. 

With the head of Yoongi's dick buried inside him, Namjoon relaxes into the feeling and begins to sink further. Both cold metal rings tug along his walls, and the feeling is just intense enough to make him nearly gasp with each movement. There is not much pain, but it is a bit uncomfortable, causing alarms to ring in his head despite his need to feel it deeper. 

"Take it slow, baby," Yoongi urges through grunts.

Namjoon had been completely spaced out, staring at the wall, but he blinks and makes eye contact with Yoongi, bringing his pretty, blushed face into view and feeling his heart soar. 

"I'm good, hyung. It feels—" Namjoon moans, sinking further down, "—feels kinda weird but also s-so good."

Silence falls between them as Yoongi stares up at Namjoon, who does his best to settle on his lap and allow himself to properly adjust. Namjoon begins to feel shy under his unwavering gaze—feels blush creep to his cheeks as he softly asks, "What?"

Something gentle and sweet flashes in Yoongi's eyes, and he blinks as his pretty lips tug into a smile. "You're just incredible," he says like it is nothing, and Namjoon feels his tummy do a backflip. 

The only thing he can do in this moment to keep himself from professing deep, intense feelings way too soon, is kiss Yoongi on the forehead, lift his hips, and slam them down. The drag of the metal on Yoongi's thick, perfect dick makes Namjoon tremble. Somehow, the intensity of the sensation feels like he is being crushed under some kind of weight, and he falls forward with his head on Yoongi's shoulder to catch his breath.

"Okay, wow," Namjoon mutters. "Why does it feel like so much?"

Yoongi chuckles and leaves a kiss on Namjoon's neck that makes him shiver. "Want some help, Joon?"

Namjoon nods his head, muttering, "Please," as he lifts his hips enough to give Yoongi some room to move. Yoongi cradles Namjoon's ass in his palms as he slowly begins to thrust up into him, not as deep as he could, but enough to make Namjoon whimper and curse and groan, eager for more despite it feeling like a lot, all the while Yoongi sucks and kisses at his shoulder and neck.

"How is that, baby?"

Namjoon's words come out breathy and weak. "F-feels amazing."

"Want me to keep doing this, or do you want me to fuck you?"

And, in this moment, Namjoon thinks he has never been so sure of anything in his life as he perks his ass out just a little more and says, "Fuck me, hyung."

Yoongi slams his hips upward, causing Namjoon to practically scream. The sound that leaves his mouth is pitchy and lewd, and it would make him feel embarrassed if Yoongi did not continue to piston his cock upward, hitting every spot inside him that makes him absolutely unravel. 

Instantly, Namjoon sees stars. He leans forward, nuzzling into Yoongi's neck while the top of his head bumps into the wall, and he drools and sobs. Yoongi fills him so perfectly, and the piercings send him over the edge while his own cock slaps against his stomach, leaving a small splatter of precum in its wake. Namjoon thinks he could cum just like this, with his hands gripping onto Yoongi's hair and his body being used like a doll.

But Yoongi has other plans. With one hand, Yoongi reaches between them and strokes Namjoon's cock, sending a wave of pleasure so intense—so white-hot—Namjoon loses track of his senses, suddenly unsure whether sound and space truly exist. Namjoon sucks against pink peonies on Yoongi's neck while doing his best to lift and drop his ass in perfect rhythm of his thrusts, terrified to already come undone when he feels like Yoongi is only getting started. 

"Want you overstimulated," Yoongi groans, voice broken on the edges from pleasure. "Sound good, baby?"

"Y-yes, hyung."

"Good," Yoongi says as he squeezes Namjoon's dick, sending him plummeting over the edge. 

Namjoon's back arches, and he changes posture to sit straight and let his head fall back. In this position, Yoongi leans forward and clamps his lips on one of Namjoon's nipples, causing another jolt of pleasure to join the electrical current running through his limbs. He is mere moments from falling apart completely. 

"Gonna cum, hyung," Namjoon whimpers as he lifts and slams his hips to match Yoongi's rhythm and chase his high. 

Yoongi's hips somehow piston even harder, and it takes no time at all for Namjoon to spray his release on Yoongi's fist, which continues to stroke and squeeze. Namjoon shudders through his orgasm, moaning and sobbing as his high begins to dissipate and he enters the realm of overstimulation. He practically begs for mercy when Yoongi slows his hips and wraps his arms around his waist. 

"Sit up baby, but don't pull out." 

Namjoon does as he is told, whimpering as he sits high on his knees so Yoongi can shift below him, going from a fully seated position to also on his knees, one leg at a time. 

"So good for me," Yoongi grumbles as he lazily drags his lips over Namjoon's chest while he readjusts. "I want you on your back. Can you do that for me, Joon?"

Namjoon nods and waits for Yoongi to begin to move, then drops his arms behind him and slowly begins to lower himself to the mattress with Yoongi's cock buried inside him. The feeling is strange and overwhelming, and Yoongi cradles him until his back hits the soft red comforter. 

It almost feels humiliating the way Yoongi grabs his thighs and spreads them, draping his legs over his shoulders and towering over him with a look of pure lust in his eyes. Namjoon considers asking for a break, but as Yoongi slowly pulls his hips back and rolls them forward, the drag is incredible, sending blood rushing back to his cock with a wave of overwhelming pleasure that makes him whimper.

"Too much, baby?" Yoongi asks in almost a mocking tone. 

Namjoon nods and whines, "Uh-huh."

"Color?"

With a sigh, Namjoon responds, "Green," because he truly does want more. 

Yoongi pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, slapping the metal ring that hangs below his cock against Namjoon's taint, which he finds surprisingly satisfying. Namjoon feels so full and so completely at Yoongi's mercy as he stretches his arms above his head and allows himself to sink into the feeling. Several more powerful thrusts have tears forming in his eyes, and when Yoongi leans forward, Namjoon feels so full it punches the air from his lungs. 

It takes no time at all for Namjoon's cock to be hard and leaking, slapping against his tummy, and Yoongi grabs onto it and rolls his hand over the leaking tip, making Namjoon sob. It also takes no time at all for him to cum a third time, and when he does, it hits so hard, his cries are silent, punctuated by sobs as he gasps to catch his breath, clawing at the blanket beneath him.

"Color, baby? Can you handle one more?"

Namjoon is absolutely certain that if he tries to cum again, he might actually die, but the feeling is so good, he wants nothing more than to be perfect for his hyung. 

"Green," he mutters, feeling his heart flutter when Yoongi smiles down at him so pretty. 

Yoongi slows his hips to a gentle roll and reaches for the bedside table, first for a hair tie to get the hair out of his face—tying it into a half top-knot that makes Namjoon swoon and want to cry—and then, for more lube, which he dribbles directly onto Namjoon's stretch hole, grinning as the cold liquid makes Namjoon thrash and squeal.

"How do you have so much fucking stamina?" Namjoon whines as Yoongi slowly drops Namjoon's legs to the side and leans forward to suck on his bottom lip as he begins to slowly pick up his pace. 

"You made me cum earlier, remember?" Yoongi groans against his lips.

Oh, Namjoon remembers. How could he possibly forget his first time dropping to his knees in a public bathroom?

Yoongi takes his time getting Namjoon hard and fucking him through his fourth orgasm. As soon as Namjoon begins to cum, Yoongi kisses him deeply, sucking the sounds from his mouth while whimpering that he is close. The cadence of Yoongi's voice when it becomes pitchy and desperate is music to Namjoon's ears, and he wraps his arms around him to hold him close, feeling Yoongi tremble in his arms as he fills him with his release. 

They stay like this for a while, with Yoongi nestled deep inside him, twitching from time to time as Namjoon squeezes around him, eager to milk him of every drop. Namjoon feels fucked out, sore, and exhausted, and he holds Yoongi close planting soft, lazy kisses all over him while Yoongi smiles and grumbles and tells him how perfect he is. 

"I've never been fucked that good in my life," Namjoon praises softly, and he means it; in this moment, he cannot remember anyone making him feel half as good. 

Yoongi chuckles and holds him close. "Good. I want to make you feel amazing."

"You do. I love—" Namjoon hesitates, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, "—uh, l-loved it."

He curses himself for using the word love and squeezes his eyes closed, but Yoongi just nuzzles impossibly closer and hums a deep, happy sound. 

"Good," Yoongi responds, slowly sitting up with a smile. "Let's clean off and then go to bed."

As consciousness slowly creeps into the hazy confines of what is leftover from sleep, the first thing Namjoon feels is disoriented. The second thing he feels is a bit sore. 

Namjoon cracks an eye open and looks around, remembering the room he is in. Next, he remembers the red comforter he fell asleep tucked under, and then the man he held tight as he drifted to calm darkness. With a smile, Namjoon rolls from his back to the right, lifting an arm gently with the intention of wrapping it back around his hyung. However, when he rotates, he is greeted by only an unoccupied pillow.

With a sigh, Namjoon returns to his back and stretches his arms over his head, knocking his knuckles against the cold wall while he yawns widely. As he begins to feel more awake, the smell of coffee wafts into the room, and if he listens closely, he can hear small sounds coming from the other room. Namjoon considers getting up and joining Yoongi in the kitchen when he remembers the attire he had worn last night. He does not exactly want to get dressed in Taehyung's clothing again.

But the promise of coffee—and of seeing Yoongi—is too enticing, so Namjoon gets out of bed, shivering as the air greets his skin, and finds his briefs. Perhaps the sight of him in nothing but his tight underwear will be a welcome sight for Yoongi. 

Namjoon finds the garment on the floor and grabs it, putting it on, one leg after the other and squatting to get everything in the right spot. Then, he makes his way down the short hallway, walking slowly and quietly with the hope of catching the sight of Yoongi dancing around the kitchen while he gets his morning started. Instead, when he turns the corner, he finds Yoongi leaning against the counter, anchored on his elbows, with his hands threaded through his hair. His posture screams stress or exhaustion, and anxiety drops to Namjoon's guts like a brick. 

Suddenly, Namjoon wishes he had not just come tip-toeing out in his undies. What if this is not the sight that Yoongi wants to see? He even considers backing up and retreating to the bedroom, but Yoongi must sense his presence, and he looks up. At first, Yoongi looks surprised, but then a smile spreads, and his gaze softens. He wears a large white tee, and he holds his hand out, beckoning Namjoon closer.

"You're naked," Yoongi grumbles, voice raspier than usual.

"Didn't want to put Tae's clothes back on," Namjoon responds as he approaches and joins Yoongi in the kitchen.

"Well, I'm not complaining," Yoongi says as he straightens out and rounds the counter. His shirt goes down to his thighs, and he has no pants underneath. Namjoon wonders if he has anything underneath at all.

"Was I interrupting something?" Namjoon asks hesitantly, trying to cover his nerves.

Yoongi shakes his head. "I wanted to give you some space in case you needed it."

With Yoongi close enough to reach out and grab, Namjoon does just that. "Don't want space," he mutters as he leans to place a kiss against Yoongi's temple. 

"You sure?" Yoongi asks. 

Namjoon detects a hint of uncertainty and wraps his arms around Yoongi's waist, hugging him close. "I'm sure."

With a deep, heavy sigh, Yoongi pulls Namjoon into a hug and litters kisses against his throat and neck, making Namjoon chuckle quietly. It tickles and it feels really nice. 

"I have to work in a few hours," Yoongi mutters against his skin. "Got a couple of appointments."

"Wow," Namjoon teases, "just gonna fuck me and kick me out." He pulls Yoongi impossibly closer, burying his face in thick, soft, dark hair as he grumbles, "You men are all the same."

Yoongi shakes from laughter and nips at Namjoon's neck until he jumps and attempts to pull from the hug. Held in place with Yoongi's arms, Namjoon has no choice but to wiggle around as Yoongi nips at his skin. 

He likes this. Standing in Yoongi's kitchen in the quiet of the morning, still a bit delirious from sleep and from a night of the best sex of his life. He likes being practically naked, wrapped in the warmth of Yoongi's arms, comfortable in his skin. This is something Namjoon thinks he could get used to. And this is even something he anticipates craving the moment he finds himself back in his own home, alone.

"If you aren't sick of me, maybe we could meet after?" Yoongi suggests. He continues to hold Namjoon tight, tickling his neck with his lips, which drag with every syllable. The vibration of Yoongi's voice against his chest is comforting. 

Namjoon smiles. "Imagine being sick of you."

"Yeah? You want to see me again?"

"See you again?" Namjoon asks incredulously, pulling back just enough to look Yoongi in the eye. "I want to recreate last night as much as possible. I have never been taken care of so well in my life."

Yoongi's eyes fall from Namjoon's gaze and trail around the room, and Namjoon swoons over his sudden shyness. "Please, Joon. I'm sure it wasn't that life changing."

Although he knows Yoongi is just being modest, Namjoon feels somewhat offended that he would brush his skills off so easily. It really was top-tier, in terms of how he has been fucked in the past. But he chuckles and lets it go. Perhaps Yoongi is too grumpy in the morning to be reasoned with, so he concedes to allowing him to lie to himself about his performance. There will always be future fucks to gush about, he hopes.

The rest of the morning is slow and easy. He sips coffee with Yoongi before putting on a tee and some sweatpants that Yoongi claims he drowns in, which are still a bit too small for Namjoon. Namjoon kisses Yoongi goodbye and strolls leisurely back to his apartment, feeling a pep in his step despite the slight limp. Then, he gets back to his place, showers, tends to work emails for several hours, before making plans to see Yoongi again later. 

Namjoon Hey, JK! Do you happen to know what time Yoongi should be off tonight?

Jeonggukie 🐰 His last appointment is at 3, so he will probably close up around 6. 

Namjoon Are you in tonight? 

Jeonggukie 🐰 Yes, and yes, I can stall him until you get here, but don't be late! He'll suspect something is up. Come between 5:30 and 5:45.

Namjoon Thanks, Gguk!

Jeonggukie 🐰 You have my hyung smiling like an idiot this afternoon. I take it you had a good night?

Namjoon We did. Hyung also has me smiling like an idiot today.

Jeonggukie 🐰 Good. I really like you two together. I haven't seen him this happy in a long time. 

Namjoon gets to the tattoo shop around 5:45 PM holding a bag of sweets from the café he and Taehyung stopped at several days ago before he came for a tattoo. As the door chimes, signifying his entry, he watches Yoongi twist with a scowl and shout, "We're closing!" before realizing it is him. 

"Sure you don't have time to pencil me in?" Namjoon teases as he makes his way through the lobby of the shop and leans against the counter. 

Jeongguk stands from the chair at his workstation, and waves at Namjoon with a wide, welcoming smile. He is dressed in his standard all black everything with his hair flopping around in large curls at the end, and he looks adorable as he prances over and mutters, "Perfect timing," before announcing that he is done for the night and heading out. 

Yoongi waves Jeongguk off, telling him to lock up, and Jeongguk closes the blinds and does as he is told while Yoongi continues organizing something at his station, all the while Namjoon watches him work. He wears a black hoodie and looks so cozy, Namjoon wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him tight. 

"I was wondering why he wouldn't just leave," Yoongi finally says, glancing up with a grin. Then, he lifts a hand and beckons Namjoon closer. "Get over here."

Namjoon leaves the bag of sweets behind and rounds the desk, approaching Yoongi's workspace, and when Yoongi pats the leather exam table, Namjoon has a seat. Without a word, Yoongi rolls up the denim leg of Namjoon's pants to have a look at his tattoo, then puts on a black latex glove and grabs a small jar of crème.

"Looks good," Yoongi says with a soft smile as he dips a finger into the crème and begins to rub it over his sunflower. 

It is cold against Namjoon's skin, and it feels really nice. Already, some of the ink is beginning to scab, which has become a little itchy, and the crème instantly soothes it.

"So," Yoongi says as he pulls the glove off with a snap. "Did you come in so I could finally pierce your ears? Or were you hoping I would bend you over this table and fuck you?"

Arousal floods Namjoon, making him feel shy, and he lets out a soft chuckle as Yoongi stands before him and crowds his space, pushing his legs spread so he can lean in for a kiss. 

"I was j-just coming in to say hi," Namjoon mutters against Yoongi's soft, pretty lips. 

Yoongi hums, sucks on Namjoon's lip, and asks, "Are you sure? You brought something with you, what is it?"

"Just some sweets from the café."

Another hum from Yoongi's pretty mouth as he says, "You're the only sweet treat I need, silly. Sure you didn't come in looking for another spur of the moment modification?"

To his own surprise, Namjoon wonders if, perhaps, getting his ears pierced would be nice. He is curious about the way a needle might feel, and he has been on quite an impulsive streak, lately. Not to mention, Yoongi told him some piercings would look good.

"Maybe I should let you pierce me, hyung," Namjoon responds, watching as excitement widens Yoongi's eyes and smile. 

Yoongi taps the tip of his nose against Namjoon's and stands back far enough to glance at his ears. "I bet the boys would agree that you'd be stunning."

"Yeah? Should we ask them?"

Namjoon pulls out his phone and begins to text Taehyung, then Jeongguk, despite assuming that they are already with each other. Taehyung mentioned earlier that he would be waiting for Jeongguk to get off work, and even threatened Namjoon's life if he showed up to the shop late, delaying Jeongguk's arrival. Although Namjoon laughed off Taehyung's dramatics at the time, he totally gets it; he was incredibly eager to see Yoongi again from the moment he left his apartment this morning. 

Yoongi leans in to see what the guys are saying and cocks his head to the side. "Why does Taehyung have a present emoji next to his name?"

Namjoon laughs. "Oh, this. Uh, yeah that's actually a tradition Taehyung started. He claimed that each message from me was a gift, and insisted I never change it. And then, from there, I began to save people's names with an emoji that signifies my impression of them. Jeongguk has a bunny, because of his cute front teeth."

"Do I have one?" Yoongi asks softly, and Namjoon thumbs out of his chat with Taehyung to find his chat with Yoongi. 

"You do," Namjoon admits with a shy smile. "But I was actually thinking about changing it. 

"Oh?"

Namjoon opens their chat and lets Yoongi see his name with a sunflower next to it, and Yoongi smiles softly but then looks confused. "Why would you change it?"

As Namjoon opens the edit page and deletes the sunflower, he thumbs through the list of emoji, looking for the more appropriate one, saying "Because I'm the sun seeker, remember?" And then he selects the new emoji and hits save, turning it to Yoongi so that he can see the new name at the top of the screen, which reads "Yoongi 🌞"

Before Yoongi can swoon too hard, Namjoon receives emphatic texts from both boys, urging him to get his ears pierced. And so, it is settled. Namjoon is once again going to do something he never thought he would, and allow Yoongi to modify him a second time. 

Yoongi wastes no time setting up a small station, and marking Namjoon's ears. He even puts paper padding down on the table for Namjoon to sit on, joking that it is there just in case the pain from the piercing turns him on too much and he needs to be taken care of, making Namjoon chuckle.

Although Namjoon agrees to the placement of the dots, he is too tingly with adrenaline and trusting that Yoongi will do the right thing, so he says yes and allows Yoongi to continue without any fuss. They decide on some silver hoops that will hang just a bit below Namjoon's lobe, and then Namjoon hugs the cloth-wrapped pillow tightly as Yoongi begins to line up the needle on the first lobe.

"Take a deep breath," Yoongi says softly, and Namjoon does as he is told. "And breathe out."

As Namjoon exhales, Yoongi punctures his ear with the needle, sending a wave of adrenaline through him—the pain is intense for a very split moment, and then it settles into warmth. The sight and smell of Yoongi's presence does not help the sudden bubbling of desire from the pain, and Namjoon grips onto the edge of the paper-covered leather table with one hand as he squeezes his eyes closed and hisses. He thought Yoongi might be joking when he made the comment about this being a turn on, and now he thinks he might just be onto something. 

"One more pinch," Yoongi informs. "Gonna slide the needle out and put the jewelry into place."

The feeling of the metal sliding through his lobe nearly makes Namjoon shiver, and he bites his lip as Yoongi hums and gently pushes the ring through and adjusts it. 

"How do you feel, Joon?" Yoongi asks, and Namjoon opens his eyes to find him smiling. 

Namjoon's lips are parted as he catches his breath, and he knows that there is an expression of desire painted across his face, judging by the way Yoongi studies him.

"That good, huh?" Yoongi teases, and Namjoon nods. "You look great, baby." 

Yoongi moves in for a kiss, careful not to touch him with his gloved hands but still making Namjoon whimper. He may have been somewhat entertaining the idea of allowing Yoongi to fuck him in his shop, but now he wants it more than anything. 

"Onto number two," Yoongi says as he straightens out and grabs his needle from its spot on a paper towel that has been laid out on the small metal supply table. 

Namjoon attempts to ignore the flow of blood to his dick as Yoongi lines up the second needle and tells him to inhale, but as soon as it pierces Namjoon's ear, sending a rush of pain through him, Namjoon groans, trembling from the feeling. 

"That was borderline pornographic, baby," Yoongi teases. "You do like a little pain, hmm?"

"Yes, hyung," Namjoon gasps as Yoongi pulls the needle through, threading the jewelry into his ear and putting it into place. As soon as Yoongi is finished, Namjoon grabs his gloved hand and presses it over his growing erection, whining, "I like it a lot."

Yoongi wastes no time ripping his gloves off and tugging at Namjoon's jeans to get him to stand. Before he can get his bearings, his fly is open and Yoongi is spinning him around, shoving him into the exam table. Namjoon falls forward against the protective paper that covers the leather as Yoongi yanks his jeans and briefs down, and spreads him wide. 

"This what you need, Joonie?" Yoongi teases as he licks a stripe over Namjoon's hole, making him fall forward and tremble through a moan. Yoongi's tongue is divine as he laps over Namjoon, devouring him.

"Y-yes, god yes," Namjoon moans, bent and eager for Yoongi to do absolutely anything he pleases. It takes a lot of effort on Namjoon's part to pull his long-sleeve t-shirt over his head, and he drapes himself over the table as soon as he does, feeling the cool air of the shop hit his skin and give him goosebumps.

Yoongi stretches Namjoon open quickly, producing a bottle of lube from his desk that he jokes he bought on the way to work this afternoon, anticipating Namjoon coming in begging to be fucked one of these days. And this is just another item on the list of impulsive acts that Namjoon cannot believe he is doing as Yoongi rubs lube-slick fingers over his hole, making him practically scream out into the empty tattoo shop. It takes no time at all for Namjoon to be stretched and begging for his cock. 

This time, when Yoongi slowly pushes his cock inside, he spreads Namjoon nice and wide and eases the metal jewelry past Namjoon's rim without too much discomfort. In fact, Namjoon is still high from the adrenaline of his own piercings, and the additional hint of pain sends him hurtling toward pleasure and he welcomes the hint of discomfort. His cock is pressed between his tummy and the exam table, and when Yoongi thrusts in deep, filling Namjoon just the way he likes, Namjoon melts into the feeling with a sob. 

"Stand for me, baby," Yoongi commands, and Namjoon scrambles to anchor himself up onto his hands and get into a standing position. Yoongi wraps an arm around Namjoon's chest and grabs onto his throat, holding him in place. "Now I can show you what these piercings in my dick are really for."

When Yoongi pulls back and thrusts forward, both metal rings graze over Namjoon's prostate, sending a dizzying, intense wave of arousal crashing through him. He whimpers, "Oh, fuck," as Yoongi thrusts again and again, picking up a pace that has Namjoon's head spinning and his arms dangling at his sides. 

It takes no time at all for Namjoon to hurtle toward orgasm. He claws at the paper on the exam table, falling forward in Yoongi's arms and speaking in tongues with desperate, incoherent sounds bursting through his lungs and lips. Yoongi gently eases Namjoon down and spreads his ass wide as he picks up a brutal pace, moaning his own string of pitchy, whiny noises as his hips begin to lose rhythm.

"Shit, baby, I won't last," Yoongi groans, digging his fingers into Namjoon's ass. "You feel so good squeezing me."

A blessing, truly, because Namjoon is certain he will fucking die if Yoongi makes him cum more than once today. Yoongi thrusts harder and faster, making Namjoon sob as his cock grinds into the table below him. Trembles quake through him as he cums, and Yoongi follows behind quickly, pulling out and spraying the cleft of Namjoon's ass with his release. 

As Namjoon lies against the table with his own release turning sticky and cold against his chest and belly, Yoongi slides out, pulling another shockwave and moan from him. He stays put as Yoongi cleans himself up, attempting to catch his breath, and Yoongi returns with a warm, wet paper towel and carefully wipes his mess from Namjoon, then Namjoon stands and takes the towel so he can clean his own mess from his abs.

Before he can bend and pull his pants up, Yoongi captures his face between both hands, humming into a kiss. "Did that feel good baby?" he has the audacity to ask, making Namjoon blush.

"You know it did," he mutters against Yoongi's lips, smacking a nice loud kiss against his lips before bending to dress himself. 

"We should make a habit of this," Yoongi says as he begins to strip the protective paper covering off the leather table and cover the surface with cleaning spray.

"Yeah?" Namjoon asks, feeling flowers burst and bloom behind his ribs, stretching tall and thriving under the warmth of Yoongi's sun. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says, setting down his spray bottle and approaching Namjoon for another kiss. "Let me take you out. You can stay at my place. We'll have the sweets you brought for breakfast in the morning. And then, we can do it over and over again. Sound good?"

Namjoon wraps his arms around Yoongi's waist, nuzzling the tips of their noses together. "Is this your way of asking me to be your boyfriend, hyung?"

Yoongi grins, cheeks turning a pretty hint of pink. "Will you? I know it's still really soon, but—"

"Of course I will," Namjoon says, cutting Yoongi off and punctuating with a kiss.

Yoongi smiles as they slot their lips together and groans into his mouth. He wraps his arms tightly around Namjoon's neck, and they kiss nice and slow as Namjoon savors Yoongi the way he deserves.  

"Good," Yoongi mutters as their lips part just enough to allow them to breathe in each other's air. "I'm already beginning to fall for you. I can't get enough."

With a deep, happy sigh, Namjoon pulls Yoongi tighter and nuzzles against his neck, inhaling his sweet musk and littering soft kisses against tattooed skin. 

"The feeling is mutual, hyung," he admits with his eyes closed and his heart so warm and full of affection. 

Namjoon never used to do impulsive. He was measured and intentional. Being impulsive felt terrifying. 

But standing in Yoongi's arms, accepting a proposition to jump into something new so quickly, Namjoon thinks he can find new ways of being measured and intentional without holding back. Impulsivity no longer feels terrifying in Yoongi's arms. It feels freeing. 

you have no idea how much i have missed these two, and how good it feels to finally get to wrap up this story. apologies for taking so long! the tail end of 2022 was a whirlwind.

please don’t be a silent reader! feedback & reblogs do so much to help content creators!

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Sun Seeker is copyright 2022 theharrowing, all rights reserved.

[verratensduo]

A drabble based on my rp with @the-silver-peahen-residence for Terry and Eren (I will try to reply to our threads soon I promise)

—-

Eren ran out onto the field with the rest of his little league team. One of Terry’s friends had to drop him off here, but Terry had promised to be there after his business meeting. He had promised to be sure that it did not run long or at least that it did not run overtime. Eren was excited to show his skills to Terry. The boy had been surprised how easy it was to get Terry to agree to little league soccer, but then again his anger management had been coming along great. So perhaps it had been to reward him.

Eren looked to the stands expectantly, but his heart sank. He couldn’t see Terry anywhere. He looked back to the field somewhat bitterly. He should have known, that stupid company took Terry’s time, even when Terry had promised it would be a day for them, they called him in. He didn’t know why he bothered getting his hopes up. He would just be playing soccer, and albeit with his friends, he had so badly wanted Terry to be there. For them to have something to share being proud of Eren over, yeah he did good in school, but that hardly made him proud. School was easy. He hardly struggled.

Sports on the other hand, those where hard. And Terry had missed his last two Karate tournaments. Two, and those were all day. He sighed and shook his head depressed. He better focus on the game. He could see the look on coach Hans’s face. The man knew how Eren had looked over there and for who. He gave him a thumbs up to let him know he could still play.

His friends Armin, Connie, Marco and well, his rival Jean were all counting on him. They where a few wins away from the play offs. Then they could very well be in the county finals. That would be exciting. But they had to win this first. A tie would not do. Nor would a loss, only a win for them qualified. Especially since their record would not justify a spot in the wild card tournament.

The instant the whistle sounded, Eren was game. He had learned to tone down his aggression a lot since he started playing, but he was neck and neck with the other team’s captain, the older Reiner Braun. The two where in some heated completion for the ball.

The two teams went back and forth, winding up tied at half time. Eren said nothing as he sipped his Gatorade and munched on his healthy snack.

“Eren get your head in this, we need to win, and you are our best goal kicker!” Jean hissed at him. “We only need one more goal to win!” Well that was easier said than done of course. But Jean was being Jean.

“Stick it horse face.” Eren said not looking up at him. He was still upset that Terry was not there. He definitely was not in the mood for Jean being Jean.

“Eren you should be nicer.” Marco chastised and then looked to Jean. “And you get off Eren. He is just having an off day. It happens to the best of us.”

That was when a new, yet familiar voice joined the fray.

“Come on Eren, a tie? I know you can play better than that.”

Eren’s eyes widened as he stood up and turned. Sure enough, there stood Terry, with their dog Ace on a leash. When had he gotten there?

“Terry!” Eren ran to him and hugged him after Terry picked him up and spun him around. “When did you get here?”

“Tail end of the half. Sorry kid, stopped at home to change and Ace just had to come, then the dang car broke down on the way here. So we had to run the rest of the way.” Okay that last part was a lie. He had to stop and become Batman and stop a crime real quick, but Eren was still important, so he made it there on time. “Now, I know the field sides have changed, going downfield gives you the advantage. Get back out there and show them who Eren is.”

Eren nodded. “Yes Terry, can we get Ice Cream in the way home?” The boy asked as he looked up at him.

“Of course. Wouldn’t be a sports day without it.” Terry nodded and ruffled Eren’s hair.

“With sprinkles?”

“Only if you win kiddo. Sprinkles are for winners.” Terry knew it would give Eren the extra motivation he needed to win.

“Then sit back and watch me get three goals!” Eren declared and hurried back onto the field.

Ace then looked up at Terry with a whine.

“I know Ace, but I believe in Eren. He is a good boy, and excellent soccer player.” Terry assured the dog and petted him as he watched Eren take the field and lead the charge. With any luck, he would owe the boy ice cream with sprinkles soon.

[packernet]

New Post has been published on https://www.packernet.com/blog/2024/10/20/packers-win-a-thriller/

Packers win a thriller

The Green Bay Packers did the unthinkable today. They won a game with a game-winning field goal. I’m not joshing you. New Packers kicker Brandon McManus kicked the game-winner as time expired giving the Packers a huge 24-22 win. It’s not often you win a game when committing three turnovers and have eight penalties, but somehow the Packers did just that.

It was by no means a thing of beauty. Jordan Love took over the league interception lead from Will Levis, throwing two more to give him eight on the season. And despite the McManus game-winner and punter Daniel Whelan having a wale of a game, special teams committed two huge gaffes again, three if you count the holding on the opening kickoff costing them 28 yards.

The worst was the stupid decision by Keisean Nixon letting a punt drop inside the ten with a sea of Packers around it. There was no way for it not to hit one of them. Then after Jayden Reed replaced Nixon on the next punt he caught it at the goal line and got tackled inside the ten. I will say this, this happened right in front of me if the guy doesn’t make a shoestring tackle it was clear sailing for Reed.

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Love looking more and more like four

I’m not sure what is going on with Love but these wild throws he’s starting to make need to stop. Two more ugly interceptions today cost the Packers dearly. If not for the new and improved defense this would have been a loss and it would. have been all on Love’s shoulders. Like Brett Favre, however, he came back and led the game winning drive after a huge stop by the defense gave the Packers a chance to win it with a field goal.

Two of Love’s TD passes were things of beauty to tight end Tucker Kraft and Dontayvion Wicks. The other was only an eight yarder but it was a thing of beauty to Josh Jacobs, who had never caught a touchdown pass before. Other than the two interceptions Love is looking more and more like the he did at the end of last season

Defense was awesome again

The Packers’ defense continues to get better under new coordinator Jeff Hafley. The last two weeks they completely shut down two very talented quarterbacks in Kyler Murray and C.J. Stroud. They held the NFL’s fourth ranked passing game to 55 yards passing. That’s not a joke. The defense made stop after stop even while being on the field most of the second half. And they did it without a turnover so we can put that question to bed.

It was a great game to be at and keeps the Packers within striking distance of the NFC North lead. The Lions beat the Vikings today they now lead the division at 6-1.

Here was my view of the game-winner:  Lambeau Goes Wild

[lbsports32]

LB sports Blog week one

Today here on my blog I will discussing the start of the NFL season this week the first two games were very closing and interesting one of them you consider it and say it was controversial. The NFL season kicked off on Thursday with the reigning champs, the Kansas City Chiefs faced off against the Baltimore Ravens. The Game intense and very close. Before the game started there was altercation between Travis Kelce and the raven’s kicker Justin Tucker. But after that it got quicker separated the ravens and chiefs were going back and forth both getting touchdown’s left and right Patrick Mahomes and Lamar Jackson both having fantastic games both quarterbacks will be fighting for the MVP this season. After all that in the fourth quarter the Chiefs scored a touchdown to make the score 27-20. But with a couple of minutes left the ravens get the ball Lamar Jackson gets the near the end zone. But once ravens get to the goal line. There was much time left on the clock for the game. So, the ravens go for one more snap and Lamar throws the ball at the end zone and the receiver for a touchdown. The thing was though the touchdown did not count simply because the receiver did not keep his toe in the end zone by inch and it was very unfortunate, and many fans were very upset at the fact that they did not give the ravens the touchdown. Also the Eagles played the Green Bay Packers on Friday for the first game ever in Brazil. It took place in Sao Paulo. The Eagles Ended up winning 23-19 at Jalen Hurts had a decent game for the eagles. But Unfortunately Jordan Love got injured in the last play of the game for the Green Bay Packers and it looks like will be out for 3 to 6 weeks.

[bearpillowmonster]

Today's got me all twisted up. So about a week ago, I learned that someone stole my Best Buy account and was buying and picking stuff up at Best Buys around Northern US. I had to shut it down and get a new credit card and dispute the transactions. Luckily, it didn't reach my bank, it was a credit card that I had on there but I go on Paypal today (which should be entirely unconnected) and see that there's a new billing address. I look it up and it's this dinky little house in Alabama. How would that get there? So now I have to figure out if someone got into that too.

Over the weekend, my sister went to a mall with my grandma and I've made previous posts about her but this is on a little bit of a different level. She's reflecting her husband's personality and adopting his habits, she's nothing like the way I remember her. This is coming from my sister who makes stuff up but the stuff she says seems to make sense in this context.

I'm gonna pop a spoiler here because I want it known that I don't want chastised for this, critique it all you want but please respect my opinion.

When I was a kid, my family made their best effort not to cuss, my grandpa, grandma, mom, even uncle, nobody did no such thing around me as far as I remember. I think my stepdad was the one that made me aware of a lot of them when I got past double digits. Cuss words exist, I get it, they probably said things that I've never heard, I'm sure everyone has and I see different family dynamics where they use cuss words and that's their family but for my little old grandma to suddenly come out and start cussing after years of my mom not even hearing it when she was a kid? Let alone in front of my siblings? It's not like her, it's not what she's doing, it's that she only does this because that's what her husband does.

The big kicker is that (I don't even know what brought it up) but she doesn't consider herself religious now?? You gave up religion for your alcoholic husband? She responded with "I have to believe it to see it."

She's someone that took me to her church before, she's well known there. She used to go on Wednesdays and Saturdays (catholic I guess) and participated in those dinners they held and would donate to them. And suddenly someone comes along and says they don't believe in that and you drop everything? I actually don't know what he believes because he's a drunk but I can't imagine it's much more than her from what I've seen.

Then the little remarks "Me and your mom are going to listen to each other from now on." And do what? When? And my sister actually pointed this out to her "That lasted real long." It's almost like she's trying to win the favor of these kids but also not really trying. "I'm not going to go to the beach for a whole year." way to to applaud a fish for swimming but what's the end game? You didn't clarify a reason so it doesn't count and you know that's not going to happen so why promise it? It's not like she'd use that time with us anyways. And she asks everyone "Are you coming over for Thanksgiving?" That was never a question before, it was a given, the only question was "what time?" but this time, she asked everyone individually, it's like she knows that something's different and honestly I'm not sure if she cares one way or the other.

But one thing hasn't changed, she loves to complain, loves to gossip, even does so to my sister about a bartender she's apparently friends with enough to babysit her dogs. But the problem with this is that, that's all she does. There's no break in between, there's no nice thing said to break pace or crack a joke like my own household does but she literally lives for its toxicity. So why is she still with these people? My sister actually asked this and her response was "Because he needs me."

Like what favor are you doing babysitting alcoholics, you're not helping them get better, you're just along for the ride, the drama, I know, I've been there, I dated someone who did similar things, my own sister does it, it must just be a girl thing, I don't know. "I'll leave if he drinks again." like I've heard for the past 4 years where he inevitably does drink again either in secret or a week later when he's in the hospital and can't move and nothing is done about it. If he was trying, I'd understand, addiction is horrible, but he's not.

But this is a lot to blame on one person because I think it's actually more than that now that I've had a day to process. I saw my uncle at the gas station, truck mirror still busted up from years ago (it's not an old truck either) facial hair all over his face (he'd never grow it out) hasn't been heard from in a while (not that I really blame him) and he walks out with a case of beer. He's probably a heavy alcoholic now too, it just looks like he's been letting himself go just like everyone else around me.

And really, I imagine it's because he's alone. He talks about this mysterious "Sean" that I've never even seen, every time I see him, he mentions his kids birthday parties, camping trips, fishing, everything you could think of. I went on "Sean"'s Facebook page, curious one day and there's not one picture of them together.

You see after my grandpa died, I remember my mom asking about her stopping going to church because it seemed out of the blue and she said that "he was more catholic than I was" or something along those lines and those spaghetti dinners and donations and participation and friends, stopped, she stopped them over time, little by little. Now, I'm not going to be hypocritical here, I don't really do those things, not necessarily because I don't want to but because I haven't found my place in world yet and she seemed to have it right on her lap.

My uncle also participated in this, he was right along side my grandparents but once she was out, so was he, he too lost his place because then everyone associates him with his mother despite going to church longer than she was, he might even still be going, like I said, I barely see him, he's an uncle but it didn't always used to be that way.

To hear that my grandma said that just really sets it in because I don't know what to do. She put herself in this situation and she acts like she enjoys hating it. I don't want to give up on her but I keep asking that she be shown the light here, for her own sake. I believe that my grandpa is in heaven, doesn't she want to see him again? Or is she ashamed of what she's become and is avoiding him. What if I die and make it to heaven but find out she's not there. It's just a surreal feeling that I certainly don't want because no matter what problems we have here in mortality, they won't transcend into death.

And the other thing that bugs me is that everyone acts the same. Like it's just another thing. How is my mom, who showed me what religion is, not worried? How is my dad- well actually, I'm not sure he could do anything either, his lectures aren't always effective but I don't know if she thinks God somehow failed her because my grandpa wasn't cured of his disease but he sure lived longer than the doctors said he would and that's all I could've asked for. Time is time, I came to terms with that, I came to terms with the idea that he's no longer hurting, that's my reasoning, I've told her my reasoning and while it's one thing to lose a grandpa and another to lose a life long companion, she acts like she moves on so quickly but she doesn't let herself breathe which I've also told her. It just makes me re-evaluate the idea of family, how do you deal with people that you don't know anymore. (coming from someone who believes in change)

[leagueofleaguesff]

YAHOO STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED CASH LEAGUE 💸 💰 🤑

WEEK 1 STANDINGS:

👁 Let's Look At Some Week 1 League Stats 👁

Yahoo breakdown of each premier week matchup below: 👁

Johnny 💲 Oliver

The narrowest win/loss margin of week 1

Kirk Cousins was the 3rd highest scoring QB of week 1 (Oliver)

Calvin Ridley was just outside the top 10 WRs in fantasy scoring in week 1. This is due to the surprise Jets punt return to end week 1, a return man squeaked in the ranks because of return yards scoring. (Johnny)

Despite a pretty good rookie debut, Bijon ended up outside the top 10 RBs for scoring (but top 15) -Johnny

Taysom Hill play by Johnny did not net much (only .40 points) but as bad as this was, another matchup had a worst TE scoring letdown.

Gano scored negative points which almost closed the gap enough for Oliver to close in. Thankfully Lamb did enough to offset.

The matchup ended on Sunday night as both Johnny and Oliver had no MNF players.

Watson did decent but barely. Olivers play of Cousins outscored in that category. Not only that, his bench QB (Russell) also outscored Watson smh. Good thing Johhny DIDN'T play Danny Dimes...he scored a measly 8 points in his season debut clobbering of Giants VS Cowboys on SNF. It was so bad, Johnnys bench RB Cam Akers even outscored him *shame*

In a curious move, Oliver benched Hopkins. He ended up scoring 2 more points than Godwin in his slot but he STILL would have lost by 1 point. With Andrews out, Oliver played kmet. No matter who he played, it would have been an excruciating close loss.

Jacobs in the Flex, Barkley in RB slot, & Godwin in the WR spot all scored just 8 points for Oliver. In this case, 8 ain't great.

Both Owners were winners in the CORE 4 last year. Oliver won in ILL-FL 🏆 while Johnny won in this very cash league 💸

Jermaine 💵 Demetri

Jermaine had both Ekeler AND Breece‼️This resulted in the Yahoo Cash League Commish to have 2 of the top 5 RB scorers of week 1 on his team 👀 (Ekeler 2nd & Breece 4th top RB scoring placement)

Combined, Breece & Ekeler scored about 68 points total just in Jermaines RB starting slots.

In an ironic twist, Diggs was the 7th highest scorer in fantasy points behind a WR (returner Gibson of the Jets) who's top score propelled the Jets in a overtime win despite Rodgers being out - for the year. The twist....Garrett was not even in the top 20 in fantasy scoring with A-Rod out of the game. That in itself may have cost Demetri the win. If only he had the hindsight to pick up a 5th string WR (I kid 😆)

Demetri had the lowest scoring squad of week 1

Among the many week 1 wonkyness, Patrick Mahomes finished below his projected points AND just outside the top 10 of QB scorers (11th). Rookie Richardson and Russell actually scored more. This didn't effect Jermaines winning outcome.

Per graph, the only lead Demetri had was the early Sunday games (for a brief time) until Jermaines team took off.

In summary, the Demetri loss could have been a win if not for the unfortunate Rodgers injury. Reaching and banking on the hype train, that costly tackle had ripple effects not only with the Jets - but the whole division and fantasy players as well.

Double jeopardy for Demetri... Dobbins also OUT FOR THE SEASON just exacerbated the doom n gloom of week 1 yuckiness.

Speaking of RBs, Demetri had Hunter Henry TE on his bench scoring 14. That's double Engrams output and almost the same amount of his 2 rbs combined (Dobbins 10/ Najee 4.9).

Demetri is currently in last place in week 1, but his brother (a new Comer to this league and thankful last minute replacement) has taken the exact opposite rank.

Taurean 💸 Laura

Lady Laura (as dubbed by T) barely wins against Taurean. We know this as you read in the recap pic below, her kicker Tyler Bass made it on her top player comparison smh. Then again, every position/every point counts. Kickers do put the 🦶 in 🏉 (Laura)

Taurean had the highest scoring player on either side of the contest. Trevor scored 34 pts which Laura's starting RBs and WRs had to combine to even match his sole score‼️So how da hell did she win⁉️ (Taurean)

Drake London had only one target all game. Are the falcons just that run heavy? Did the game dictate the offense? Are the Falcons hiding Desmond Ridder from the masses as a bust? Time will tell. But this left T with a big fat zero on his starting WR slot. This was just the beginning of the end. (Taurean)

Although Laura had to have both WRs combine totals for a double digit score, Taurean did have AJ Brown go past 10 (11.80 to be exact). Names like London, Cooper, Brown, and Deebo should not have scored this under projections. Could be just the slow start to the season. Typically the Defenses have the advantage early in the season while offense (new ones especially) take time to gel and sync thier timing.

Taurean had good performances from his RBs Pollard and Stevenson. Ironically it would be Pollards former teammate Zeek who would take some snaps (and thus potential points) from Ramandre, capping his output. What a twist. (Taurean)

Taureans Flex & TE had a combined score of 10 - the same as his kicker BUT the defense score couldn't match at a disappointing 9.5 points.

Laura's TE / Flex combo faired worst but she made up huge with the last minute save from her Jets defense (and special teams especially). The return yards or scores can play huge dividends. It was the deciding factor that propelled her to victory. (Laura)

At the end, it was huge outcomes like Trevor Lawrence that kept T in play but the big outcome at the end (Laura's Jets Def) that put the game away.

Delmar 💰 Omar

First and foremost, Delmar had Burrow who only threw for 82 yards total for the game. Needless to say, he was at a deficit from the start. I'm surprised he managed 10 points.

Making matter worst, Delmar had Higgins who scored a whopping 0 points 😔

To add salt to Delmars wounds, Swift scored him under a full point. At this juncture, Delmar, as the early afternoon games went on, Omar pulled away.

Even if Delmar played his higher scoring bench players (Zay Flowers & Goff), he still would have lost by a considerable margin.

What can we say about Omar's team? Tyreek Hill. He almost single handedly won the matchup for him 🤯

Even with Delmar playing all his highest scoring players...he would be about 25-35 points in deficit.

A cool note: Omar's Herbert AND Stafford (on his bench) scored 37 almost to the percentile.

Omar led the entire time in this matchup starting with AmonRa on TNF opener...he never looked back.

Delmar did have Aiyuk who went off. Normally his stat line (139 yards and 2 TDs) would be the top scoring WR. Was still good for 3rd behind Shaheed from the Saints (because of his 116 return yards... 👀 the reoccurring theme here?). Of course Tyreek was the top WR in fantasy and 2nd player overall behind his QB Tua.

Carla 🤑 Slick

Both Slick & Carla played top tier QBs in Hurts and Allen respectively. Both QBs produced but not to expectations/projected points. Regardless, each QB scored almost identical points (26).

Carla's Dionte ended up hurt resulting in only 6pts. Thankfully for her, Slicks WRs both had 6pts themselves. He other play of Jefferson more than made up the difference.

Even when you take into account the Flex plays by each, Sutton (while serviceable) was behind the rookie Addison in points. The 1st yr Addison ended up with a TD making Carla's lead that much more significant.

Yes folks you read that correctly, Carla has both Addison and Jefferson.

Let's also include Hockenson to boot, Carla's Viking stack strategy might be the hidden strategy to success. *Play the skol horn*

For Slick, Chase came up short big time but the RB sensation Bijan seems to be a great pick up. Sporting 2 rookies, Gibbs scored only half of his counterpart Bijan in his debut.

Rickys team simply underwhelmed mostly from a group perspective.

Slick too was dealt with the dreaded goose egg from Goedert which added onto his troubles.

Slick failed to even cross the 3 digit (100) mark for his total team score.

Weird note: Sam Howell (rookie for Commanders) on Ricky's bench ended up scoring more fantasy points than Allen & Hurts.

Carla had this won with Travis E who amassed over 100 scrimmage yards netting her a nice 20 point box score.

Papakess 🪙 New Guy

We finally got to meet PapaKess at the draft over Slick & Julia's crib. Definitely a tough opponent.

Jermaine secured a final 12th place player. That player is none other than Demetrius brother. Anthony is already is already making his mark.

While Anthony is in first place already, his brother a longstanding competitor Demetri is in last place. Oh the irony 😱

This specific matchup was the biggest beat down of week 1.

Papakess lost despite having the top fantasy scorer of any position. Tua had nearly 62 points. Tua alone made up nearly 45% of Shawn's total roster points.

Papakess RBs both gained decent points scoring over 40 points combined between Chubb & Henry. Unfortunately, the WRs had the other side of the spectrum with only 5 points combined 😕 (Lockett & Cooks)

Anthony's RBs outpaced Shawn's because.... CMC AND Aaron Jones sheesh‼️This combo alone scored 79 points.

Anthony's WRs both came thru huge as Olave and Devonte. In fact, his whole squad did. Aside the kicker, his whole team scored double digit plus. Kittle was the lone exception.

Anthony's Dallas Defense shutting out the Gmen net his team 55 points alone. With the top scoring defense of week 1 vs the top scoring QB/fantasy player overall, this is an unexpected outcome.

That the end of the recaps. Enjoy the games and good luck to all in week 2 ✌️

[theofficefantasyfootball]

WEEK 1 - Wrap Up

HANG IN THERE!!!!

Guys, welcome to week 1 of the 2023 season! It's going to be a great year...I can feel it! Just like the video above..we are going to spend the next 14 weeks finding out who can hang on and make it to the playoffs and then...survive all the way to the championship game. I know some of you take fantasy football more serious than others. Personally, I feel those that don't spend at least 6 hours a week on fantasy strategy and team maintenance don't deserve a place in the final 3 weeks but that's not up to me. If it were up to me I would dedicate my entire week 24/7 to this shit. But, I have bills to pay and responsibilities, so I have to limit it to 20-24 hours a week. Anyway, good luck to everyone...I'm so glad we are back!

BACKDOOR BANDITS vs LONG LEFT BALLERS

Pretty sure on this one Kyle was hoping for more than 6.56 points out of his QB, Lamar Jackson...but he also probably didn't count on Nick Folk (Bebo's Titan Kicker) throwing up 18. Whatever the expectations were - this was the first match up of the year to end on Sunday and Bebo took the win 86 to 77. Knowing Kyle he will say his internet connection was funky and he meant to put Derek Carr in for Lamar and blame the whole loss on me...but no matter what is said or not said - Bebo get's the W and Kyle get's the L. Nice win Bebo...1-0 has to feel pretty good for a guy who still owes his fantasy fees.

HOWARD vs FUNK GUY

(this paragraph was written before the ending)

Ummm...Funk Guy beat Howard. Also, Funk Guy only had 62.90 points. WHAAAAAT? Things that contributed to Dana's win and Howard's loss? Well for Howard it was Joe Burrow with 3.18 points, Dallas Goedert with ZERO, Chase with 4.10 and Swift with .30. Pretty rough first week. For Dana, the Jacksonville Jaguars putting up 15 and Jalen Hurts squeaking out 14.50 was enough for him to put together a winning week. Congrats Dana. It's always good to beat a 3 time champion to start out the season.

(this is the correct ending)

Howard Wins. Jets defense...did it all. Sorry Dana!

LANAKILA vs TuPADRE

In the first game for the new Gullahorn "father/son" collaboration era - Lanakila said "No. Two is not better than 1 returning champion". Going into the night - Cliff was finished and had 103.44. The Gullahorns had 89.56 and Kicker Tyler Bass still to play...so they needed 14 from their kicker. Why were they in this position? Because Higgins (WR Cincinnati) decided to not get any points because the Bengals played like ass on Sunday and costs the commissioner $25 on fanduel. But, nonetheless - on Monday night - the Gully's did have a chance and came very close...they just came up a wee bit short. Congrats Cliff...could this be a back to back season with the trophy?

MOOSES ON THE LOOSES vs TRADE WITH ME

Just what everyone wanted to see...the Moose grabbing a win in week 1. Brett, what the hell! We all had such high hopes for you. You had one job - to beat Mitch and you let us all down! Personally, I feel like Mitch is still pissed about not getting his way on the PPR or 1/2 PPR or whatever he was selling and so now he is going to go off and have a 13 game winning streak (losing to Malik my Balls of course). Brett had a rough go of it from Daniel Jones, Renfrow, Waller and Giants Defense...while the Moose killed it with the nicest QB in the league Kirk Cousins, Aaron Jones, Tony Pollard and David Montgomery. Nice win Mitch. Going into MNF you do have high point - and if it hits I will pay out immediately!

BOOMER SOONER vs MR AWESOME

Well, this one was a bit of a nail biter. Gabe, aka Mr Awesome had his score locked in at 101.52 - no more players to play. Stu Jones only had 65.22 but had Dalvin Cook, Garrett Wilson and Stefon Diggs to play in the MNF match up. So he needed 36.3 from 3 pretty great players. Projections had Stu only putting up 93 points but as it is with MNF anything can happen. As the night went on...it became more and more obvious that without Aaron Rodgers - Wilson and Cook were not going to be able to help Stu enough. But thanks to overtime...Stu pulled it out by less than 1 point! .20 margin...he wins. Sorry Gabe...I guess your autodraft mid draft wasn't the play :)

MALIK MY BALLS vs TREE HUGGERS

And, yes...i found myself just trying to stay alive in week 1 on Monday Night. With a new name and a new team...I worked so hard to make sure I had the right line up....but in the minutes leading up to the first game - I made a big mistake by changing my line up. I pulled Mostert and put in Deon Jackson (INDY RB) because the "experts" said he was going to be the lone back and get tons of carries. They were right he did get a ton of carries, but he fumbled most of them and ended up with negative points. Going into MNF - Tree Huggers was up 12 points with Bills Defense still to play. I had Josh Allen left and was just hoping that he showed up and had an epic night...but he really didn't. Throwing 3 interceptions and not looking like the dominating Josh Allen of the past...coupled with Aaron Rodgers going down....and the Jets not scoring...the Bills Defense held their points and I just couldn't catch Scott. I lose! It's sucks. But of course I am happy for Scott. Of course I am.

SURVIVOR

Yep. Everyone moves on but me. I see all the picks...try to make my own picks and not be influenced...and then I always lose. Vikings can suck it. Breen OUT!

CHEERLEADER OF THE WEEK

First Cheerleader of the year is Melissa from the 49ers. She is a 6 year veteran to the squad...so she knows what the hell she is doing. When she shows up on game day she isn't still trying to learn her routines if you know what I mean. Since the 49ers were so great this week she was the perfect choice for week 1 Cheerleader of the Week. Let's go!

[orleans-jester]

cryptid-killjoy​:

“Good point. These people needed to get their whittling on.” He laughed. “What was wrong with these people.” He shook his head at the room shaming it as they went on. 

Pleasing him was Thomas’s favorite hobby? Could the man get anymore complimentary today? Could no casual conversation go by without? Flotsam was beginning wonder even as much as it kept him fawning. It also made him wonder if his own hobbies fell boring if they weren’t all wrapped about his lover. Though he had written songs, a poem, and created artful projects for Thomas before the thought was still in there. Did he do enough? 

Flotsam got swept up in a humorous kiss after his Blarney Stone kiss quite unexpectedly while wiping off his lips and admittedly that part was worth all the trouble. He’d have climbed all hundred whatever steps, stood in line, and dusted the attendant, wrenched himself upside down, and risked communal herpes all over again just to share in that silly moment. Boy oh boy. Why did he love that man’s kisses so much? Even ones with babies squashed between and in an attempt to unburden chapstick from Blarney Stone’s strangers. It left Flotsam grinning anyhow. 

A black parasol indeed, nice and frilly, that’s how Flotsam envisioned it. It would stay on his mind long after the visit to be sure. He was having prim and proper time imaging himself strolling along this way. 

As for the murder hole, “Oh, I might have. Me and Jet have lured the ol’ Tick Tock around a few slimey places, not to mention a few others. Medusa really should keep better eye on her so called pets.” 

Then by the time he’d gathered all the poisonous plants and ended up in his laughing fit over the weed under the jungle gym Thomas had started chuckling a bit too. “It feels more like come play on the weed playground to me, not stay off.” He was shaking his head too. The only reason he didn’t bother stealing any of it was he didn’t need to. Weed was too easily accessed elsewhere. He wasn’t a desperate teenager that needed to. He stuck to some of the rarer to find plants that are harder to find seeds for so that he could keep up with his own apothecary closet. 

Then back to the ocean they would go. 

“I’m sure I can find something to make a pole for you around the house if they don’t have any around.  I’ve even made me some pretty clever reels. There’s bound to be the makings of nautical stuff at an ocean side dwelling. The kicker is always finding something tough enough for line though. That could be a downfall.” Then out of curiosity he asked, “You ever done any trapping or net fishing, Sailor?” Then he gave Thomas a cute little bump at the hip when he called him Sailor just because he still liked remembering that first boat date, just like earlier when he called him Captain. “Like from a boat? Shrimping? Or Lobster trapping? Or maybe tuna netting? Been on any boats for that? Did you ever go on a giant river boat? One of them fancy ones with the dinner cruises where they serve you dinner and have those balls and everything? Or just like sailing boats? Or what? Not counting pontoon boats and stuff. I figure everyone who’s lived on the ol’ Mississippi been on one of those or little speed boat.” 

Then they got in the car and drove on back to the rental - back to the ocean, but not before Flotsam’s long inked arm pointed out a brewery called Elbow Lane and made Thomas stop to get dinner there on the way home. 

“Oh, let’s pick up there and take it back home. There.” His arm would keep pointing so Thomas wouldn’t miss it. He was very sure that’s where he wanted to eat for dinner. Why? “I saw a guy at the castle with a tee shirt on of the place and it had an octopus with an eye patch on it.”  Plain and simple only reason he wanted to try the place. The octopus for the win to Flotsam every time. He’d look up the menu on his phone and  they could easily order up and wait in the car until it was ready to run in and pick it up. 

When they would get back to the ocean Flotsam looked at his list of things to do in Ireland he looked up on the plane in an attempt to find something interesting to do. 

“Kiss the Blarney Stone - Check. First family crime, steal from The Poison Garden - Check.  Added bonus became a distraction for zombie dust toss.  I’m so proud of the kids. Oh, and you too of course, love. What should we do tomorrow?”

“Boring people,” Thomas tutted. “No creativity in those days.”

Could Thomas get more complimentary? Of course he would. But he didn’t want to overdo it. A couple of times in every conversation didn’t feel like it was too much. He didn’t want his words to lose meaning. But oh yes, he could definitely bring more to the table, pile up on the compliments until it broke under the weight. But he didn’t ask for anything in return. Just the love right back. Just the chance to hold his husband at night, to wear the wedding ring. He loved every gift that he received and felt like a lucky  man for each and every one - the thought of it not being enough never occurred to him. He’d reject that notion outright.

The chopstick felt filmy, and it took a good couple of swipes to get it off but he wasn’t going to let Flotsam suffer alone. That wasn’t his kinda love. He was grinning too, not a regret in the world, despite feeling he just went through one of those social media ‘100 layers of-’ challenges.

The mention of Medusa reminded him suddenly of how much Hook had wanted to talk to him. Thomas didn’t necessarily have anything against the guy but there was something humorous about making the pirate wait. Blame the Laveau influence, making people antsy for their entertainment was growing on him indeed. He gave a chuckle, thinking of Hook just waiting at the pub, scratching a tally chart of how many days he’d been waiting to talk to them in one of the tables with the edge of his hook.

“Were I a teenager at this moment, there’s no way that I would be able to resist that. It’s like the old trap, put something wonderful under a box and trap the person under it. I’d get caught easy, hands down,” He said, having to take his phone out and snap a picture of it, just to laugh more about later, or show the kids if they weren’t watching at this very moment.

“A little branch and some string?” Thomas asked, another laugh on the tip his tongue as he thought about it. “I’d probably be better off making a little spear and stabbing them when they swim around.” Then there was the thought of slipping on the slick rocks that were underneath the surface so maybe neither of those were the best idea right now. He wrapped an arm around Flotsam after the nudge as they were heading back to the car, just having this feeling of wanting him close as they spoke about adventurous things. “I tried my hand at it once but my sealegs are almost as bad as my land legs. Give me a little rowboat and a fishing pole over something large anyday,” He said, feeling a lot more calm and settled these days. He could picture himself being like Alfalfa, singing a bad rendition of You Are So Beautiful, to Flotsam sitting pretty under a black parasol. He’d take that over the crashing waves of crabfishing.

Thomas already turned the blinker on before he saw where Flotsam was pointing. Where Flotsam wanted to go, that’s where they would go. No second thoughts, no questions about it. But he was pleased and definitely saw why it caught Flotsam’s attention as they pulled in. They ordered up some brews - lager, ale, and the award winning Weisse, fish of the day because the conversations had him wanting something fresh, something good. No regrets with pulling over here, no regrets with ordering what they did. Even picked up a t-shirt for Flotsam when he walked in to pick up the food, gifting it to him with a grin and a wink.

It might have been all gray skies but Thomas set them up so they were eating by the sea, a comforter set out and held down by stones so they could enjoy looking at the water as they ate. Wind wasn’t too bad neither. Didn’t send the food flying off everywhere which was good. Didn’t even have to take the babes out of their carseats, they were snoozing, seeing perfectly content in there.

He leaned his chin on Flotsam’s shoulder, a very light little flush when he heard Flotsam say that he was proud of him. It was words like that which meant the most, better than any physical compliment that could be given. He really loved the way that he felt when bestowed with those words from his husband - like he could do anything, take on the world. “Thanks, love,” He said, looking at the list.

“I was thinking we could take the passenger boat over to Skellig Michael,” Thomas said, his cheek naturally nuzzling into Flotsam’s from this position. He smirked, about to show off some of his nerdy knowledge about something other than Lord of the Rings for once. “Or maybe I should call it ... Ahch-To, birthplace of the Jedi.”

It was only a filming location of course but it looked like it had some terrific hikes. He could strap two of the pups onto himself and make it through alright, as long as he focused on his footing. It was a pretty exclusive tourist attraction, with it only being accessible on nice days, so Thomas had been keeping an eye on the local weather reports.

After a lovely evening with his husband, lovely. Lovely. Flotsam's mind started to realize a part of them was always Valerie and just like parts of Flo remained in Val, Val's manner of speech/thinking was still in Flo. He did. He had a god damn lovely evening with his husband before packing for Ireland. Now he remembered why he missed having a dick though. How lucky was he to experience his handsome husband every way possible?

He woke in a good mood. Even going back to bottle mode didn't feel as intense as it did the first time now that he'd gotten to switch back and forth. There was a safe feeling in knowing all he had to do was take off the necklace if Valerie really needed to. All Flo's little secret fears and true wishes were out of the bag so to say and Thomas and his wolf helped put Flo at ease there too. Halloweening was on the list of to dos. So Flo wasn't freaking out. Everything was going to be okay no matter where in the world they were. He still wanted to get away after all he'd learned of himself in the middle of what else had been stressing him. So he was back to escapism mode with the vacation wanting to get away, but really, it wasn't so heavy anymore. Thomas was still being the fix it guy for him and all it took was a conversation he never wanted to have.

The first thing Flotsam did was start to write a list of things he wanted to do before leaving Ireland. Order mattered not. He found the basics, as far as basics go for him. He isn't the sort to want to tour every damn castle in Ireland or anywhere else in Europe. But, Blarney Castle he'd go for.

"Babe. So fair warning. I'm taking the kids to carry out their first felony. We will accomplish a family heist at the Blarney Castle and steal plants from the Poison Garden. Goals. I have them."

Go to Blarney Castle

Kiss the Blarney stone

Steal plants from the Poison Garden

The Northern Lights

See The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Grand Opera House in Belfast ((because it has to be fate that's playing while they're there))

The National Leprechaun Museum

Titanic Museum

Goals indeed. "Northern lights. Pretty sure there's somewhere in Ireland you can see them. I so wished you were there when I got to go to Alaska. I wished it the whole time we were staring at the sky. Not that I told anyone this back then because I was still in young crush me who refuses to tell anyone I like you in that wayish. But, we can see them in Ireland too. Even better. Your green world. Meant to be. Has to happen."

He was googling things on their way there, in parking lots, in lines, sitting around waiting for flights, all those boring moments he took his moment to play tourist. He spoke as they were on their way to the rental.

"Rocky Horror is playing at the Grand Opera House. Feels like an authentic Irish experience to me." He laughed having a hard time picturing Rocky Horror being done with Irish accents and couldn't help not smiling. "Leprechaun museum for cheesy pictures with the kids and Titanic Museum for morbid pictures of us having fun taking end of ship movie photos at what's essentially a memorial of dead people's things drudged up from bottom of the ocean, Captain. Gotta love capitalism." He said with his own cheesy grin.

He grinned over at him when he called him Captain remembering their date on the boat. He really liked that. "We should buy a boat. Also this is the last trip without Pippin. I'm getting her a damn plane for real. The one I would have ended up getting Chip. I halted on that because of his zombie-thing worried that maybe he shouldn't be flying around after all wings or not. But, Pip's still clear headed. If anything they can fly together and she can take over if he zombies out."

They were building an air strip out in Nola. It's all Feral now. They were probably never going back any how. Time to consider where to keep a private plane elsewhere.

When they finally pulled into the rental and Flotsam got to see where his escape was going to be he smiled. It felt like something Thomas would pick.

"Look at you giving us the real deal experience, Cap. This is so great. Perfect for all of us." He kept picturing him with the sea behind him. Something kept making his mind go back to that date. He remembered how Thomas looked with the blue waves of adventure behind him. But, he really did like the privacy there. With the triplets he liked their own space. He'd accept the maid service for the time being. Flo's one of those people who would rather do something himself than have people near him sometimes. So, it would be no wonder if he ever called them off or put a do not disturb on the property as a whole because fuck people. No maid outfit required for Thomas. It would probably weird Flo out if he did.

"Oh, you know what else I want to do at some point? Go to the rebel poet's pub. James Clarence Mangan. I don't know the name of it. But, I know it's in Ireland. I'll find it if I look it up. But, I heard he haunts a pub in Ireland. I'm going to find out if it's true." Leave it to Flotsam to want to go get autographs of dead celebrities, not live ones. "Maybe Leap Castle, but only because I know it's like one of the hauntedier ones and I would love to see the murder hole, but really. I don't need to see every castle in Ireland, ya feel me?"

Then right as he said ya feel me as he walking through the quaint style cottage of neutral colors he spotted the prize winner of the property. The ocean.

"Oh!"

It was ocean front property. Flotsam started to glow. He didn't need River's inner physical glow to see this beaming straight from the inside out. He stopped yick yacking and his whole face lit up.

"Oh my fucking a-hole. Look at that. Look what you did. We are sitting next to the ocean. Like... on purpose. We can just walk outside and it's... it's right there." He pointed out at it over top of the stroller he'd been pushing. "Right there." He jumped enough to where both feet came off the floor and knees rose waist high. His feet in those heavy kicks stamped back down. "Right there, Thomas. It's right there. Real ocean."

They didn't have to get into a car and drive there first, get the car and go home after, consider the light of day, or night, length of travel back for drying off, cleaning up, anything that beach brings on. It wasn't a lake shore. It wasn't a river's shore like on the old Mississippi. It wasn't a swamp. It was a real life ocean shore.

"Right. There." He kept pointing.

[homemade-ghosts]

Your Top 5 dasey moments :)))

First off, I’m really sorry if this ask is old, I haven’t been active on here in months. Secondly, how dare you. Top 5 Dasey moments per season I could do, maybe even top 5 episodes – but top 5 moments of the whole series? That is just cruel and unusual punishment…but since you asked with smiley faces, I’ll do my best. Also, it’s hard enough to pick moments without having to rank them, so I’m just going to list them in the order they happen in the series and, for the sake of my sanity, the movie doesn’t count here (I realize that’s kind of a cop out, but I feel like it’s somewhat fair since I made a whole post relating to Vacation with Derek way back when). 

Okay, now that I’m done being dramatic, on with the list!

“I like the sweaty look, chick’s dig it.” (1.04)

This is a small, “blink and you’ll miss it”-type flashback in an episode I don’t particularly like (it goes too hard on reinforcing binary gender roles — but hey, it was the mid-2000s and so did 99% of the other shows on TV at the time). Let me set the scene for you: Derek walks in as Casey is finishing her laundry, he’s visibly sweaty (having just finished playing basketball outside). He takes a towel, wipes his face and then purposefully shoves it in Casey’s face. When she’s (understandably) grossed out by this, Derek arches his shoulders toward Casey, as if he’s leaning in, to tell her, “I like the sweaty look, chick’s dig it.” She disagrees. Which is why, when Emily knocks on the door a second later, Derek opens it, puts on his best flirty smile and Emily, being Emily, is immediately lovestruck. Point proven. The real kicker here, at least for me, is the fact that not only does Derek give Casey an even more flirty smirk than he gave Emily, the girl he was actively trying to flirt with, immediately after proving his point,* but then he pinches Casey’s cheek. Like, takes the hand he’d just raked through his hair, reaches out and pinches her cheek as he leans towards her (again) and says her name in an almost babyish voice, before leaving.

* (aforementioned flirty smirk, for reference lol)

The point of this scene, I’m sure, was just to establish that Casey thinks Derek is gross and he only touched her face because he knew she’d be disgusted by the fact that his hand was all sweaty. What I saw, however, was Derek noticing that Casey wasn��t looking at him while we was doing his best “See? She thinks I’m hot. Change your mind yet?” smirk in her direction. So he gets in her face and touches her cheek, this way she has no choice but to pay attention to him. Their relationship is built on competition, after all and, for Derek, having Casey know that he’s won is more important than the actual act of winning itself. He can make as many jokes as he wants about how Casey ignoring him or not talking to him would be a dream come true, but in reality, he craves her attention and he’ll always go out of his way to get it. Plus, it’s another example of Derek “I don’t do PDA” Venturi making an effort to touch Casey when he doesn’t have to or need to. Typically, that means an arm over Casey’s shoulder or a hand on her back, this time he went for something a little less conventional.

    2. “What’s more interesting is why Amy’s dating you…” (3.23)

Oh, how I love this episode, let me count the ways (not really though, I could write a whole post on this ep alone, but this one is going to be long enough as it is). Casey’s in her room, practicing her routine for the next round of cheerleading tryouts, when she spins around to see Derek…standing in her doorway, just watching her dance. This is obviously intended to be a funny jump scare moment, nothing more — but all I could think was: how long had he been watching her? And isn’t it interesting how he went out of his way to laugh at her routine during the last round of tryouts (even though her routine was obviously good) when he was in a room full of other people, but now that no one else is around he’s content with just watching her dance? No smart remarks, no quips about how ridiculous she looks. They’re alone now, and for a moment, he lets the facade drop. He allows himself to be impressed, to notice how talented Casey is. A kind of silent admiration. 

What I really love though, is what comes next. Casey reminds him that, if he doesn’t want her to practice, he should take it up with his girlfriend. When he feigns confusion, Casey brings up Amy, the cheer captain who has it out for Casey because she thinks Casey “stole” Max from her and who also happens to be currently dating Derek. First, Casey suggests that Derek’s only dating Amy to annoy her. Interesting how Casey’s first thought when Derek gets a new girlfriend is that it must have something to do with her — they’re very invested in each other’s dating lives (for some reason…) and, in all fairness, Derek does have a history of dating girls solely because he knew it would piss Casey off (Emily, circa season 1). Then, after Derek tries to convince Casey that his reason for dating Amy has nothing to do with her (he does the exact opposite by saying that he’s going out with her because “cheerleader” is on his “list” of types of girls he wants to date…then, half a second later, he emphasizes the fact that Casey’s a cheerleader, too) Casey claims Amy is only dating him to “torment” her. And, I’m sorry, but why exactly is it torture to see Amy, someone the show goes out of its way to tell us is actually very similar to Casey, dating Derek? I mean, sure, Derek tells her a few embarrassing stories about Casey, but none of them are that bad and Amy never once comes over to the house — so really, all Casey has to deal with is seeing Amy and Derek together at school. Why would it bother Casey so much? Unless, of course, it was another reminder that Derek could date someone like her, but he could never date her.

     3. “So guess what? Things are about to get ugly.” “Bring it.” (4.04)

This is probably my favorite episode of the series and this moment, in particular, is a fun callback/parallel to the pilot. In the first episode, George and Nora force Casey and Derek to stay in the basement until they can decide, between the two of them, who should get the basement as their new bedroom. Immediately after their respective families leave the basement, Casey and Derek move from opposite sides of the room to circle one another. It’s supposed to give off a kind of “enemies preparing for battle” “I’m not backing down, I’ll get what I want” kind of vibe, but they don’t break eye contact and there’s tension where there should be actual dislike/hatred. In “March Break” Casey and Derek have not been forced into the same space. This time, they chose to be at home, alone, with each other while Nora, George and the kids go to Quebec (at least I think it was Quebec?) and when they do that same “circling each other” move, this time, they’re both smiling and leaning in as they move around one another. Casey tries her best to squint her eyes and appear tough, but you can see she’s smiling, Derek, meanwhile, doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. They can feign hatred for as long as they want, but ultimately they both know this is fun. Their relationship is a game. Who’s going to win and do they even care as long as they’re competing against each other?

 Also, I just love the way they lean in because it makes me feel like I’m in the middle of an enemies-to-lovers romcom, sitting there with my popcorn like, “when are they going to kiss already??”

     4. “Don’t cry on the upholstery.” (4.16)

I’ve heard people say that Truman is like the Derek that Casey can actually have and I see where they’re coming from — if Derek had no charisma, heart or charm. I hated him long before this episode, but this is his point of no return: where he kisses Casey’s cousin, in front of everyone, at a party he knows Casey is at. When Casey gets a front row seat to the kiss and asks Derek if they can go home, he doesn’t question it. He puts his hands on her shoulders and steers her away from the crowd to make sure that she’s okay. The second he finds out why she’s crying, he’s rightfully pissed and tells Truman, “no one should treat Casey that way” and that Truman should apologize to her and then never speak to her again. All of these are pretty shining moments for Derek, but my favorite one is right before they leave the party. Derek tells Vicky he’ll drop her off before he takes Casey home and then, very earnestly, he looks at Casey and jokes, “don’t cry on the upholstery.” He’s not making fun of her or trying to minimize what she’s going through, he could see how hurt she was and he just wanted her to smile, to soften the blow, if only for a minute. And Casey does, she smiles, genuinely, for the first time since they got to that stupid party. Derek returns her smile with one of his own. Just before the scene ends, as the 3 of them turn to leave the party, in another small gesture of comfort, you can see Derek with his hand gingerly on Casey’s back.

      5. I knew it was coming, you knew it was coming: “Same difference.” “Yeah, you’re right.” (4.18)

Is it really a list of “top 5 Dasey moments” if it doesn’t include the last scene (excluding the movie)? I don’t think so. I’m not sure there’s much I can say about it that hasn’t already been said, since this is the moment that people usually point to when they ask, “why do these two have so much chemistry??” even if they’ve never seen the show. There are two things I want to note before I get into the part of this scene with those iconic lines, however. 1. Derek is looking at the university catalog, picking out courses and joking about how he and Casey could live in the same dorm next year, which means, somewhere between finding out he and Casey were going to the same university and this scene, Derek had decided to call off his gap year in Europe and go straight to university with Casey. I just think that’s...interesting. 2. It’s hilarious that the show made such an effort to shoehorn poorly-written love interests for both of them (Emily for Derek, Truman for Casey) to go to prom with at the last minute (probably, in part, so they didn’t go to prom together for the second time) only to completely drop them in this final scene. Derek and Casey both talk to each other about the kinds of people they’re going to date when they get to university, making it clear that they both broke up with their significant others not long after graduation.

Okay, now onto That™ moment. I think everyone understands what the writers’ intention behind this scene was: for Casey and Derek to finally see each other as family, which is exactly why it’s so funny that, with the help of some great acting from Michael and Ashley, it comes off as the exact opposite of that. Derek was all smilies, joking about the different ways he and Casey were going to spend time together: saying he was just going to take all the same classes as her so he could steal her notes, that they were going to be best friends so she could introduce him to her sorority sisters — but the fun was over as soon as Casey says, “you’re the most annoying brother.” 

Of course Derek was kidding about the specifics, but there was also some part of him that maybe liked being able to imagine a life outside of this house, where they could spend time together without this label hanging over their heads. Tell people they were old friends from the same town and just…see what happens — but Casey, level-headed as ever, brought Derek back down to reality. Derek’s smile fades, replaced by something uncharacteristically serious when he corrects with, “step brother.” putting a heavy emphasis on that first syllable. When the camera pans back to Casey, she hesitates and her mouth screws up for just a second, trying to think of the right words before she settles on, “same difference.” Derek concedes, “Yeah, you’re right.” but it’s the way he says it, low and slow with a kind of sadness in his eyes. We see Casey’s reaction and she’s smiling, but there’s more to it. Her smile is tight and her eyes are kind of glassy, like she might cry. They look at each other for way too long, there’s an understanding there. It’s bittersweet. They know they’re closer than they’ve ever been and as close as they’ll ever get to be.

(Thank you for sending this ask and giving me a chance to be incredibly overdramatic about a sitcom ship from the mid-2000s, It was fun!)

[vendettaparker]

No Time To Die [P.P]

“Was I stupid to love you?

Was I reckless to help?

Was it obvious to everybody else

That I’d fallen for a lie?” - Billie Eilish (No Time To Die) 

Summary: After learning the horrifying secrets your family kept from you, you became what they feared the most. 

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Swearing, manipulation, fucked up morals, explicit character deaths, so much fucking angst, typos 

a/n: hey guys! so, incase you guys couldn’t tell already, i am a huge billie eilish fan. and her song No Time To Die is one of my favorites, so of course it gave me some fic inspiration. this fic can get pretty dark, so i highly advise reading with caution! i hope you enjoy and as always comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was strange, to say the least. Watching as your family cowered in fear of you. Oh, how they practically trembled when you rose from the rubble of the Tower, holding Fury’s head your hands like a trophy. 

They deserve this, you told yourself over and over again. Like a mantra constantly replaying in your head. They deserve this. They did this to themselves. Little by little, every rational and loving part of you chipped away and got lost in the breeze, leaving behind the hatred and bitterness that was clawing its way out of you. 

They deserve this.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Damn it!” Sam slammed his cards on the table as you laughed and collected your winnings; fourteen dollars and a ring pop, courtesy of Peter. 

“Sorry Sam,” you smiled, “you snooze, you lose.” 

“Are you sure mind-reading isn’t another one of your little tricks? It seems like you show us something new each day.” Steve chuckled, restacking the cards as you opened your ring pop and began sucking on it. 

You shrugged and popped the sucker out of your mouth, “Wouldn’t you like to know, sunny boy.” 

Peter nudged you, “Weather boy, babe, it’s weather boy.” 

You nodded, “Oh, right. Weather boy.” You smirked at Steve proudly. 

Steve look at Sam curiously while you and Peter fist-bumped. 

“I don’t even know,” Sam held his hands up in defense, “and I don’t even wanna know.” 

“Let’s play another round,” You suggested, already placing another dollar in the middle of the table. 

“I’d love to, kid,” Steve said, “but Fury’s here for the monthly meeting. We’ll play when we get back.” 

Sam and Steve stood up to leave, leaving you pouting on the couch. Every month, without fail, since Tony had adopted you, Fury had come by for a team meeting. Everyone always assured you that it was just boring formalities, but something always told you there was more to it than that. The team always acted differently when these meetings were about to happen. Tony, a man who hated any unnecessary work, even had carefully curated notes for these meetings, not that you’d ever seen them.

The real kicker was that you were never allowed to attend. You were always told you’d be bored, or that it was no place for little girls. 

It’s so boring, kiddo, Tony would say, I wanna blow my brains out every time I see that one-eyed cretin. 

“Okay,” You sighed, snuggling next to Peter, “I guess we’ll just watch a movie until you get back.” 

“Actually,” Sam frowned, hating what he had to do, “Peter is needed for this one.” 

“What?” You shot up, “That’s not fair! I’ve been on the team way longer than he has!” You cried, causing the lights in the room to short circuit and flicker. 

“Shhh, calm down, kid,” Steve hushed, looking up to the lights, “Fury just wants to talk to the kid is all. He already knows you, no need to get upset.” 

“But—” You looked helplessly at Peter, “I never get to go.” You said dejectedly, “You never let me go.” 

“One day, babe,” Peter said, giving you a kiss on the cheek, “just sit tight, I’ll try to leave early, m’kay?” 

You took a deep breath, willing the lights to return to normal, “Okay,” You sighed, “I’ll just be in my room, I guess.” 

Peter frowned when he heard the crack in your voice and reached out to hold you, but you’d already slipped past him, down the long hall into your room. 

“You know,” Sam said, a statement not a question. 

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “but that doesn’t mean I agree with it.” 

“You might after this meeting.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Nice of you to finally join us, Parker,” Fury said as the boys finally walked in, “from what I hear, you’ve learned the truth about (Y/N).” 

Peter nodded, “Yes sir, but I—”

“Save it,” Fury cut him off, “I already know the noble speech your about to give me. I’ve heard it hundreds of times from this one,” he pointed a thumb at Steve before continuing, “just trust that what we’re doing is what’s right. More information will come in time, and you’ll see that, as usual, I was right.” 

Peter just stared Fury down with an angry passion, but being the epitome of respect he was, he curbed his tongue as Tony went over the new notes from the past month.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Is the meeting done yet, Fri?” You asked as you skimmed through the recommended section of Netflix. 

“No, Miss Stark, the meeting has only been going on for five minutes.” The somewhat robotic voice of Tony’s AI answered, “Is it an emergency? Would you like me to request an end to the meeting?” 

“No, I just might die of boredom is all,” You sighed, finally settling on watching The Lorax. You waited a moment as the movie began and the theme song of Thneedville rang out from the TV, “I just wish I was included more.” You said, not really particularly to Friday, but like the trusty AI she was, of course, she responded. 

 “You seem sad,” She noted, “would you like to talk about it? Or perhaps I could book you an appointment with the team therapist?” 

You scoffed, “Am I even part of the team? I mean, I go on missions, I train, I do my part. I just—” You sniffled a bit. You’d never really vocalized how it felt to feel so… excluded. It was like there was some twisted joke that everyone was in on but you. “It’s like the second it’s not about saving the world, they don’t need me.” 

“They need you, (Y/N).” Friday said softly, her program for empathy beginning to kick in, “you are a very important part of the team.” 

“Then how come I never get to go to the meetings?” 

That was the one question that never really got answered. Even Friday seemed to brush it off, “You’re special, (Y/N),” She said, “you’re family.” 

“Whatever,” You mumbled, realizing that as smart as Friday was, even she couldn’t—or perhaps wouldn’t—provide you with the answer you were looking for. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“She’s not a weapon!” Peter yelled, “She’s a human being! She’s just a kid!” 

“She is the most dangerous person on the planet!” Fury yelled back, slamming his fists on the table, “She wiped a town out when she was six! Six years old, and already the most wanted HYDRA operative in three countries!” 

“She didn’t know—” Bucky tried. 

“And she will never know,” Fury concluded, “she’s too important to jeopardize not having her on our side, and she's too dangerous to get attached to.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter narrowed his eyes at Fury. 

“You know damn well what that means, Parker.” 

“No, I want to hear you say—”

“It means we have to terminate her if she’s ever on the wrong side of the battlefield,” Tony revealed, his voice laced with devastation. Of course, Fury caught this. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on the kid,” He scoffed, but Tony just looked away. “Damn it, Stark. That’s why we picked you as her guardian, I vouched that you’d be able to get the job done if it ever came to that.” 

“I know,” Tony snapped, “and I will.” 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter scolded, “She’s your daughter!” 

“She’s a weapon, Pete,” Tony corrected, “a weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy.” 

Peter was about to protest, but Steve placed a hand on his shoulder. As Fury continued the meeting, Steve motioned over to Tony’s hand, tucked slightly behind him. Soon, Peter noticed it too; his fingers were crossed. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Hey,” Bucky nudged your shoulder as you sat anxiously in the jet, your leg bouncing up and down with nerves, “you okay, kid?”

“Just nervous,” You shrugged, “I haven’t fought—well, not since HYDRA. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” 

“Don’t worry,” Bucky offered you a small smile, “you’re a good kid. You won’t hurt anyone.” 

“Do you remember?” You asked Bucky, gripping onto his jacket as he was about to walk away. “Do you remember hurting people?”

Bucky nodded solemnly. 

“I don’t,” You said, “maybe it’s better that way?”

“It is, kid. Trust me.” Bucky said, giving you a pat on the head, “we touch down in three minutes, be ready.” 

Fury was the one who wiped your memories. You’d always thought it was the trauma that did it, but no, it was only man. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The meeting ended much later than usual. Sometimes it was an hour, maybe even two. But with all the arguing between Peter and Fury, the meeting was stretched to three. So by the time he finally came up to say goodbye to you before heading back to his apartment, you were already cuddled up in your comforter, fast asleep. 

Peter was jittery. He was angry and sad, and so so disappointed all at once. But seeing you curled up under the covers, your arms wrapped around your pillow that they would wrap around Peter’s torso, he was at peace again. 

“Hey, baby,” He whispered in your ear, hoping that maybe his words would filter into your dreams, “I gotta go now, but I love you. I’m sorry it took so long.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “Goodnight, gorgeous.” 

Peter quietly slipped out of your room. In the hallway, Tony was already waiting for him. 

“You won’t really hurt her, will you?” Peter asked hesitantly. 

“No,” Tony shook his head, “you’re right, kid; she’s my daughter. I could never hurt her. I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Peter said sternly, in a manner he’d never spoken to Tony in before, “you know how much I look up to you and respect you, Mr. Stark, but I love her. I love her so much. I won’t forgive you if something happens to her.” 

“I wouldn’t forgive myself.” Tony agreed, giving Peter a pat on the back, “Now hurry home, May told me to send you on your way.” 

Peter nodded before scurrying off. 

Tony sighed as he made his way to his room, finally ready for some shut-eye. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Peter,” you giggled as Peter pressed kisses all over your face, “stop it, you goof.” 

“I can’t help it,” Peter whined, “I missed you so so so much.” 

“I was only gone for a few days—”

“On a deadly rescue mission in the Amazon.” Peter interrupted, “I was worried sick the whole time.” 

“You always worry,” You pointed out. 

“Only when it comes to my pretty girl.” 

“Ew,” You scrunched your nose up and cringed, “too cheesy.” Peter playfully shoved you aside before beginning to pout, “but I still love you,” You said in a singsong voice, bringing his face back to you for a kiss. “And I missed you too.”

Before you and Peter could continue your lovefest, Bruce waltzed in to ruin the moment. “Ah, (Y/N), there you are!” He said, clapping his green hands together. 

“What do you want?” You deadpanned. 

Bruised rolled his eyes, but proceeded, “I left some of my files downstairs in my computer in the basement lab, and I really really need them for my meeting with your dad. That's in… thirty seconds. Could you please run down there, email my files to my phone or to your dad, and then, maybe clear my search history too if you get the chance?” 

“Ugh, fine,” You groaned, getting up from the couch, “but if I find anything incriminating on there, I’m sending it to myself for blackmail.” You raced to the elevator before Bruce could protest. 

The lab in the basement was like Bruce’s personal little playground, only it wasn’t all that little. It was more like a large parking garage-type place, with machines, monitors, and tables strewn about. Bruce spent so much of his time holed up in the lab that it even had a sleeping cot in the corner along with a mini-fridge. 

You went up to Bruce’s main desktop and began searching for the files he needed when something on his desk caught your eye. It was a black flash drive with a tiny neon green post-it note stuck to it, Audio from monthly meeting + notes, put in (Y/N)’s file —Bucky. 

 A file for you? You held the small flush drive in your hand and reread the note to make sure you were seeing things correctly. You looked around the room to make sure nobody was coming down the hallway, before popping the flash drive into the side of Bruce’s computer. As soon as it was in, you played it. 

She’s not a weapon! She’s a human being! She’s just a kid! Peter. Who wasn’t a weapon? You? 

She’s the most dangerous person on the planet! Fury’s demanding voice continued as you pulled up your file in Bruce’s computer. Hundreds of audio logs, thousands of notes, and a few new’s articles. The Devil of the United States they called you. Each story detailed atrocities that you didn’t even know you committed. 

 And then you saw it. The first report on you, written by Tony. The asset is secure at location one. Memory wipe is complete. Papers of possession are complete. 

She’s too dangerous to get attached to. Fury spoke, getting collective hums of agreement in return. 

She’s a weapon, Pete. A weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy.

“Hey, kid, what’s taking so long with those notes—” Tony froze when he heard the audio playback, She’s a weapon, Pete. A weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy. And again, She’s a weapon, Pete. A weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy. And once more, She’s a weapon, Pete. A weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy.

The shift in the air was so tangible, Tony could feel his breath being restricted. “Kid, it’s not—”

“I’m a weapon?” You spoke, barely above a whisper. 

“No, that’s not—” 

“I’m an asset.” 

“(Y/N)—”

“I’m just another job to you!” You yelled, bursting all the lights in the room out, one by one. 

“No, you’re not!” Tony yelled, “You’re my daughter! I love you!” 

You finally turned around to face him, hot tears were streaming down your cheeks and your hands were shaking, “No you don’t,” You protested, “you fear me. You all do.” 

“We love you, (Y/N). You’re family.” 

“You took my past away from me. You said you’ll kill me. Are you gonna kill me?” 

“I won’t. I’d never hurt you, (Y/N). I’m sorry, please, kid. Just hear me out—” Tony begged, but he was cut short when you held your hand up and the breath was stolen from his throat. 

“You can’t trick me anymore.” 

Tony writhed and clawed at his throat, but then it clicked for you. This anger and confusion was warping your mind and manifesting itself into uncheck aggression. You lowered your hand and finally, he could breathe again. You looked at your hands in fear, “I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

“It’s gonna be okay, kid,” Tony said, slowly backing away. “We’re gonna be okay.” 

Every room had one. Tony said they were only for the worst of the worst emergencies. In truth though, the red button on the wall wasn’t for any outside danger. It was installed when you moved into the tower.  

“Dad?” You took a step towards Tony, and in a moment of fear, he hit the button. Red lights began flashing and the entire tower shifted as vibranium shields rose over every window. 

“Red Alert. Red Alert. Asset is aware.” The mechanical voice of the alarm system rang out. “Lab 5, sublevel 2.” 

You looked at Tony with the most heartbroken expression he had ever seen. “You do fear me, don’t you?” 

Before Tony could answer, Vision phased through the ceiling and stunned you. Until all you saw was darkness and all you felt was complete and utter betrayal. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Don’t hurt her!” Peter fought against Bruce holding him back as Vision came back up with your body. “Mr. Stark, what happened?”

“She found out.” Tony said simply, “Was Fury contacted?” 

“He’ll be here in ten minutes,” Steve informed the team, “what happens now?” 

“Damage control,” Sam said. 

“No—” Peter began to protest, but Tony held his hand up, shushing the boy. 

“We’re not killing her.” He stated sternly. “We can still salvage this. We just have to explain—” 

“That won’t be easy,” Wanda chimed in, “she may be unconscious, but I can still hear her thoughts. They’re… dark, to say the least. The only one who may be able to get to her is Peter. She has no thoughts on him right now. It’s chaotic, though. Violent even.” 

“I’ll do it,” Peter said without a moment's hesitation. Where is Vision taking her?” 

“Her room is able to double as a cell. We installed a special lock on the door, it’s power resistant.” 

Peter nodded and made his way to your room so he could sit by your bed while he waited for you to wake up. “Hey!” Steve called to him as he walked away. Peter turned back, “Red button is behind the painting, press it if you need any backup.” 

“She isn’t a monster guys,” Peter snapped, “I’ll be fine.” 

He walked away and the moment he was out of sight, Tony left out a deep, shaky breath. “He doesn’t even know the half of it.” 

“Her file—her entire past even—” Natasha sighed, “more red in her ledger than I’ve ever seen.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You woke abruptly, jolted awake when the shock of the stunning you received no longer left you unconscious but was still coursing through your veins. For a moment, a happy, blissfully ignorant moment, you forgot why your bones suddenly ached. You thought it was just a bad dream. Until Peter rushed up to you and wiped the tears from your eyes. 

“It’s okay,” He hummed, shushing your crying. You hadn’t even realized you were crying, “it’s gonna be okay.” 

“You knew.” You said softly, the realization hitting you with another wave of nauseating anger and sadness, “you knew all along.” 

Peter froze as the guilt rendered him stiff, but he just shushed you again and pressed a kiss to your head. 

You pried yourself away from his arms, “Are you scared of me too?” 

“No,” Peter said immediately, “never, (Y/N). I love you.” He reached out to hold you again but you flinched away. 

“Nobody loves me.” You realized, “It was all a lie. They were never on my side.” 

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” Peter tried, “we love you, I swear it. We all love you and want what's best for you.” 

“I’m not even a person to you!” You snapped, the rage personifying itself as a force that launched Peter off your bed. “I’m just a weapon.” 

Peter stood up from where he’d fallen, “No, (Y/N), don’t say that—”

“It wasn’t real, Peter!” You yelled, “It was a lie, all of it! Did you even love me? Did any of you even care about me?” 

“It was real,” Peter persisted, “my love was real—is real!” 

“They’ll kill me now, won’t they?” 

“No, I’m not going to let that happen.” Peter assured you, “Mr. Stark would never—”

“What if they’re right? What if I am a monster?” 

“(Y/N)—”

“I need to get out of here,” You decided, “Peter, you need to let me out. They’ll kill me. If Tony won’t, Fury will.” 

Peter looked at the door and contemplated his options. On one hand, he trusted Tony not to hurt you. You were his daughter, and even though your relationship didn’t start like the average father-daughter relationship, he loved you all the same. On the other hand, Fury was not as easily swayed, and from the commotion, he could hear sifting down the hallway from the common room, he didn’t have much time before Fury burst in. 

“I can’t,” Peter finally said, “but it’ll be okay, Mr. Stark will—” but he was cut off by the crashing of glass. The long floor-to-ceiling window was shattered and you were presumably falling now. Your room was in the penthouse, aka the 93rd floor. 

Peter raced to the edge of the window and was fully prepared to jump out and save you, when your floating body flew back up towards him, and then past him. 

“You couldn’t even save me,” You said disappointedly. “Or maybe you just didn’t want to.” 

The tears were more prevalent than ever in your eyes. They were glassy and seemed to glow in the dark of dusk. You tried to hold in your sob, but it was useless and as you cried out, a blast of energy shot out of you and shook the tower. 

“She’s just a kid!” Tony yelled, ready to punch Fury, but Steve was holding him back, “She’s a child!” 

“She is a monster!” Fury argued back, “Must I remind you why we did this in the first place? The town in Maine; gone! Three thousand people dead!” 

“She didn’t know,” Bucky tried, “and you wouldn’t let her. If you—if we would’ve just been honest with her at the start—”

“It’s too late for that now,” Fury said gravely as the tower began to shake, “much too late.” 

“You did this,” Natasha said to Fury, “if anyone dies, it’s on you.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

In a fit of rage, you blasted through the windows into the common room. The sheer force of your body hurling itself through the windows knocked most of the Avengers down. Once the dust settled, you set your sights on Fury, who was already back up, gun pointed at you. 

“You,” You seethed, “you did this.” 

“(Y/N), I’m gonna need you to stand down.” Fury spoke gruffly. 

“Or what? You’ll kill me? Wasn’t that the plan all along? How is me standing down going to stop that?” 

“I won’t ask again—” 

“No,” You agreed, “you won’t.” 

You looked at the rest of the team, all of their expressions laced with fear. After everything you had done. After all you’d been through together, every single one of them feared you.

And then there was Peter, just now running into the common room. He looked at you with the most sorrowful expression. 

“Please don’t,” He tried, holding his hand out for you. 

“I’m sorry,” You said softly, a small bubble of regret trying to rise its way out of you, but you shoved it down, and you brought the tower down with it. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Hey, dad!” You smiled excitedly when Tony entered the training room. 

“Hey kiddo,” Tony chuckled, ruffling your hair, “what’re you doing down here?” 

“Look,” You whipped your head around and focused on the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. One by one they flickered before shutting off, “I woke up this morning to all the lights in my room busted out.” 

“Wow,” Tony nodded, impressed. “So what’s that now? Power number five?” 

“Four,” You said proudly, turning all the lights back on, “maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll wake up tomorrow and be able to fly.” 

“Fly?” 

“Yeah, I think it’d be freeing.” You shrugged, “Wanda was flying the other day, it looked really cool.” 

“You could always use one of my suits if you wanna fly.”

“I know, but it wouldn’t be the same as doing it myself. I just need to work on it more.” 

“I hope you’re not gonna be throwing yourself off roofs or anything,” Tony eyed you suspiciously. 

“No,” You chuckled, “I’ll start small, maybe Wanda can help me.” 

“You come up with a new power nearly every day,” Tony smiled, “I’m sure you’ll master flight soon enough, little bird.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

As the tower fell in a cloud of ash and dust, Wanda shielded her team members the best she could, save for Vision, who was already flying above the rubble, and Fury, who was nowhere to be found, but whose grunts of pain could be heard by Peter as the building fell out from under his feet. 

When the dust had settled, and the whole team was on the ground, beaten up and bruised, but alive, they called for you. 

“(Y/N)?” Tony called, “(Y/N)!”

“Where did she go?” Peter limped to Tony, “(Y/N)!” 

“She’s still around,” Wanda said softly, “I can hear her thoughts.” Her eyebrows furrowed and her nose scrunched as she listened for what you were thinking, and then, she gasped in horror, covering her mouth. 

“What?” Steve grabbed her shoulder, “What is it?”

Wanda pointed a shaky finger to the cloud of dust surrounding the wreckage around them. “S-she just—” but she didn’t even need to get the words out when your silhouette appeared from the smoke. You were standing tall, victorious even, and as you walked towards the group, they finally saw what had Wanda so shaken up. 

In your hands, held out in front of you like a trophy, was the severed head of Nicholas Fury. The blood covered your entire torso, hands, and arms. You walked slowly, as each individual team member got a good look at what you had in your hands. 

You could practically smell the fear on them. Natasha screamed and Wanda cried out. 

“What—what have you done?” Steve gasped. 

You dropped the head and it rolled over, tapping Peter’s gym shoes. He looked down and saw the last look of complete terror overtaking Fury’s eyes. He turned and vomited. 

You looked at your blood-soaked hands and then back at your family’s faces. And then you did the unthinkable. You smiled. You chuckled even. You chuckled at the irony of it.

They lied to you in an attempt to keep you on their side; to keep you sane. But their lies caused the exact thing they’d always feared. And that was the biggest joke in the world to you. 

“I’m sorry,” You giggled, “it’s not funny, I know.” 

“(Y/N)...” Bucky sighed, stepping forward. 

“Stop,” You held your hand up, holding his breath captive, “don’t get any closer.”

Bucky wheezed and held a hand to his neck, trying to claw a breath out. 

“Stop (Y/N),” Tony demanded, “you’re hurting him.” 

You dropped her hand and looked at Tony incredulously, “like you all haven’t hurt me,” You said sarcastically. “You lied to me. You betrayed me. You used me! My entire life, you used me! My memories are gone; you stole them!” 

“We were trying to protect you!” Steve yelled, “We loved you.” 

“(Y/N), please,” Wanda begged, “we’re sorry.” 

“You’re not,” You frowned, “but you will be.”

You held your hand up, ready to deliver another blow, but Peter stepped in front of them, “(Y/N), stop!” He held his hands out, “This isn’t you. Please, just listen to us.” 

“This isn’t me?” You repeated, “Did you or did you not all say that I was a weapon?” 

“We did, but (Y/N)—”

“Did you steal my past from me?” You interrupted. “Did you use me? Try to keep me on your side by lying to me?

“We did!” Tony yelled, “but we were wrong (Y/N)! I’m sorry. I’m sorry we lied to you.” Tony stepped towards you and held his hands out, “we’re sorry, little bird.” 

“You’re not,” You said as tears began to fill your eyes, the impact of what you had done finally catching up to you. 

Tony nodded, “We are. We love you, (Y/N).” Tony gave you a small smile as he got closer, “Come here, please (Y/N).” 

You lowered your hands and caved, “I just wanted to be a part of your family; a real member.” 

“I know,” Tony nodded, gripping onto your shoulder as you sobbed. “You are (Y/N). You’re one of us.”

You rested your head on Tony’s shoulder as he held you, “That’s all I ever wanted.” You whispered, relaxing in Tony’s arms. 

And then you felt it. The sharp sting in your neck soon turned into a burning pain. You pulled away and held a hand to the side of your throat, feeling the blade that was lodged in there.

“No!” Peter screamed, running towards you, but Bruce held him back, “No! You promised! You promised, Stark!” He screamed, using all his energy and strength writhing in Bruce’s grip. 

“Shhh,” Tony sat down and cradled you in his lap as he cried, “it’s okay.”

You choked on blood as it filled your lungs and splattered across your lips. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony cried as you sputtered out unintelligible words, “it’s okay, little bird.” He shushed you before pressing a kiss to your head. 

The rest of the team was frozen in shock. Steve held Natasha close as she cried in his arms and Wanda was on her knees, muffling her cries in her hands. 

Bucky was on his knees too, numbly watching the scene before him. 

Peter was still shaking in Bruce’s arms, crying out to you. “(Y/N)! Let me go! (Y/N)!” 

You looked at Tony, just before your eyes glazed over and uttered your final words. Mouth filled with blood you looked up at Tony and whispered, almost too quietly to catch, “I’m sorry.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

✧tags & moots✧

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[slashmagpie]

Martyn is trapped. He is falling. He has played this cruel game four times over. The Watchers have cast him aside. He has finally won.

(There are some who watch. We are those who listen. Not yet free, still you flee from a weighted decision.)

Martyn had always planned to betray the Red King. The only reason the Hand had stayed loyal until the end was because he didn't live long enough to turn coat. Martyn had never really intended to betray the Southlands, but he did it anyway, and the Shadow Alliance became a safety net to fall into when he was the only one left. And as for Cleo?

(A hand to hold until the end. A hand to hold because we're friends. You hold on until you can't hold on anymore.)

...They were maybe always a little too similar. He'd turned his back on them almost as easily as they'd turned theirs on him. He'd turned his back on Pearl just as easily. Maybe that was a mistake; she'd killed him in the end. Even a last-minute alliance with his soulmate couldn't save him.

There's a scene in Evo. Martyn has taken over as mayor of Spawn Town after Taurtis disappeared. The Watchers do not like this. The Watchers send a meteor and burn his house to the ground. Martyn is tired. He is angry. He is done. So he leaves.

Or—he tries to, at least. Jimmy follows him the entire way, begging him to stay. Martyn doesn't listen. He finds the end portal—because there are no normal exits from Evo—and it is gone, replaced by bedrock and lava. The Watchers have left signs, a taunt:

Not ready are we, to let you depart. You've yet to accomplish what you aimed at the start. Ascend ever further, as you travel through time. One day we will deem it your moments to shine.

Limited Life. Time is slipping away. Martyn builds an hourglass. He counts the grains. He steals what time he can.

Here's the thing: Scott has always been an honourable man. He does not lie. He plays fair. He will defy the spirit of the game to do right by his fellow players, to be true to himself.

Here's the other thing: Impulse has been careful, ever since Third Life, to make his loyalties clear. To be straightforward. To be someone that can be trusted.

And here's the kicker: Martyn is not a fair and honest man. Martyn is trapped, he is falling, and when you have been trapped and falling for so long it is hard to be honest. It is hard to be fair.

So he waits for them to take off their armour, and he pulls his sword.

(In each peace lies a piece that makes up the whole. Woven the fragments that make up a soul.)

Martyn wins. He is trapped. He is falling.

He is out of time.

Going. Absolutely fucking insane over Martyn ITLW actually. I haven't even been watching his Limited Life but I. I. Fuck

[theamberwriter]

Hi so remember “ Nesting Fever [Alpha!Pro!Katsuki Bakugo]” that you wrote? I hope so cause what if you made a part 2 were it becomes a poly relationship!!!

[Nesting Fever]

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting!! I wrote this all in one sitting, lol I was suddenly hit with inspiration. I hope you like it!! Also, I hope this comes off as a poly relationship. I've never written one before, but I tried!

Word Count: 3,059

Warnings: Always cursing lmfao

~

It was wrong. You could feel it. You knew what you wanted. But it was wrong. You scolded yourself over and over. This had been going on for months. Far too long and more than you'd like to admit.

"I shouldn't want both of their scents in here," you groaned, flinging yourself into your nest.

After the nesting conundrum that took place in your apartment just seven short months ago, your everything had changed. Kirishima had become a very big part of your life. After scenting him to spite Katsuki during a fight, he now seemed determined to win you. Even if he didn't notice. Eijiro basically lived in your house now.

He made you feel safe. His scent soothed you in just a whiff. You almost felt like you were falling in love all over again. You didn't love Katsuki any less. But you were falling in love with Eijiro. You wondered if maybe you'd always been. He was so easy to fall in love with, after all.

The intrusive thoughts you'd had about your new house guest had been growing. Before, they were peppered in. Just an occasional thing. Easy to brush off. But now you'd been properly fantasizing about how he tasted. About how his hands would feel against the skin that only Katsuki and yourself had ever touched.

You wondered how he'd fit in with your family. How they'd react to you having not one, but two Alphas. You wondered if you were being greedy, wanting them both. But you did, vehemently so.

This was not good.

How could you explain that to your mate of a year and a half? The man you'd been talking about marrying? How could you tell him that you were still head over heels for him - while also loving Kirishima the same way? What would he even think about that?

"I could never ask Katsuki...." you muttered. "He would never...."

But the fact that your boyfriend had had a little crush on Kirishima was never a secret. Not to you, at least. He claimed it was because they were best friends. But you didn't act like that with normal friends. Maybe Katsuki wouldn't be opposed....but would he be willing to share an omega? That was the kicker.

Alphas were possessive. They wanted what they wanted, and who was theirs was theirs. The two had been at each other's throats over you. Alpha vs Alpha. Could you really ask them to share you?

Kirishima was a near permanent fixture in your home now. He had never been in the way. In fact, it felt like a piece clicked into place. Your home had felt brighter and been filled with more laughter. Everything was amazing - when the two were behaving.

But the tense air between the two alphas was choking. There were times they both let their guards down. Times when you already felt like you had a dynamic. Those times were amazing. You leaned on Katsuki and Kirishima cuddled against you. Katsuki and Eijiro would act couplely, even when they hadn't meant to. You wanted to just smother them both in kisses.

But you couldn't.

What were you going to do?

You groaned loudly and threw a pillow at the door. A burst from your quirk made it hit harder than you intended. In a flash the door was open and the warm, delicious mixed scent of Katsuki and Eijiro flooded in. They were very alert. Their eyes were wide, scanning for danger.

"The hell is going on?" Katsuki snapped. His shoulders were tense, the tendons in his neck standing out. He was a coiled snake ready to pounce.

Eijiro hesitated in the door. You caught as he stepped forward then immediately retreated. "Are you okay?"

You sighed heavily. "I'm fine. Just...having some issues. - Katsssuuuu...."

You held your arms out and he went to fill them. He kneeled and took you tightly in his arms. He hid his face in the crook of your neck. You relaxed your arms around him.

"Something isn't right," you muttered. Then locked eyes with Eijiro. "My nest is missing something important, it isn't complete."

Eijiro froze, you could see it. Every muscle tensing. His face grew red. But he didn't break your gaze. He swirled his own pheromones in with Katsuki's, as if testing the waters. You had a feeling he caught on. You smiled, reclining your head against Katsuki's shoulder in response and taking in a large sigh.

You were going to have to talk to Eijiro about this later. Maybe, if you could get him on board, talk about your feelings, then it would be easier confessing to Katsuki. Maybe he'd even do it with you.

Eijiro bolted off and out of sight. While Katsuki held you tight. Your eyes lingered a moment longer on the door frame. You had wanted them both in your nest so badly. You wanted them both to hold you, to protect you, to tell you they love you. But it wasn't that easy.

You gave Katsuki a tight hug in return. Your nerves soothing surprisingly well, despite how conflicted you were. But this was Katsuki. The last few months, he'd been verging on an Apex Alpha. He was very conscious of everything you felt. He'd some how figured out how to turn his pheromones into the most relaxing, lulling, mouth-watering mixture. You didn't know what he'd done, but you became absolute putty in his hands in one whiff.

You always wanted to be putty in his hands. But you wanted to putty in Eijiro's too.

Katsuki relaxed you to sleep. You'd been up early anyway. You napped for a few hours. Your dreams were laced with the most potent caramel scent. But soon, a musky, warm scent invaded. And your body felt like water. You were on cloud 9. Everything, everyone, you wanted was bottle up in those two scents. You wanted this delicious mix in your life forever.

When you woke up, you heard the TV on. Along with the faint sound of sizzling. Giving a whiff, you could tell Katsuki was cooking. You tottered out , still stumbling on your slumber legs. You smiled to yourself as you looked into the room.

Katsuki stood with a pan and an apron. He was completely absorbed in whatever Eijiro was watching, even standing very close to where he was sitting. The red head was sitting in the chair you'd occupied for your little tantrum. He had his knees to his chest, totally lost in whatever was on.

It was adorable.

After a minute you yawned loudly and went in. Both of their eyes snapped to you. Eijiro grinned, but looked away quickly, his face staining red again. Katsuki smiled that in love, puppy dog smile he got when he thought no one was looking.

"There's my Omega," Katsuki cooed. "I'm making dinner, since Shitty Hair can't cook."

"I can too!" Eijiro tossed back.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "[Name] likes my food better anyway."

They both looked at you expectantly. You felt like you shrank. You wanted to dive back into your nest. All you could think was, please don't give me those eyes!

"I like you both," you said, awkwardly laughing as you tried to fix your statement. "I think you both are really good cooks."

"Osha. Whatever," Katsuki scoffed. "Oi, you two run to the store. Get some dessert, whatever you two want."

"But you want vanilla - something, right?" you asked, more teasing than anything.

Katsuki gave you a seductive smirk, then licked the end of the spoon he was holding. "I want anything that tastes like vanilla. The sweeter, the better."

Heat coursed through you. Damn him. Katsuki gave you a wink then went back to the kitchen. You turned back to Eijiro. You saw his jaw clench, and his eyes take one desperate drag up your body. You'd never seen him do that before. You turned quickly, going to throw on some actual going out clothes.

Eijiro was bouncing anxiously by the door when you got back. He caught your eye then darted through the entry.

"We're going Katsuki," you called. "Love you, be back in a bit. Text me if you remember anything!"

"Don't you two miss me too much," he called back. "Don't make me wreck the supermarket because you idiots."

That was Katsuki for I love you too. Please be safe, I will protect you til my dying breath.

"We'll try," you laughed and shook your head.

"Oh, and ask Shitty Hair if he wants anything else in this. I already know what you'll want. Fucking predictable."

"I will. I'll text you."

Then you were out the door. Eijiro was waiting in the street below for you. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and his head was ducked. You'd really messed up, hadn't you? Maybe you should've taken it slower....

"So," you started, bumping his shoulder with yours. "What do you want for dessert."

Eijiro's eyes flicked to you then the ground. He shrugged and headed down the sidewalk. It was quiet as you walked. Tensely quiet. You hated it. Eijiro should've been his usual self. Talking happily about whatever. He couldn't even look at you.

It was wrong, but you were glad to be this close to him. To his scent. Even if it was weird right now. You'd smelt that turmoil once before, months ago as you sat on his lap and scented him. Eijiro smelt like that now.

What was he thinking?

Eijiro still hadn't said a word as you reached the store. He'd nearly walked into the door he was so distracted. He followed blindly by your side as you walked through the aisles.

"Uuuhhh," you mused. Trying to think of what to say. "Do you like bed we set up for you? I know it's not the newest mattress but -"

"What did you mean?" Eijiro asked, coming out of stupor. "About your nest?"

You were quiet. A little too ashamed to admit it out loud. What you'd meant. What you were trying to say in one longing look. You kept your eyes forward, going down one aisle then the next.

"[Name], please....it's been bugging me all day. I have a theory, but....I want you to tell me."

You stuttered and stumbled. Trying to put together a semblance of a sentence. He watched you and those crimson eyes, so much softer than Katsuki's own rubies but just as gorgeous, made you nervous. You felt like a kid with a crush who'd been called out. You supposed you were, in a way.

"I," you finally managed. "It's hard to explain. Can you feel the exact same way about two people?"

Eijiro's mouth flattened into a line. "I guess that depends on the feeling."

There was something in his scent that changed then. It egged you on. Made you braver. Something that made you think he knew exactly what you were talking about.

You slowed your pace. "Can....Can you be in love with two people at the same time and love them an equal amount?"

You saw Eijiro swallow. His whole body seemed flushed. His eyes on you intently. You met them with equal intensity. Everything felt like it balanced on a delicate scale.

"That's a very serious question," he said, his voice a low murmur.

You nodded. "It's a very serious feeling."

Eijiro grabbed your wrist, tugging you a few aisles. And then there, right in between the Chex Mix and the Honey Graham's - he kissed you. You could actually feel his heart thrumming against his chest. Yours met his pace. Then quickly your mouths found their rhythm. It was hot and needy, and he tasted just like you'd expected him too. Only better.

A slight bit of shame chewed at you as you separated. You wanted this. You wanted him to be your Alpha, along with Katsuki. Honesty, Eijiro could probably teach him a thing or two about being an Alpha.

"Do you really mean this...?" Eijiro asked, and his face was more serious than you'd ever seen.

"That's been my issue," you muttered. "I love Katsuki. To absolute bits and I'd be lost without him. But I've fallen in love with you too. I love you to bits. I'd be lost without you. I've been happier these last couple months, and I think Katsuki has been too.

"But I'm worried. An Omega isn't supposed to have two Alphas. I'm not supposed to love two people, not so deeply, anyway. And I don't know how to tell Katsuki any of it. What if he thinks I don't love him as much? What if he thinks I want to leave him?"

Eijiro chuckled, then kissed your forehead. "Who said you can only love one person at a time? And who said it was illegal to have more than one Alpha? There's a lot of amazing people in the world. You can love as many of them as you want, with as much of yourself as you want. - Maybe it's a bit unmanly to admit, but I've kinda had a thing for you both for a while. If Katsuki's down for sharing you, having it be the three of us, then so am I. I just want you both to be happy. Even if that's without me."

You shook your head, you could barely stomach the thought. "I don't think I could be happy without you both now. It's hurts to much to think of either of you leaving. I think I've been falling in love you while I was also falling for Katsuki. So don't think it's just because you're around more."

"So....what do you want to do?" Eijiro was serious again. He held you closely, as if you'd always been like this. You caught as he momentarily warned an Alpha who was eyeing you up. A little change in scent was all it took for them to turn tail.

You groaned. "I don't know. I need to tell Katsuki. If I keep this secret in, I'll burst. And it's not like I want to cheat on him with you. I want it to be the three of us. My two favorite people."

"We could sit him down tomorrow, if you want. I'll wake up early, make breakfast. And we could talk."

You nodded, Eijiro made it sound so easy. "It's as good as any. - Now we better hurry before he calls asking where we are."

You two began towards the dessert section, then silence much more comfortable now.

Eijiro knocked your shoulder. "Oh, and Katsuki was right. You know? About the vanilla."

You groaned and momentarily hid your face in your hands. If things went too, you'd now have two people embarrassing the hell out of you.

You quickly fetched your desserts and the two of you went halfsies. Mostly because Eijiro left his wallet in his other pants and could only pay with what he had on him. You'd given him another kiss for how cute he was. You remembered to ask about Eijiro's garnish on the way back.

You and Eijiro were all smiles as you got back to the apartment. You worried. Would Katsuki think something was wrong? Or that something was going on behind his back? He didn't say anything, even if he did. Dinner was amazing, as you were expecting. Every bite was an absolute thrill to the taste buds.

Maybe Katsuki should give up heroing to a full time professional chef!

After dinner, you and Eijiro offered to do dishes. It was the least you could do since Katsuki cooked. You were washing and Eijiro was drying. Katsuki leaned on the doorway between the living room and kitchen for a while.

"Hey," Katsuki started awkwardly. The dishes were nearly done. "You don't have to worry about cooking breakfast tomorrow, Ei. Butt dial here basically told me everything themselves."

The plate in your hands clattered into the sink. You and Eijiro both stared at Katsuki. He didn't look mad or anything. More amused. He held up his phone and pressed a button. The entire conversation in the cereal aisle played out, right up until the vanilla comment.

"Katsuki," you rushed, drying your hands. "I promise, I still love you all the same -"

He came and pushed a gentle kiss to your lips. Katsuki's puppy dog smile came back as his eyes bounced between you and Eijiro. He grabbed the back of Eijiro's head and pulled him to kiss his forehead. Then left wordlessly out the door.

Eijiro put a hand on his forehead. A little grin coming. Then he laughed and grabbed you, pulling you close to him. He planted a few sloppy kisses on your cheek.

So it was a yes. Everything was fine. Katsuki wanted you both like you wanted them. There was nothing wrong with you. Nothing about this was bad. It was a possibility you hadn't thought of, with a better outcome than you could've hoped for.

Later that night, after Eijiro fell asleep on you for the millionth time, you finally talked to Katsuki.

"You really don't mind?" you asked. "About sharing me? About the three of us -"

"If I was going to be stuck with any idiots forever," Katsuki started. "I rather it be you two than anyone else."

You leaned up to give him a kiss. He put a hand on your cheek. That sent butterflies raving through your stomach.

"And you may have been fucking right," he admitted hesitantly against your lips. "I....might have a stupid thing for Shitty Hair. But that doesn't mean I'll ever love you any less."

You shrugged. "Lots of love to share."

"I'm not fucking sharing you with anyone else but him," Katsuki growled. "You're still my Omega. And it doesn't matter how I feel about him, if he even thinks about hurting you -"

You shushed him. "You'll wake up Eiji."

It took you both to carry Eijiro to your bed. You figured now was as good of time as any jump head long into this. Eijiro immediately clung to you, and Katsuki squished you in between. This felt amazing. This felt right. This is where you were supposed to be. In the arms of the Alphas, of the men, that you loved more than anyone else in the universe.

~

[pippytmi]

Howdy! For the little au trope prompt ask. 2, 2, 39. Supercorp please. Thank you! (Hope it helps your writer's block!)

Everyone knows that when the Quidditch season starts, rivalries begin.

As a general rule, Lena doesn’t mind the Gryffindors. If she had to pick a house she hated, the Slytherins would be the unfortunate lot; Veronica Sinclair and Andrea Rojas alone give the group a bad name. (That could be Lena’s own personal bias, given the fact that both girls have broken her heart, but she maintains it goes far deeper than that). But the point stands—Lena isn’t a hateful person. Generally.

There is just something about Kara Danvers that brings it out of her. The one and only Gryffindor that Lena despises is that moronic, reckless Chaser who scores nearly every single goal she takes. The Ravenclaw team is nothing to sneeze at either, but Lena hates that of all people to throw her off her game, it is a girl who blew up her broom when attempting to fly on it during her first year. Seven years that she has known Kara, and still Lena is annoyed at the mere sight of those perpetually-askew glasses, those untucked robes, that undone tie; Kara Danvers is never expected to be poised and perfect, even with all the expectations on her shoulders. She’s just so...blasé. People talk about Kara like she is destined to join a Quidditch team straight out of Hogwarts and all Kara does is stroll into the Great Hall on game day with her head in the clouds.

So far up the clouds that she apparently can’t watch where she is going, either. Lena throws Kara the nastiest glare she can muster when they just about knock each other’s heads together, but all Kara does at the sight of it is grin. She always grins, not in a way that is arrogant or snide, but stupidly amused. Stupidly amused, as if everything Lena says or does is a bloody laugh, like Lena’s simmering hatred is nothing more than an inside joke.

“Hey, Luthor,” Kara says cheerfully, and there she goes, pushing those crooked glasses up her nose. There is a scratch on one lens, and Kara has either not noticed or not bothered to repair it. “Trying to take out the competition a little early, even for you.”

“You were the one in my way, Danvers,” Lena replies tightly.

“Was I?” And here is the kicker, that golden girl charm that fools everyone: bright blue eyes peeking out beneath those eyelashes, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, undone tie slipping an inch further. Kara tilts her head unassumingly as if that is even an actual question.

It makes Lena furious. “Here’s a tip,” she says, “for here and the Quidditch field. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you could actually see where you’re headed.”

Kara has the audacity to look affronted. “Is this because of the Brainy incident during training? Because he and I agreed that it was a joint effort. Joint…blame. Whatever you call it.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Just keep your aggression to yourself, Danvers,” she mutters, and then she resolutely brushes past. She has no time for blank, witty banter, especially when this is the year’s first game and she has a team to rally.

“My—? Hey,” Kara’s voice rings out, louder than necessary, and that idiot is actually following her. “Hey, wait. Lena. Do you seriously think I’m aggressive? It was an accident! Both times!” A beat. “I mean both the Brainy thing and right now. I didn’t knock into Brainy twice. I did knock James off his broom once, but you probably don’t care about that since he’s not from your house, so…well anyway, just so you know, that was also an accident.”

“I have zero interest in your training squabbles,” Lena says exasperatedly, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

“Oh so this is about the Brainy incident,” Kara says. “How many times do I have to say that the training pitch was ours?”

“According to you,” Lena counters. With that she whirls around, nearly colliding into Kara’s chest, but she still manages to lift her head up high and stare down that egotistical jackass. “I know you might think you’re entitled to any space you waltz into, but some of us mere mortals actually schedule training sessions. You know, like we’re supposed to.”

“I did schedule the—!” Kara has a tendency to become flustered mid-argument, it seems, because her mouth opens but no words come blustering out. Finally she settles on scowling when she declares, “You are a piece of work, you know that? Would it kill you to apologize to me once in a while?”

“That would imply that you have apologized to me at some point,” Lena scoffs. “Which you haven’t, for the record.”

“Yes I have,” Kara is quick to disagree.

Lena crosses her arms; it’s a challenge, and Kara immediately stands a little straighter when she notices. “Oh?” Lena prompts. “Like when?”

“Like…when I knocked into Brainy.”

“I fail to see how I fit in that scenario,” Lena says, “since you didn’t break my nose.”

Kara gives a little huff, as if this back and forth is all so inconvenient right now; as if she hasn’t instigated it. “Okay, but I apologized for disrupting your practice, remember? I took complete responsibility even though it was your fault you couldn’t keep track of when your team was scheduled—”

“That was not an apology. You literally said ‘Sorry Luthor, we need this more than you do’ and then refused to leave for the next half hour!”

“But I said sorry in there, ergo, it is an apology.”

“Well then, when my team beats yours to dust I’ll be sure to apologize properly for that in that exact same sympathetic manner,” Lena sneers.

Somehow, trash talk only makes that dumb, signature Kara Danvers grin come back, completely wiping away any sign of vexation. “Oh yeah? Tell me more, wise old Ravenclaw—”

Before Lena can even begin to dissect that childish comeback (and stupid sing-songy imitation of the Sorting Hat), other students come filtering down the hall and they are practically swept up in the masses. One kid completely shoulders Lena before she even realizes what’s happening; she stumbles to the left, nearly collides with the wall, and opens her mouth to shout, but then:

“Hey!” Kara is already brandishing her wand with one hand and catching the boy’s collar with the other. “Ten points from Hufflepuff! You could’ve hurt someone, walking around without looking where you’re going.”

Lena bites her tongue to stop from making a quip on how ironic that statement is, because Kara is engrossed in a stare-off with the pimply sixth year who is demanding to see her prefect badge to prove Kara can even take points. She would normally side with the kid—anything to knock Kara Danvers down a peg—but, well. For once, Lena can’t be bothered to actively hate someone getting into a heated argument on her behalf.

Two minutes later and the boy stomps off with ten points gone from his house and a detention to boot. Kara, meanwhile, is still frowning as he leaves. “Are you okay?” she asks absentmindedly, still tracking the kid’s every movement with her eyes. “I swear, if there weren’t so many witnesses I would’ve hexed him.”

“Winning move for a prefect, I’m sure,” Lena says dryly, and Kara turns towards her with that slow-growing buffoonish smile and another sheepish nudge of her glasses. Her next words kind of just fall out, almost as if she’d never formed them in her mouth but in the deep recesses of her subconscious alone: “You know, you confuse me.”

“Huh?” Another nudge. The smile slips a fraction, but just enough to show Kara is slightly confused by the change in subject.

You confuse me, Lena wants to repeat. You are the opposite of self-aware. You are messy, and reckless, and selfless whenever it counts and it’s confusing because all I can really hate you for is being able to get away with being imperfect and still be adored by everyone.

But none of those words, thankfully, leave her head. All she says is, “Your approach to discipline confuses me. It’s not like he purposely tried to run into me—ten points might have been too harsh.”

“This coming from the girl who once threatened to curse me into oblivion for tripping her when we were twelve?” Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to Lena Luthor? No, hold on, I know. You’re really Jess in disguise, right?”

“Hilarious, Danvers. I wouldn’t quit Quidditch, it might be the only place you’re suited for,” Lena mocks, but all Kara does is laugh.

“Nope, definitely Lena,” Kara says, and the way she says it is almost…fond. Come to think of it, Lena can’t remember a time where Kara actually called her Lena. It’s always Luthor and Danvers and stop breaking the faces of my best players and never—never anything else.

Lena clears her throat and looks away; she can’t take another second of those warm, bright eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “I…guess I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Sure thing,” Kara says, and she takes a step back, tucking her wand into her pocket. “I’ll be the one rocking the winning team uniform.”

Slowly, Lena begins to feel the corner of her mouth twitch. Completely unbidden, completely unpredictable. “Dream on, Danvers.” She allows the space between them to grow, but their eyes remain locked, and the air feels heavy—thick—and the weight of their shared gaze holds a meaning Lena can’t possibly unpack right now.

But Kara’s tongue pokes out between her teeth cheerfully, and she doesn’t appear half as bothered by this development. “Always, if you’re in them,” she says, twists a little on her heel to walk away, but she pauses while she is still in earshot. “You know—next time you can just thank me for defending you.”

“You mean abusing your power as a prefect,” Lena replies automatically even as her head is running a mile a minute; even as Kara is getting farther and farther away and the scratch on her glasses lens catches the light.

“That too!” Kara shouts as she gets lost in the crowd, and damn her, Lena has to put her hand over her mouth to hide the absolute idiotic smile that has formed on her own face.

(Joint blame indeed, Lena muses, and she figures that she might as well form a rivalry with the Slytherins instead of the Gryffindors after all).

[sidespromptblog]

What to Do?: Chapter 10

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

Warnings: General Angst, Remus being spooky, Hurt/Comfort, Brief Food Mention, and Sad Stuff. 

Summary: Logan realizing that his first mistake was seeing the other sides as anything other than coworkers. They weren't a family. They didn't even like each other. How had he not realized sooner?

Word Count: 2,067

Logan heard the springs in his bed behind him squeal as someone sat down on it, and for a moment he didn’t look away from his computer. His eyes were already straining against the glare of the computer screen in front of him, he just wanted to close his eyes and rest for even just the slightest moment… but the presence behind him forced him to keep his back straight and his eyes trained professionally on what he was doing. It was only when he had made more than one spelling mistake on the same sentence did he direct his attention from that, to his cold cup of tea sitting right next to his keyboard. 

Logan grimaced, now of all times he could have much rather preferred coffee, at least the caffeine from that would have helped keep him awake. But he just grimaced and took a sip, the sweetness mixing with the spices over his tongue making him scrunch up his face a little bit. Yes, he much rather preferred the bitterness of his old coffee, and despite what he’d said to Roman and Virgil… 

He missed it so damn much.  

He moved to take another sip, and the bed behind him squealed again, as the person behind him finally stood up. 

“That’s enough nerd,” Logan felt his body jolt in surprise as he felt Remus’ hand smoosh over his face, and covering his mouth so that he couldn’t take a single sip from his drink. Looking up, he found his eyes locking with Remus’, as his head was bent backwards so that he couldn’t have even tried to look at his computer even if he had wanted to keep working on it. Remus’ stance was clear, even if his methods were… odd. “That’s enough…” The creative side spoke again, with a surprising amount of softness in his voice, the wild chaos that had been present the other day all but gone. 

Nevertheless, Logan attempted to bat the other side’s hand away. 

Clearing his throat he wheeled his chair around so that he could properly address Remus. “You’re a bit late,” He began, before holding up his hands before Remus could talk. “But given your track record, lateness is better than nothing. Do you have your paperwork Creativity?” 

Remus’ expression spasmed, and his hands clenched tightly for a moment, as if he had gone through all of the stages of grief and had gotten stuck in the process of rage for a moment. His eyebrows pinched, and the dark look in his eyes took a moment too long before it finally cleared away to a blank kind of smoothness, that told Logan more than enough about how Remus felt in that moment. 

“That’s not my name,” The creative side said carefully, his fingers clenching and unclenching into fists, as if he was still contemplating decking Logan right then and there. “You know that… Logan.” Remus’ teeth bared themselves in a fierce smile, that was more of a threat than pleasantries. “So do not call me that. My name hasn’t been Creativity for a very long time, that’s Roman’s title… not mine.” 

“Don’t you forget it.” That smile said, “Or I’ll rip out your throat.”

Logan cleared his throat, and in an instant the look was gone, replaced instead by a simple look of impatience. 

“That being said…” Remus groaned to himself, as he flopped back onto Logan’s bed, completely ruining the neat and orderly presentation of his blankets and pillows when he did. “I'm supposed to be here apologizing.” He grumbled, sounding very… not sorry in the process. “Apparently…” 

Logan’s head cocked to the side, curiosity curling in the bottom of his stomach. 

“Apologizing?” He asked, “For what?” 

Remus kicked his legs out, scattering Logan’s starry blanket and nearly making it flop onto the ground, only caught by the creative side’s leg at the last second. An angry frustrated huff left Remus, as he snatched up one of Logan’s pillows and pressed it over his face as if he was trying to suffocate himself so that he wouldn't have to answer these questions anymore. In Logan’s honest opinion, he looked all too similar to a child throwing a temper tantrum, and just like that… the image of Remus wearing the dunce hat while pouting flashed into his mind like a streak of lightning. 

Logan had to press his lips together to keep his smile down. 

And just like that another groan sounded from Remus, “For ruining your schedule!” He finally shouted, throwing his hands up in the air as he suddenly sat up, the pillow flying off of his face and falling at Logan’s feet. “Janus says that if I apologize that it’ll help things, and things certainly aren’t supposed to be like this!” The creative side swept his hands out dramatically, emphasizing Logan’s room, and how it was supposed to look like a cubicle until Logan had started feeling too tired to hold up the illusion of it all. “You’re supposed to be the boring ordinary one that bests me! But this!” Remus stomped his foot, “You’re letting me win with this!” 

Bending down Logan picked up his pillow, and dusted off a speck of imaginary dirt before tossing it back over to Remus. The creative side caught it with no problem, before hugging it tight to his chest, a borderline desperate look on his face. He hadn’t looked sorry before, especially now with knowing that Janus had been the one to make him apologize. But now… now he truly looked sorry, even if it wasn’t for the reasons that Janus had wanted him to be. 

“Remus,” Logan began, his voice much softer than it had been with any of the others. “You don’t have to apologize to me, not for finally getting me to see what I needed to see in order to get the others to listen to me.” Remus’ face blanched for a moment, and a look of miniscule guilt that Logan didn’t exactly understand passed over his face within a second. “Truthfully… I understand how you feel.” Logan began again, this all felt so easy to explain to Remus than it did with any of the other sides, and he had no idea why. “I understand how you felt… by constantly being ignored all this time.” 

For a long moment, Remus looks solemn. Up until the moment that Logan finally stands up and makes his way over to the bed. Sitting next to the creative side Logan stops for a moment, before flopping back much of the same way that Remus had and after only pausing for a moment Remus does the same. The two of them laying there, side by side, as Logan stares up at his ceiling and Remus stares at him 

A heavy sigh leaves Logan, and without even thinking about it he presses his pillow over his face in the same way that Remus did. “I deluded myself,” He mumbled into his pillow, before dragging it off of his face. He feels weak when his eyes start to sting and water, “The others weren’t ever my family, or even my friends. They didn’t like me… I was just.. just annoying to them. So… so…” Logan hates himself for how his bottom lip trembles, but he knows that he’s right and that it needs to be said to the one person who might get it. “So boring.” 

For all intents and purposes… Remus feels crushed. 

It’s a new feeling for him, being this hurt by someone who isn’t Janus and isn’t his brother. And what’s worse is that Logan isn’t even meaning to hurt him, this is a hurt born from feeling empathy for another person. He knows that he should hate it, and that he should hate Logan for it as well. But the kicker is…

He can’t. 

He can’t hate Logan for this, not when he made this happen. 

“I’m sorry.” He wants to say it again and again, until Logan truly understands what he’s apologizing for, until Logan understands that he’s apologizing for the others as well and everything that they've done to hurt him, and until Logan felt that he could go back to the way that things were before all this. 

Instead he just nods his head, “I know.” He turns over, so that Logan can have his tears in peace, “The others miss you though, they… think of you as family…” Remus winced, while the words didn’t exactly feel like a lie, it still felt… 

Hollow.

Like it was too little and very much too late after everything that had been done, he knew that had he been in Logan’s shoes his reaction wouldn’t have nearly been so.. so nice. In his eyes, Logan was giving them far better than what they deserved, despite what he had said to Virgil… he knew that there wasn’t much he could do to help this situation, and that anything he did would mostly just make Logan pull away more and more. If anything, his ranting and even his presence here probably made things worse for the others already… 

Just like with everything that he did. 

Logan snorted roughly, and just that Remus was dragged back to the present. 

“That too bad,” The logical side muttered sourly, his lips twisting into an angry frown. “They can imagine whatever they want, but our relationship was nothing more than them taking what they wanted from me, and leaving me in the dust. They don’t get to miss that just because I decide that I’ve had enough. No matter how much I regret that this is how things are, and no matter how much I miss them… this is how it is from now on. They ensured it.” Logan didn’t like the dark feeling that had seeped into his chest, the anger that burned there, or the hurt that seemed content with lacerating his heart every time he thought about how things used to be. 

He could have been content, and he could have just turned a blind eye to all of this and just… looked at the good moments. Like when Virgil smiled at him after their mock debate, or when Roman had made him his book, and when Patton smiled at him after he had gotten the moral side his new hoodie. He could have just pretended, and learned to take things how they were, and make himself look away from the bad parts. 

He could have…

But he didn’t want to anymore. 

“I’m tired…” Logan finally sighed out, when only silence had answered him after his long spiel. “And maybe that’s boring of me too, but at least I can be happy with that.” 

For a moment there was nothing, before Remus finally moved. 

His arm tucked its way around Logan, pulling him in tight and holding him there firmly. “I know.” Remus merely said, those two words holding a deeper meaning than the logical side could ever truly know. “I know…” 

Logan… 

Logan wanted to break apart into a million pieces the moment that Remus had touched him, in a good way. It had felt like forever since he'd last touched one of the other sides, let alone a good touch that didn’t reek of annoyance from one of the others. It had been forever since he’d sat with the others, everyone touching everyone as they all watched movies late into the night. It had been forever since, Virgil had just casually sat with him on the couch, the anxious side leaning against him without a second thought. It had been forever since Roman had slung his arm over his shoulders to show him something new and interesting. And… and it had been forever since Patton had swiped his hair out of his face, in an act of care and love.   

He hadn’t let them touch him, because he knew that if they did...

Logan heaved a shuddering breath, and turned into Remus’ one-armed embrace and shoved his face into the other side's chest. Letting his tears get soaked up by the fabric of the creative side’s shirt, just this once… he let himself do this. 

While Remus…

Remus let his touches linger as he curls his entire body around Logan, as if he were protecting him just as it always had countless times with Janus.  

It comes to him as easy as breathing does.

[amiedala]

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 30: Something More

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content & descriptions of violence

SUMMARY: “I’m ready,” Din repeats, more fortified. You nod, and then beam at him and the baby, pushing your shoulders back. “This is a lot,” he says, his voice still tinged slightly with anxiety, “are you sure?”

You step as close as you can, reaching your hand up to bring his face down to yours, tipping your foreheads together. “Din Djarin,” you whisper, “I’m sure. We were always meant for something more. And,” you continue, smiling, mouth an inch away from his, “I don’t scare easy.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i am literally sitting here, emotional, crying as i write this. this has been the journey of a lifetime. i hope you all love this last chapter, and i hope it gives you that something more that Nova and Din found together. this last chapter, this grand finale, it's dedicated to every single one of you. thank you for being my readers, supporters, and friends. i hope this ending is everything you've dreamed. more notes, as always, are at the end. <3

*

A year ago, almost to the day, if you’ve counted correctly, you crash landed on Nevarro and the entirety of the rest of your life shifted somewhere huge and cosmic. You’ve always been a believer—in something bigger, something great, something more—but the second you met Din, and then the baby…well, everything seemed to just click into place. From Nevarro’s molten surface, to Bespin’s back alleys, to the excursions into the Mid Rim, to falling in love on Naator, to saying yes to the most romantic proposal on Yavin, to heartbreak and back on Dantooine, to all of the lives you’ve lost and the ones you’ve lived, all the way straight back into the Rebel Alliance, to losing your kid and your fiancé and then somehow coming out on top of it, ready to unite the remainder of the Jedi and the people of Mandalore and every single Rebel you know to pull off the greatest eradication of evil since the Death Star blew, you genuinely and sincerely can’t imagine your life being any other way.

And when you look over to the man you love, his helmet off, every contour of his gorgeous face in your full view, it makes your heart ache in your chest. Not in the way it did when you stumbled and drowned in the losses along the journey, not the way it did when he left you to protect you back on Dantooine, but in a way that feels just as huge and cosmic as the last year has been. You know war is on the horizon. You know there’s so many battles out there left to fight, and to hopefully win. You’ve come a hell of a way since being bounty hunter and babysitter, respectively. And all of it, every second, you think was worth it to get to this moment.

Because you’re not only about to be the wife of the king of Mandalore, you’re not only about to spearhead an entirely revitalized Rebel Alliance to take down the evil the Empire left over in the shadows, but you’re about to do all of it after meeting Luke Skywalker. And there’s something just as starry and explosive about your old life meeting your new one, just as bright, just as shiny.

Din’s quiet. You’re buzzing with adrenaline and anxiety and everything in between, but you’re trying to stay calm. Mandalore is a serene orb on the horizon, and you watch it through the blinking mirrors on Kicker’s dashboard as you slowly coast through the stars. Everything out here, when you’re not in warp, feels like everything is drawing towards something more. Not an ending. Never an ending. But there’s something poignant in each dazzling ball of gaseous light, as if this journey is a transformation.

“Where’s your head?” Din asks, lowly, and the spark in his voice is enough to break you out of your reverie.

“On you,” you answer, immediately, flashing a wide smile towards him, “as always, my big brave Mand’alor boyfriend.”

Din winces, just a little, but you can see the small beginnings of a smile etched into his face, a reflection of yours. “That one doesn’t seem as catchy.”

You laugh, throwing your head back, your loose hair dancing down your spine. You feel the way his eyes roam over you—not just hungry, not just with desperation—but with ease. So much has changed, and yet this, right here, the two of you in the cockpit, heading into the stars, this is so familiar you could do it in your sleep.

“Give me time,” you answer, finally, grinning back over at him, “I’ll come up with something better.”

Din’s quiet, and you turn your attention back to the space around you. It’s quiet out here. Peaceful, even though so much of the galaxy is rife with stress and there’s evil lurking out there in the shadows you and the rest of the team have to yank back into the light. And you know this is just the beginning—that the last time the Empire won, it took almost twenty full years to defeat them, and even longer to put anything right—but knowing you’re moving forward, you’re secretly married with the leader of a planet, you have an entire squadron of people caught from all haphazard places in the galaxy, and that your family’s going to be reunited in a matter of days, feels like you’re coming home in a way you haven’t felt in years.

“Nova,” Din starts, and then falls back into his silence. You glance back at him. The muted interior of Kicker reflects back onto the beskar, makes it look like it’s camouflaged. If it were anyone else, if you didn’t know him as intently as you do, you’d be on edge with Din disappearing into the ship. But you can feel his steady heartbeat, you know he’s right behind you, and, more than anything, he’s yours. Nothing about him scares you. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. “Do—do you really think we can pull this off?”

You sigh, flicking the switch so Kicker goes into autopilot, and then you slowly turn around him in your chair so you can face Din in yours. “Yes,” you say, gently, conviction seeping into your voice. “Yes, I think we can pull this off. You’re going to be the best leader Mandalore’s ever had, I’m going to work with the Alliance, we’re going to get our kid back, and we’re going to eradicate the First Order, whoever and wherever they are. We’re going to pull it all off, Din,” you continue, earnestly, leaning forward in your seat, holding his gorgeous gaze. “It’s not going to be easy. It’s not going to be quick. But we’re going to do it.”

Din holds your eyes. There’s something strange behind his own. “How are you so optimistic, even after everything?”

You blink, hand finding the Rebel insignia around your neck, fingers pressing down against the smoothness of the metal. You swallow. It holds heavier against your throat than your mother’s did, but something about the beskar carving makes it feel totally indestructible. A small beacon of fortification. Something to bring you out to sea and back to shore again. “Like I told Gideon,” you say, finally, “I have hope.”

He’s quiet. You are, too. Eventually, Din leans forward, hand linking with yours, meeting you right in the middle. “Don’t lose that.”

You shoot a small, guarded smile back at him. “I held onto it even when I thought you abandoned me back on Dantooine. I think I can keep this part of me alive forever, and I think it’s strong enough to keep it alive in you, too.”

Din stares at you. “I need you to know,” he starts, voice low and urgent, “that I’m so sorry. For leaving you. For not including you in my decisions. For—” he cuts himself off, inhaling sharply, “for breaking your trust. I messed up. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to fix it. All I can promise you,” he continues, hand tightening its grip in yours, “is that I’m never going to do it again.”

You look at him. There’s still that burning pyre in your chest, that fear that he’s going to disappear and not come back, that some sort of fate will lightning strike between the two of you, but the anger that lived there for so long has completely dissipated. You love him. You take a shaky breath, holding up your left hand. The beskar encircling your ring finger glints in Kicker’s low light. “I believe you,” you say, finally, laying it all bare. You inhale, biting down on your lower lip. “That’s what this is all about,” you continue, wriggling your fingers, “right? I know you,” you say, leaning closer, hair falling over your shoulder. His eyes track the movement of it, free, unencumbered. “I love you,” you continue, nodding slightly. “And I trust you. So I believe you.”

Din inhales. “Nova,” he starts, “do—do you ever think you’ll forgive me for leaving you back on Dantooine—”

And then he’s cut off, because Kicker starts screaming. It’s not the same warbled screech that haunted the comm back on Khubeaie, not that desperate kind of wailing. She’s warning you, you realize, as you let your hand drop out of Din’s and whirl back around to man the controls yourself. Din reacts almost completely in sync, but you saw the spark of ache in his eyes before he finished asking his question. Your stomach flips over.

Something’s failing. You know that. You’re not sure why, but the ship starts flickering and sinking, even when you’re supposedly moving on a full fuel tank, and even while you know you fixed all the major issues before you left Mandalore. Bo-Katan had even given the ship a very begrudging once-over, and you know her seal of approval is very hard to come by. Frustrated, you press all the right buttons, trying to calculate what exactly the issue is.

Your comm blinks. “Come in,” a voice rings, and for a second, everything floods into fight-or-flight. You’re running completely on adrenaline, still high from saying your wedding vows the night before, and you haven’t had more than one consecutive night of good sleep in months. Quickly, you flash your eyes on Din. “Come in,” the voice on the other end of the line says again, and it’s urgent enough for you to raise your wrist to your mouth, make you speak.

“Who am I speaking to—”

“Your ship’s haunted.”

You stare into the comm, back at Din, and then into your comm again, as if any of this will somehow crystallize the absolute nonsense that’s ringing in your ears. “What?” you say, still thinking you’re losing it, and then, before you can do anything else, you hear blaring on the other line.

“Not haunted,” another voice says, tiredly, and it’s not until Slave I pops out of warp that you realize you’re talking to Boba and Fennec. “Ships don’t get haunted,” she continues, “you just didn’t fix your disabled comm system when we first scrambled your signal. That’s the issue.”

You squint. You can’t see her, of course, everything about the ship is covered in tinted windows, but you want Fennec Shand to feel the full force of your disapproval and confusion. “You scrambled my signal? But that was days before—”

“Had to get a hold of you somehow,” the other voice says, and you exhale, shaking your head. “That was her doing. Not mine. The ship’s comm system is, for lack of a better term, haunted. Land on this planet.”

“We have to go to Hoth,” you protest, halfheartedly. “That was the plan.”

You can hear the wry smile in Boba Fett’s voice. “Oh, they won’t like me on Hoth, Rebel.”

You raise your eyebrow over at Din. By the way his helmet’s cocked, you know he’s laughing under there. “Too bad,” you shoot back, flipping switches on the dashboard as Din’s plugging in the coordinates to the ice giant nearby, “they’re gonna have to deal with it, because you’re with me.”

With a relatively boring flight and endless grumbling from Boba Fett, the two of your ships touch down on Hoth. It makes your stomach flip over. Everything in you is still buzzing—all that emotional resonance, all that fluttery anxiety of standing on the precipice of something more—and you can barely hear Din as he slips his helmet back on and gestures you to slide down the ladder after him. You feel alive. Dazzlingly, excitedly so.

Everyone complains about the cold. It assaults all of you the second the gangplanks are lowered, but there’s something so warm inside of you that you barely feel the bite of the chill. You flash a big smile at Wedge and the various members of the New Rogue Squadron as they greet you at the thermalock door, the warm breeze that greets you the second you step into the light downright summery compared to the ice.

“Did you talk to Luke?” Wedge asks, his voice low and complicated, as he leads your ragtag group to the control room. You don’t know why he’s whispering, but you follow suit.

“All I got from his last hologram,” you sigh, rubbing your icy fingers together, “is that he wants to see me in person.”

Wedge raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

You glance back over at him, eyebrows furrowed down the middle. “Yeah. Was that not what he told you?”

Wedge chews on his bottom lip. “He didn’t really say much of anything,” he admits as you round the last corner, “just that he needed to speak with you, as soon as possible, and that it was important. I’m not used to him being so secretive.”

You shoot him a small smile. “Is that unlike him?”

Wedge’s expression is wry, but his eyes sparkle. “The Luke Skywalker I know could talk to an empty moon for years before he realized there’s no one talking back.”

A grin breaks across your face. As Wedge walks around to his usual command spot on the other side of the holotable, you bite back your smile and stand at yours, feeling a very strange sense of pride as your unlikely team lines up behind you. Din is fully armored, but the set of his shoulders is much more relaxed than the last time he was there. Boba, especially with his newly refurbished armor, sticks out like a sore thumb. The generals across from you are defensive, not taking their eyes off of him for a second. Fennec doesn’t look like she belongs, either, but you have a very strong feeling that Fennec Shand doesn’t belong to anything except the chaos she craves. Still, there’s a determined set to her face that shows you she’s on your side. Mixed in with the rest of the semicircle are Cara and Karga, who don’t exactly blend in, but wear the same proverbial colors of the rest of the people at the table.

“New Rogue Squadron,” Wedge starts, his eyes dancing all over everyone stationed at the holotable, “meet our newcomers.”

“We’ve met,” one general says, disapprovingly, looking Boba Fett up and down.

Wedge lets Boba step forward menacingly for exactly two seconds before he steps forward, just an inch, and retakes command. “Refamiliarize yourself, then. We’re all on the same side here. We are,” he cuts himself off, lowering his voice, looking straight at you, “all on the same side here, right?”

You nod. “Who here wants the Empire eradicated for good?” Everyone’s hands go up. You cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at Fennec, the only one in the room that doesn’t have her hand in the air. “Fennec?”

She looks back at you, her eyes alive, a reflecting pool. “I like to be on the winning team.”

“Well,” you level, “here, you certainly are.”

She cracks a grin, and then her hand extends in a perfect line above her head. “I have a feeling,” she says, tongue snaking out and wetting her bottom lip, “that you don’t break promises often.”

“She doesn’t,” Din chimes in from behind you. You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, and you look back at Wedge, turning back over command.

“Alright then,” Wedge says, leaning forward, bracing each hand on the glimmering edge of the table, “let’s get started.”

The two of you talk first. You recount a very abridged version of the events, starting from when you and Din left Hoth last, all the way up to everything that happened on Mandalore. You glaze over the more unsavory bits back on Cantonica, only wincing slightly when you smooth over the fight in the back alley, the way that you were close to death. You can still smell that creep’s breath if you focus too hard on the memory, so you think instead of the way Din plunged the Darksaber into his chest. You bridge the gap by introducing Cara and Karga to the rest of the group huddled around the table, talking about your reunion on Nevarro, and how they were tracking down ex-convicts and members in the Guild, respectively, to uncover any new information on the Order. You finish, warily, with Gideon’s final statements, how he promised you the Order was going to come and take anyone with power they could manipulate for their own, how his eyes glinted when he told you that all Jedi would either be eradicated or turned into weapons. Finally, you close with his death, Bo-Katan’s measured rage, the battle over the Darksaber that chose Din again and made both of you basically royalty. Wedge’s face shifts as you tell him the last bit, your eyes very focused on his and not anyone else’s. You know that being associated with the current Mand’alor puts even more of a target on your back than it did when you were simply an exiled Rebel and bounty hunter, but you keep your chin up. You don’t care about the royalty aspect of it, don’t love the idea of being in charge of other people, especially after fighting for so long to be your own autonomous being. But you like the idea that Din is the rightful leader, and there’s not a chance in hell anyone—especially not the First Order—is going to take that from him.

You turn it over to Wedge, who’s still looking strangely at you. It’s not judgment. It’s not questioning. It takes about halfway through his opening remarks for you to classify it as pride. You step back as he talks, hiding a small smile.

“We have our work cut out for us,” he sighs, and you tune back in. “None of this is going to be easy. I’m going to ask you all one last time,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, a flurry of orange against the stark, cool interior of the base, “if you want out, this is where you leave. No hard feelings. But it needs to be now.”

No one moves an inch. Not a single general. Not Cara or Karga. Not Boba or Fennec, who both seem to be much more involved with this idea than they showed at first glance. Behind you, Din steps just an inch closer, and you feel your body filling up with warmth in his close proximity.

“That’s what I thought,” Wedge says, that smile of pride etched into his face again. “Here’s what we’ve found out. There isn’t a lot of information on anything related to the empire left, save for libraries and research archives, and of course, the lived experiences of everyone in this room,” He pauses, bringing up an image on the holotable. You see the flickering images of both Death Stars, and you hide a small shiver at how impending and filled with doom they look, even on this imitation of a screen. “We knocked both of these out,” Wedge continues, pointing at the rotating stars. “We made extra care to do it the second time,” he says, gesturing at the bigger and more reinforced of the two, “and then we tried to eradicate every single building plan the Empire had stashed away. I can’t promise that schematics didn’t survive, because I think there were parts of their regime that were a lot smarter than others. But we’ve made it our major effort over the last few years to put in as many annoying and massive roadblocks as we possibly can so that nothing can rise from the ashes. And yet,” he sighs, bringing up an image of Gideon on the screen, “this Order survived.”

“What makes you think they didn’t start after the Empire was eradicated?” Din asks, which causes more of the generals to mutter to one another.

“Because—” Wedge starts.

“I’ve seen this before,” you interrupt, gently. “Almost everyone associated with the Alliance did, too. I wasn’t alive when Darth Vader rose to power, but it didn’t just happen out of nowhere. It was calculated. It was planned. There was a large league of evil hiding under the surface, they were just good at hiding it. We wouldn’t have any idea that the Order exists now, except everyone we’ve fought has huge egos and can’t stop shouting it from the rooftops.” You glance back at Wedge. “I’m sorry. I cut you off.”

“You hit the nail on the head,” Wedge says, approvingly, giving you a quick nod. “With Gideon dead, it’s easy to think that most of the evil that’s terrorized the Outer Rim is gone, or—well, at least dormant. But that’s not the truth. They’re strategic in their darkness because they won’t survive without it.”

“Do we know exactly who we’re dealing with?” Cara asks, stepping forward. You watch as her strong, full figure fills the frame of the holotable. Everyone’s eyes are on her. “With Gideon dead, we don’t have much to go on.”

“I know,” you agree tiredly, dragging a hand over your face. “That—that was not the plan. But in that moment, it was what had to be done,” you amend, chancing a look back at Din. “No. There’s no new figurehead that we know of. From my experience—our experience—though, they wanted Grogu and me for a reason. It wasn’t to use our Force sensitivity as a weapon, like we had originally thought. They experimented on the baby when they took him,” you say, voice shaking a little, “and extracted something from his blood. Midichlorians. I don’t know, exactly, what they are or how they work. I’m a little new to the Jedi thing. But I know they have something to do with how we harness our energy, whatever it is that makes the Force up. Back on Cantonica, the people who tried to grab us insinuated using us—or our power—as weapons wasn’t their current mission, but it would be. And then when we spoke to Gideon back on Mandalore, he said the same thing. But his motivation may not have been the same.” You swallow. “He was scared,” you say, slowly. “Of them. The First Order. He admitted it. He was never in charge. He was a pawn, the same way they want to make us.” You stare at his rotating image on the table, tinted blue. You hate it. Even in this mugshot, he looks smug. It’s an expression that you know won’t go away for a long time after his death. “Whatever’s out there,” you finish, quiet, “it’s big, and it’s coming. We need to be ready. Because when it does, we’re going to have to give them everything we’ve got.”

“Well said,” Wedge says, looking around the room. “Anyone else got an update?”

A few of the other members of the Alliance step forward, confirming and denying a flurry of half-baked theories. Cara fills the rest of you in on what she’s learned from the people that are out of the prison system, which is really a whole lot of nothing. Most of the more dangerous criminals with the heinous crimes are still in prison, and those who have gotten out want to life a quiet, peaceful life. She talks about the refinery explosion back on Morak, the way she knows a few spots of Empire sympathizers, but other than surface-level information, she hasn’t gotten deep into any of her contacts. Karga and the Guild is the same. You can feel the way Din’s eyes are boring into him, the measured way he’s scrutinizing his face. Karga’s slippery, but he’s never posed a real threat, and there’s a kindness to him you wouldn’t expect in a bounty hunter.

Then again, you just secretly married one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the galaxy, and under all that beskar, there’s nothing but a heart of gold.

You smile, hiding the grin under guise of your hand stroking your lip. As if he can read your mind, Din steps so that the plate of beskar on his thigh bumps up against the back of yours. Even through your pants, you can feel how cold it is, how unyielding. How different it is than the man who wears it. The rest of the Alliance turn in small bits and pieces of information. Wedge uses the holotable to input everything, to keep as both map and record. You stare as it projects more and more of blue data. If you unfocus your eyes, it looks like stars.

Eventually, the conversation dies down. “One more time,” Wedge calls out, “do we have anything else to update, or shall we divide and conquer before our next rendezvous?”

Again, no one speaks. The slowly cartographed map projecting up from the table stands as proof that even without a ton of information, you’re starting a long and valiant fight. You feel fortified on that alone. Wedge dismisses everyone, and then you hear a modulated voice behind you.

“Actually,” Din says, his voice rough through the modulator, “I have something.”

Wedge raises his eyebrow, nodding to encourage Din to continue.

“I…” he starts tiredly, sighing, “am the ruler of Mandalore now. I didn’t want it, nor did I ever ask for it, but it’s a responsibility I have to deal with. But I made a promise to Nova,” he continues, knocking his knee slightly against yours. To the outside eye, it doesn’t look like he’s moved at all, but you know it happened. “And I’m going to follow her. I’m in this fight as much as the rest of you are, now, and that’s not changing. So, I would like to move the Rebel base to Mandalore,” Din finishes, finally, to a mixed crowd.

“Mandalore,” the older general says, gruffly, “is not ours to claim. They don’t take kindly to strangers of our kind.”

“I know that’s the history,” Din answers evenly, “but it’s going to be different now. This…this First Order, they don’t seem to only be after Rebels. If we’re not careful and strategic about the way we fight back, they might slip through the cracks. I think cracking down on another fascist regime is something that the Rebels and the people of Mandalore could agree on.”

“I beg to differ,” Wedge says, but his voice is light. “Listen, we’ve been base-hopping since before the first Death Star was blown to bits. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s not a ton of us left. I don’t know if relocation is the smartest idea, not right now.”

You can feel Din’s anger underneath the suit. It’s not directed at Wedge, but the complication of accidentally becoming the ruler of an entire planet isn’t easily dissolved.

“What if we don’t move the base?” you step in. “What if we kept the order of operations on Hoth, but we have a small squadron of people who work out of Mandalore so we keep in touch? The commute is short,” you continue, bringing up the distance between the two planets on the table, “and scattering our protection across the Outer Rim is probably smart, anyway.” You look from Din to Wedge. Everyone else is quiet. “None of this is ideal,” you press on, slightly worried about the tension floating up around everyone in the room, “but I think we’ve more than proven that we’re on the same team, and that we’re going to fight like hell. If the First Order emerges from more than just these shadows,” you continue, chancing a glance around the rest of the room, “then we revaluate where the base is. But right now, I think we should focus on communication instead of relocation.”

“Fine by me,” Wedge answers, easily, and you feel the rest of the anxiety in the room lessen. “Does that work for you?”

Din turns to you. You nod, just once, pleading through your eyes alone. Finally, he gives a swift nod, agreeing without saying a word of contempt or assurance. You smile over at Wedge, nodding again.

“Then the rest of you are dismissed,” Wedge says, with a note of finality. Murmurs fill the room as people start flowing outside of the doors. He looks over at Boba, who, like Cara, Fennec, and Karga, haven’t moved an inch. “You’re really in this?” There’s something complicated in his voice. You can’t quite place it. “You’re not going to try to sabotage us? Or take any of us out?”

Boba steps forward. If you weren’t well-trained in Mandalorian body language, you’d take his commanding presence as a threat. Wedge bends his knees a little, lifting his chin. “I’m not a bounty hunter anymore,” he answers, voice low and smooth. “I’m just a simple man, trying to make his own way in this galaxy.”

You can tell from Wedge’s expression that he doesn’t trust a single word out of Boba Fett’s mouth. “If you won’t cause any harm to us,” he continues, “can you promise me that you’d say the same for Luke Skywalker?”

Boba crosses his arms. Wedge stands taller. “I want to knock Skywalker into that Sarlacc pit and come out in one piece,” he says, and even though his voice is even, it’s not filled with the malice it was when you first met him on Khubeaie. “I don’t care if he lives or dies. I just assume that he’s integral to this whole…eradication of the First Order. So until they’re dead and gone, I won’t touch a pretty blonde hair on his head. Afterward?” He pauses, as if to seriously ponder it. “I can’t promise you what I’ll do next.”

Wedge regards him. Because you’ve known him practically your whole life, you can see his tell of fear. It lives on, like a little flame beyond the blackness in his eyes. Finally, he nods. “That’s fair.”

Boba nods, relaxes his stance. He turns to you. “We’ll keep searching,” he promises, and you flash him a quick smile. Fennec nods, confirming his words. “We do still have unfinished business on Tatooine. But send us a hologram when you’re about to be coronated,” he continues, turning to Din. You can hear the wry humor hidden in his voice, “I want to see the look on the Kryze girl’s face when you’re officially Mand’alor.”

You want to placate Din by telling Boba that they’ve firmly agreed to a truce, but Din doesn’t rush to explain any of this to the other Mandalorian. “You got it,” he says, easily, and then the two of them are gone, heading back to where Slave I is parked. You look over at Cara, whose arms are still exposed in this icy room. She’s not even shivering. You think maybe she’s the only person in the galaxy who could literally intimidate cold and dissuade it from touching her. Karga, on the other hand, is practically turning blue. He’s swaddled up in furs and a very fancy jacket, and yet, you can hear his teeth chattering. “Back to Nevarro for us,” he says, his voice a lot more strained than usual. “We’ll keep looking, too. I know this isn’t going to be easy,” he continues, turning his gaze to you, “but we don’t give up.”

“Ever,” Cara enunciates, knocking her shoulder into Din’s, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “Really. You’re in good hands,” she finishes, dropping her voice an octave, glancing up at Din.

“Oh,” you say, grinning brazenly, “I know.”

She flashes you another smile before the two of them depart the briefing room, too, and you’re left with Din and Wedge. You look back at your old friend, and you still see that vaguely disguised concern in his eyes. For a few moments, no one speaks. You exhale through your mouth and watch as the cold lights it up into frozen air.

“What did Luke say?” Wedge asks again. His voice is urgent. “When he sent you that second hologram?”

You look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “He just—he told me that he needed to speak with me, and that when I saw you next, you’d give me the coordinates of where to meet him. That’s it.” Wedge inhales, his breath slightly shaky. “Wedge, what—?”

“There’s something wrong with him,” Wedge finally says. “There’s this…sadness to him, now, this quiet. When I first met Luke, he talked my ear off for three days before I was able to get a word in edgewise. He whined. He was oppositional. More than anything, he had the biggest heart of almost anyone else I’ve ever known.” His eyes meet yours. “You give him a run for his money, though, rebel girl. We—the last time I was…with him,” he continues, guarded. You have a feeling that he’s intentionally censoring himself, but you don’t push it. You know the way his face lights up whenever Luke is mentioned. And you haven’t met him yet, but you’d be more than willing to bet that Luke feels the same away about Wedge. “The last time we were together,” Wedge continues, “he…he told me that he was going to try and rebuild the Jedi Order, that he wanted to locate all of the sacred texts and find anyone else out there. To create a sense of community. Then he basically disappeared. I had to get to him through Leia, which wasn’t an easy feat, either, and she finally told me he was off on a planet none of us had never heard of before.” Wedge sighs. Something in you sparked when he mentioned Leia, and you’re trying your very hardest to keep your cool, because if there’s anyone in the Alliance you hold in higher regard than Luke Skywalker, it’s his twin sister. “When he contacted me again, he just seemed…heavy. Haunted,” Wedge amends, “and urgent. Like he’s running out of time.”

You stare at Wedge until his eyes find yours again. “I’ll help him,” you say, gently, stepping forward. “I don’t know what he wants from me. I only know him from stories. But whatever it is, I’m here to help. Okay?”

Wedge sighs. “Okay.” He looks back between you and Din, and then the small, easy smile he regularly sports flits across his face. “He’s on Ahch-To. In the Unknown Regions. He wants you to meet him there, and he wants the two of you to come alone.”

“That,” Din finally says, breaking his silence, “will not be a problem.”

Wedge smiles up at him, too. “I like you,” he says, gently slapping Din’s forearm. “Stay alive and don’t let this one go, Mandalorian.”

“Trust me,” Din assures him, as Wedge pulls the data drive from the holotable so that the two of you can keep a copy of everything in your journey to Luke and back to Mandalore, “those are my two top priorities.”

Hoth is cold. Space is colder. Usually, by the time you’re out in the stars, it’s impossible to feel empty and chilled, but you’re hurtling through warp to the Unknown Regions, and there’s something so dark and desolate about this corner of the galaxy. It’s ancient, from what you can tell, and largely abandoned. Something here is bringing you an odd sense of quiet, but mostly, you feel that haunted, desperate feeling associated with the lurking, looming threat of the First Order, and you’re trying your best to ignore it.

Din rises up out of his seat and stands beside you. He dangles both of his hands into your line of sight, and you gently undo his gloves, letting them drop to the floor. His fingers slip under the fabric of your shirt and start pressing on where the ache has blossomed and hardened. “You carry all of your stress here,” he murmurs, digging his thumbs into the knots that line your shoulders.

“Hard to feel stressed,” you hum happily, “when you’re doing this.”

He tips your head back. You stare upside down into the visor, and then his hands disappear from your shoulders to pull the helmet off. You hide your small sigh under the noise of the hiss that his mask makes, and when you’re face to face, something kickstarts like a drum in your chest.

You’ll never get tired of seeing Din’s face. Not now, not ever. It’s complicated and etched with so much worry, but when he looks at you, everything has quieted. It’s just the two of you, the crush of space, and the promise of being a real family on the horizon. It makes everything in you swell and burst like a eager tide against the shoreline. “I love you,” you whisper, and he strokes his thumb over your cheek.

He smiles. It’s such a rare thing, that genuine smile. It shines on long after it’s left his face. “Ni kar’tayl su,” he agrees, and then, so softly you may have imagined it, “Novalise.”

When he comes in for a kiss, he spins your chair around so fast that you don’t even have enough air in your legs. He kneels down so that his face is level with yours, knocking his forehead gently against his. You wrap both of your arms up and around his neck, staring into his deep, brown, expressive eyes as he holds both of your cheeks with the palms of his large hands, breathing in his scent of cleanness and metal and smoke and, still, cinnamon.

“Do you remember,” he starts, his voice thick, “when we…we first met, and I asked you how old you were?”

You nod, quietly, feeling his hair brush up against yours. “Yeah,” you say, softly. You can feel your heart beating quickly in the left side of your chest.

“That,” Din sighs, “was a year ago today.”

You look up at him, startled. “You counted?”

He nods, still with his forehead against yours. “You’re not twenty-five anymore,” he says, quietly, “and I didn’t get you a birthday gift.”

You smile, pulling away, only slightly, so you can see his eyes. “We have been a little busy,” you say, grinning. “I think I can forgive you on that one.”

He meets your gaze, low and intense. “Can you?” Din asks, and as you’re registering the weight of the words of forgiveness, he’s taking off your pants. There’s something desperate and hungry in his eyes as he works them off of you, dragging his bare hands up and over your thighs. You gasp with the lightness of his touch, and when his mouth moves up in between your legs, you think his tongue can work miracles. Huge ones. Devastating ones. You’re pretty sure Din’s mouth alone could bring about galaxy-wide peace, except you don’t want it anywhere except for buried in your pussy.

You let out a strangled moan, low and wet, and right as his tongue starts furiously circling your clit, Kicker starts fucking hollering.

You could kill her. You love her, the home you’ve made in her, how she’s kept you safe, but right now, if ships could be strangled, you would absolutely throttle her. Sighing, you wrench your pants back up over your hips.

“I’m not done,” Din warns, and the image of him wiping the slick off of his lips replays in the back of your mind as you try to yank your attention back to your screeching ship.

“What’s wrong?” you mutter, checking through the laundry list of flips and switches and buttons, trying to figure out why Kicker’s on high alert. It takes a second, but then you see it—black TIE fighters, wicked and sharp, arachnid and blending into the crush of space. “Shit,” you murmur under your breath, strapping yourself back in. Before you can warn Din to do the same, lightning-quick, he bolts his safety belt. You crack your neck back and forth, shaking your fingers free of the cold cabin interior and any leftover jitters you’re still feeling from Din’s mouth on you.

“Where did they come from?” Din asks, and you recognize that his voice is modulated, his helmet back on in a flash. “We’re in the middle of nowhere—”

“Warp,” you call back, as the first one fires. It’s not their stereotypical light blast—something about it is just as dark and insidious as their ships are. You escape it, but narrowly, and you yank Kicker up to evade the shot. “Every time. Every single time. How the hell,” you call back at him, firing off a few rounds of your own, “do they find us this easily?”

“Well,” Din answers, over the noise, “your ship isn’t exactly the most inconspicuous, even with the modifications—”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, barrel rolling over on yourself, evading another blast. It careens into some debris of a nearby asteroid field, and you wince as it collides. “Do you think it’s because they know that Gideon’s dead?” The word feels heavy in your mouth. You gulp, setting everything to stun, dropping some of your height so that you can avoid the new shots they’re volleying at you.

“How could they?” Din yells back, and then a blast hits Kicker. You scream with the impact, loud and uncontrolled, as it drains your shields. You can’t tell how bad the damage is, but nothing is burning or smoking, even though Kicker’s screeching at you again. You’re almost positive she’s a sentient being, at this point, because she’s always so humanoid in her reactions. You grunt, hauling the ship as far right as you can get, blasting one of the three fighters with your own artillery. “I’m going to arm the cannon,” Din says, and you don’t have time to tell him that the defense system at the back of Kicker is a mess of wires and buttons, and that you’re not even sure if the rear artillery works, before he’s gone in a flash.

It turns out, the rear artillery does work. It’s no masterclass in shooting, but Din knows his way around his weapons, even ones he’s never used before. You’re exhausted, but you yank Kicker up and over, avoiding another blast. You stare at the fighters as they whiz around you. There’s a darkness to them that you don’t entirely understand, but when they start shooting again, you’ve had enough. You hate killing. You still carry the tally marks of the lives you’ve ended deep inside your chest. You know all of them by heart. But you’re willing to let these people take a few punches with Kicker’s best cannons, because you’ve had enough of them trying to take everything you love away from you for what feels like the millionth time.

“Up!” Din yells from the back of the ship, and you take every single atom of strength you have last in your body to wrench all of the thrusters upward, careening Kicker dizzily into the mess of the stars above. The fighters follow you, lightning quick. Din shoots, hard and heavy, with what feels like all the ammo left on the ship, but then you’re out and the one right on your tail shoots another blast. Everything in Kicker shakes, screams, and then slowly starts to power down. You can feel her sliding into sleep.

“Not like this,” you mutter, furious, flipping every switch you can think of, trying to make it the right way up so you can recalibrate your defense, if you have any left, or at least punch in new coordinates so you won’t die out here, lost in the crush of space. That same, awful feeling that filled you when you crash landed on Dagobah is running through you again. The last thing you think before you start moving is how horrible and lonely your parents’ deaths must have been when they were spinning to their terrible, fiery end.

The fighter closest to you fires again. You unbuckle. If you’re going to die like that, out here in the middle of nowhere in the Outer Rim, you’re going to get to your secret husband first and you’re going to tell him that you love him, that you don’t want to die alone, and that after this, after everything, of course you forgive him.

But you don’t have a chance. You slide across the floor, and scramble towards the ladder, and you can hear the uncharacteristic noise coming from Din down in the hull, and then everything quiets. It’s not possible. It can’t be.

A single X-wing comes out of nowhere. You stop your struggle to get downstairs. You forget everything else. Your jaw drops as your eyes track the ship. You know it before you see him. You know it because literally everything in you is shaking and screaming, every single last part of you that harnesses the Force is kaleidoscoping in the shape of Luke Skywalker, but you watch, stunned into complete silence, as he delivers three blasts, knocking each fighter down into space. You watch their trails dizzy down to nothing as everything filters back in. Din hurls himself up the ladder, promptly crashes into you, and then you’re both tangled up on the floor together.

“Nova,” Din mutters.

“That’s—” you stop, blinking, trying to take the image in, still, everything locked on the X-Wing you can see out of the starboard window, jabbing at the shape of his ship with a shaky finger, “that’s—Luke Skywalker—”

“Kicker is failing,” Din says, patiently, and then, not nearly as patiently, he grabs your face. “Hey! You either need to get her down on the nearest planet or I will, but either way, I’m not dying out here.”

“Not dying. Right,” you say, dazed, and then the adrenaline kicks back in. “Um—” you get up, heaving yourself back to a standing position with all the weight you can on the heels of your hands. You throw yourself back into the pilot’s chair. Kicker is screaming. Your comm blinks, and you raise it, still not entirely aware of what you’re doing. “Hello?”

“You need to help me ground your starfighter,” the voice warbles across the intercom, and you choke back a sob. It’s him. It’s him. You have absolutely no idea what he means, but General Luke Skywalker is talking to you. “Your kid told me he did it before.”

You squint. “My kid—?”

And then, like the sound of a million tiny, glorious bells ringing all at once, you hear Grogu’s laugh. You choke back a sob. Din’s hand finds your knee, clenches it in something that feels an awful lot like relief.

“It’s too big for us to do it alone,” Luke’s voice rings through again, “you need to use the Force.”

And, holy Maker and all the stars above, you do.

It’s not easy. You have no idea how Grogu did this alone, especially since the Crest was so much larger and clunkier than Kicker, but you let Din pilot the controls as you work with Luke and Grogu to bring the ship down as easily as you can to the closest planet. It’s not the most populated place, and you have no idea what the terrain will be like, but you put everything out of your mind except for getting to the ground in one piece.

Kicker isn’t in the best shape when you ground her, but she’s alive and, like her namesake, still kicking. You’re going to need more fuel, and definitely some repairs on the starboard side, but you’re on the ground and alive. You disembark down the gangplank, shivering even in your Rebellion-issued parka, because this ice giant is just as frozen and formidable as Hoth is, and even vaster. Din looks completely untouched in his usual beskar, but he grabs and releases his hand as Luke Skywalker’s X-wing soars through the cloud cover, touching down a good distance away from your ship. Everything in you is alive and anxious, your heart beating out an intense staccato rhythm inside your ribcage. You know this isn’t a trick, that this is really Luke, that he has Grogu, that everything you’ve been working toward for the last year is meeting you face to face, but it’s still making your knees buckle under the weight of it. When you see him moving down the ladder, you can’t help yourself, running straight towards the ship. Luke turns around, and you skid to a stop in the snow, staring at him. When he shifts, you can see Grogu safely nestled in his robes, and you choke back a small sob.

The second your child sees you, he starts crying. You do, too. The chill freezes the tears on your face, but you don’t care, and you’re running again. Grogu stretches out his tiny green arms toward you. You vaguely register that Luke Skywalker has a smile on his face, but the only thing you’re focused on at all is Grogu, and when you pick him up, he smiles at you, sniffling, latching his small body against yours as tight as he possibly can.

“I missed you, bug,” you whisper. Your words are whisked away by the howling wind, but you don’t even care. You know he can hear it. “I missed you so much.”

He warbles, and you hold him even tighter, tipping your forehead against his tiny, wrinkled green one. Din catches up to the two of you, and you turn around, beaming, eagerly passing the baby to his dad. Grogu throws himself against Din’s armor, with zero regard to how cold the beskar is, happy to simply share in his warmth.

You’re still crying. Ugly sobbing, really, slobber all over your face, and you drag the sleeve of your jacket across your nose, hoping that it’ll amend some of your tears and the remnants it left behind.

“He’s missed you for a long time,” Luke’s voice rings out, and you turn around. You stare at him. He has a warm, big smile on his face, an unencumbered one, which is in high demand these days. His blue eyes are kind and endearing, and he tracks Grogu’s movements with great care. You stare at him, mouth slightly ajar, trying to dream up any words to string together to express your gratitude. “I’m—”

“General Skywalker,” you interrupt in a rush, wincing. “M—Master Skywalker. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

He smiles at you. “You can just call me Luke.”

You nod profusely. You have the strange feeling that you’re meeting royalty, and you don’t know what to do with your hands. “I—I’m Nova. Novalise. But you can call me Nova.”

His gaze drifts from your face to Din and the baby. He nods once at Din, and you can tell there’s something yearning behind his kind eyes. Luke looks back at you. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time,” he continues, stepping toward you. “I’ve seen you. In visions. In the baby’s head.”

You nod, swallowing. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

The wind howls. You shiver, feeling your nose turn red from the chill. Luke shakes a bit, too, which seems notoriously human from someone so legendary, before you remember he grew up on a desert planet and probably has zero resistance to the cold. He takes another step toward you. “How long have you been having premonitions?”

You blink at him. “How did you—?”

Luke offers a tired smile. “I can sense them in you,” he answers, gently. “You’ve been in mine. I can only assume you’ve seen me in yours. When did they start?”

“A few months ago,” you answer, honestly, sifting your weight more evenly between your feet. “I’ve always thought I was tapped into…something else. Something more. But this was different. It showed up in dreams, then the baby would show me his, then I started having them of my own. Sometimes, they’re clear, like before we met Ahsoka Tano. Sometimes, though, they’re vivid and completely nonsensical. You started showing up in them recently,” you tack on, faintly, “both how you look now and…what seems to be you much older. I can’t make sense of them.”

Luke tilts his head a fraction of an inch. “Have you ever met anyone else like you besides Grogu?” He offers up another small smile. “Or me?”

You shake your head. “No,” you say, earnestly, “no, it’s just…the three of us. Have you?”

The expression on his face changes, shifting enough for you to categorize the difference. “My nephew,” he answers, but there’s something slightly off about his voice. “I train him, sometimes, too. But he also has these visions, these—premonitions. For a long time, I was the only other Jedi I knew, and I just thought that was normal. I’ve been researching, and those types of premonitions aren’t the typical vision.”

You stare at him. “What—what are we seeing?”

“The future,” Luke says, grimly. “I think. I don’t know if it’s set in stone. But there’s this darkness coming. I know you’ve felt it. Wedge told me about your visions, but he didn’t need to.” His eyes search over your face. “I can see it. You’re like me, Nova.”

Despite everything, you grin back at him. “I can think of worse people to be like. Lucky me.”

And then you see it. What Wedge was talking about. A conflicted darkness flitters across Luke’s face, and then he does his best to absolve it. He does look so much older than you were imagining him to be—not by much, because he’s only a handful of years older than you are—but his eyes are haunted with an emptiness that comes with accumulated loss. And if he’s right, there’s more to come. Din steps in closer, carrying the baby. Grogu coos, and the youthful smile that Wedge talks about spreads across Luke’s face when he looks at the kid.

“I wanted to meet you,” Luke says, finally, turning his attention back to you, “because I wanted to see it in your eyes. The Force. I wanted to show you that…you’re strong, and you’re unique, and that can very easily make you a weapon. I’m here to tell you,” he continues, leaning in, “that you can choose not to be.”

You nod, locking eyes with him. “I’m a Jedi,” you say, slightly winded, but strong. “Or at least, I’m going to be. I’m not going to let the First Order take me.”

He blinks. “You know about the First Order?”

You nod again, then slowly shake your head. “No,” you admit, finally. “Nothing really beyond their name and their plans to use us as their weapon.”

Luke studies you carefully. “I thought—I was naïve, when I first started. I thought that turning my father back to the light and letting him kill the Emperor would end things. I was wrong. There’s more to come,” he says, gravely, looking out at the barren wasteland of the planet you’re on, “and I don’t think what died fully stayed dead.”

The familiar words rush over you, seizing in your diaphragm. “What did you just say—”

And then you’re cut off by the screech of TIE fighters. You flinch, grabbing the Darksaber off of Din’s belt, unsheathing the blade. There’s five of them. Luke, immediately, unholsters his own lightsaber, a piercing green. You’re captivated by it, by the determined set of his young face. He just looks like an expert. You take stock of his fighting stance, adjusting your legs to match his position. When the first blasts come, you brandish the Darksaber in front of you, sizzling away their attack. They swoop and soar around you. You hear the impact when one hits the beskar, Din knocked to the ground.

“Hey!” you call, running over to him, dropping the saber down by your side as Luke jumps and slices at the arachnid ships in the air. Your heart is in your throat. You didn’t see the hit, but you heard him fall, and frenzied worry is burning in your chest.

“I’m fine,” Din says, gruffly, “Fine, I promise. Go be a Jedi.”

You stare at him. He nods, wrapping Grogu up in his cloak, letting his tiny hands soar out in the open. Tiredly, the baby drags down one of the ships. More artillery is fired, and you pull Din and Grogu beyond a large shoal of ice, trying to avoid the blasts.

“Go be a Jedi,” Din repeats, and you shake your head. The fighters are so aggressive in their assault, but you watch as the swoop and soar around Luke, barely shooting anything in his direction. They want Din, you realize, like a lightning bolt in your chest, they want to attack Din and the baby because they’re after you. “Nova—”

“They’re trying to kill you,” you say, grabbing either side of the helmet as more blasts shake free some of the ice above your heads. “I’m supposed to be here—”

Before you can do anything, Din wrenches the helmet off. You stare at him, dumbfounded, trying to shield his face from the low, swooping fighters above your heads. “No—”

He kisses you. Full force. His lips are so much warmer than yours are, his tongue gentle and slithering into your mouth. You lean into the kiss, grabbing at him with everything you can, and then he’s pulled himself away. “I meant it when I asked you,” Din whispered urgently, “do you think you can forgive me for leaving you?”

Your heart is pounding. You can feel your eyes fill with tears. “Yes. But what are you—”

“Good,” Din answers, shoving the helmet back down, “then you can forgive me twice.”

And then he’s running, with Grogu in his arms, making a beeline straight for Kicker. You scream, but the sound gets ripped away in the wind. Terrified, you stare at Luke, who makes eye contact with you and extends his left palm, focusing on the first TIE fighter. You sheath the saber and run towards him, focusing all of your energy on the one that’s after Din. For what feels like forever, you stand back-to-back with Luke Skywalker, fighting off the evil surrounding you with nothing but the Force and each other. It feels huge in a way you can’t quantify, and even though you’re terrified with what Din’s doing, you don’t take your focus off the fighter for a second. When he’s back up the gangplank in Kicker, you help Luke tank the biggest one in the shoals of ice.

Two of them are grounded. You heave a heavy breath, trying to catch air in your lungs, and then the other three are delivering an array of artillery in your direction.

“Don’t let them touch my ship!” you scream, and Luke nods. You pull the Darksaber off of your belt, and swing it at the fighter that soars overhead, searing off their blasts.

“Nova!” Luke shouts back, and you turn to watch the holster of his green lightsaber fly through the air. Seamlessly, you grab it. The blade ignites immediately in your hand.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” you yell, and Luke twists around to stand by your side. You watch him as the three remaining fighters soar in above the two of you again, heart pounding.

Luke gives you a small smile. “What you’re meant to,” he answers easily, closing his eyes and lifting his hand to the three skeletal fighters in front of the both of you, “be a Jedi.”

You close your own eyes. Two people spill out of the fighters you’ve grounded, and you let Luke shoulder the three in the sky as you run, determined, towards the two men running angrily towards you. One of them lunges for you. You use the green blade to scare him off, but he doesn’t pay it any attention, just roars at you and tries to tackle you down to the ice.

“No you don’t,” you seethe, swiping the saber at his arm. It barely cuts anything, but the burn of it makes him howl. “You don’t get to have me.”

The other one is huge, menacing, built. You stare up at him, trying to only portray strength, not showing him a sliver of weakness, but when he comes for you, he’s vicious. This one’s smarter. He brought his blaster with him, and the bolts that he fires off are lethal and dangerous.

“You have no idea what you’re up against, little girl,” he smirks, and then, lightning quick, his hand closes around your throat. You’re not even sure how it happened, because you were brandishing Luke’s blade, and you’re much faster than the large figure in front of you, but the light behind your eyes starts to fade as he lifts you into the cold air, choking you out. “I’m not going to kill you,” he whispers, a horrible grin on his face, “what we’ll do will make you wish you were dead.”

You gasp, feeling the black spots in your vision slowly pinprick. You can barely see Luke. You don’t know where Din and Grogu went in Kicker. You can still hear the jeering of the soaring TIE fighters, and you know there’s only one thing left to do. You close your eyes, let everything run out of you backward, and then offer one, singular word to the universe.

Help.

Your consciousness fades back in. The man holding you drops you to the ground, and you wheeze and retch, trying to pull all of it back, stumbling away from his grip. It takes you a second to register what’s happening. Kicker comes out of nowhere, Din fires a series of blasts to the remaining fighters, Luke takes his lightsaber back to strike down both of the men, and above them all, Grogu has his eyes closed, his ears pushed back, and his little hands up in the air, using all of his tiny powerful body to Force choke the man who tried to throttle you.

You love him. Maker, you love him, so much. You cry up to him in relief, and the second he hears your voice, he stops, leaving the thug unconscious. Din uses up the rest of the artillery to blow the remaining fighters to bits, and then he grounds the ship.

The man, strangled, warbles out, “the First Order won’t forget this.”

Luke, icily, rises one eyebrow and his right hand, coaxing the man into a faint. “Neither,” he says, coolly, even after he’s sure the other guy’s out, “will we.”

“Thank you,” you say, warmly, rocketing the baby up in your arms. “Thank you, thank you—”

“His idea,” Din says, and you look up at him, both irritated and relieved. “I’m sorry I—”

“You,” you say, voice shaking, “are not forgiven.” But you jump on him as well, wrapping your arms around the cold beskar of his shoulders. “But thank you,” you whisper, in a voice so quiet that you know only he can hear it.

“This isn’t the end,” Luke says, behind you, and he tosses the Darksaber over to you. Din catches it midair with a singular hand. “This is just the beginning.”

“I’m not tired,” you say, exhausted, holding out his saber in your hand. “Thank you. For everything, thank you.”

“No. You hang onto that,” Luke says, finally. He has a strange expression in his eyes. “Keep the lightsaber. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again, soon enough.”

Grogu, nestled up in your arms, stares up at you. You know, even wordless, what his huge eyes are asking. “Can we—” you start, voice shaking, “can—can Grogu come back to Mandalore with us for a few days?”

You wait with bated breath. Luke nods, meeting your eyes. “When you bring him back to Ahch-To,” he agrees, the ghost of a smile sparking up his face again, “bring my lightsaber with you. I’ll teach you a few things.”

You nod, profusely. Luke nods at the both of you, and right as he’s turning to go back to his X-wing, you find the rest of your question from earlier.

“What did you mean?” you call out, after him. “When you said what died didn’t stay dead?”

Luke’s eyes are haunted with something you don’t entirely understand. “Evil has a way of rising again,” he says, finally, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if the people I killed find a way to come back.”

It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “The people you killed?”

He looks at you. You know what he means. The Emperor, or at the very least, the horrible people who surrounded him. You swallow, trying to regulate your breath. “What—what can we do?”

Luke glances from Din to the baby to you. “Be a Jedi,” he repeats, his voice faraway. “I’ll see you soon.”

You nod, watching him, dazed, walk back to his ship.

“And Nova,” Luke continues, bracing himself on the ladder, “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” you whisper, watching as the X-wing disappears into the cloud cover, staring at the trails as they evaporate, as you hold the only tangible proof in the form of his lightsaber that Luke Skywalker was ever here at all.

The trip back to Mandalore is probably as cold as the one here, but you don’t even notice. You have the baby in your lap again, and all of the warmth in the whole galaxy is sitting here with you, green, adorable, and alive. The three of you spend the entirety of the trek cuddled up together, and when you finally land on the planet, you’re exhausted but safe. Your legs hurt from running, your scar aches from the residual cold, but you barely notice them. They’re such small hurts in comparison to all the good nestled safely in your arms.

Grogu, as always, is exhausted from using the Force to ground your ship and choking out the guy trying to do the same to you, and he falls asleep in your arms before you make your way back to the suite that Bo-Katan gifted the two fo you the last time you were here. You lay him down in the tiny bassinet in the adjoined room, his little snores just as quiet and angelic as they were the last time you heard him.

Your heart, still ran over from all the danger you’ve spent the last year fighting off, is full. You walk into the fresher, staring at your reflection. You’re positively disheveled, your clothes dirty and torn, your hair hanging half out of the braid you tied it in multiple planets ago, but that smile on your face is still lighting up even the darkest parts of your eyes. You stare at yourself, running your fingers across your lips, taking in every single inch of yourself. You don’t look like a normal twenty-six-year-old. You certainly don’t look like royalty. But you look like you. Nova, Her Highness Rebel Rouser Pilotess of the Outer Rim. Nova, wife, mother, Rebel. Nova, yourself.

That alone makes the grin stretch even wider. Din walks into the bathroom, staring at your reflection in the mirror, wrapping his big arms around your waist, letting his helmeted face rest on your shoulder blades.

“You are,” he sighs, “so beautiful.”

“I’m a mess,” you insist, giggling.

“Beautiful,” Din repeats, and when you tentatively hook your fingers under the rim of his helmet, he lets you gently pull it off. You stare at every sinch of his handsome, rugged face in the mirror, your eyes roaming over the valleys of his lips, the mountain of his nose, his gorgeous brown eyes that hold the stars.

“You are, too,” you whisper, faintly, and then he’s turning you around, his strong hands on your hips.

“I never finished giving you your birthday present,” Din murmurs, and he starts pulling his worn gloves away from his fingers. You watch as he lets them drop to the floor, breath hitching in your throat. “Do you think you could let me do that, cyar’ika?”

You nod, breathless. When he strips you down, you’re expecting to be perched on the cold metal of the sink as his mouth returns, again and again, between your thighs, but his warm, rough hands hook underneath your thighs and he carries you out of the fresher.

Din lays you down on the bed. He’s still fully clothed side from his helmet, and for what feels like an eternity, you just stare into his eyes, thanking the Maker and all the stars above that you’re the one that gets to know him like this, that he trust you to look at his face, that you broke down on Nevarro all those months ago.

And when Din dives between your thighs again, you know he’s thanking everything in the universe for the same exact things.

His mouth is an omen, a prayer, a miracle. You’ve never been particularly religious, but he makes you want to be. You can feel the way he’s opening you up, letting no part of you go untouched or untasted. You sigh, moaning loudly into the soft flesh of your arm, trying to stifle the animalistic noises he’s evoking. When his tongue finally, finally finds your clit, you can feel what he’s spelling. First it’s mine, then it’s your name, and then it’s I love you. You gasp. You could recognize it anywhere, even in the dark, and still, your pulse is absolutely racing.

“Din,” you start, strangled, “fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—”

He pulls his mouth away from you, an obscene smacking noise filling the rest of the room. “Good,” he enunciates, and then his tongue is back on you.

You’re pretty sure you see heaven. Your fingers knot tightly in his gorgeous dark hair, whimpering as he coaxes another orgasm out of you, then another, then another. Your legs are shaking, and you’re infinitely grateful that he carried you out here instead of trying to eat you on the edge of the sink, because you wouldn’t have been able to stay standing. You swallow, gasping harder and harder as his mouth pulls off your pussy and roves up your stomach, decorating your scar with the sweetest kisses, pawing gently at your tits before his mouth licks love bites into the underside, above your nipples, in the middle of your chest. You think that if he asked, you’d let Din plant hickeys literally anywhere he wanted, to put his claim on you, to prove that he’s yours. When his mouth meet yours again, it’s like you’ve died and come back to life.

You can taste yourself on Din’s lips, salty sweet. He licks into your mouth. “Taste so good,” he croons, mouth dropping to the pulse point behind your ear. You shudder as he teases you with his mouth, two fingers dipping in your slick and then pushing inside of you. You clench and moan around him, and faintly, you hear him moan about how tight you are before the rush of another orgasm rips into you and everything goes starry and skyward.

Finally, you come back to your sense, reeling. “Din,” you try again, but his name comes out in a breathless puff of air. You’re writhing under his touch, every inch of you alive and his. You feel electric.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he grunts out, and you don’t even have time to try to bargain for a taste of his cock, to touch him, to put your mouth in places that’ll make him feel as good as you do. For a second, he pulls you up so you can wrap your mouth around him, but the second he thrusts into your throat, he’s gone. “Not gonna last,” he murmurs, fingers tangling in your loose hair, “I have to fuck you now, cyar’ika.”

Your eyes roll back. “If—if you must,” you manage, but your voice is so thick and laden with lust that the joke doesn’t deliver. Din uses the head to rub against you a few times before he goes in, teasing your swollen clit before he pushes everything inside of you.

It’s everything. He’s not gentle, this time, which is exactly what you wanted. You don’t think you could see straight for days if he tried to pound you with ease. You want to be absolutely annihilated, to have the breath taken out of you. Wordlessly, Din does just that. He fucks into you hungrily, without remorse. You’re both moaning. His lips press up into your ear, but you can’t even recognize what he’s saying as he fucks everything out of you. Eventually, his words register-feel so good, my sweet thing, fuck, Nova—and you cry out as you clench down around him for what feels like the hundredth time. Din plants a singular kiss against your lips, moans, and whispers, “that’s it, sweet girl,” and then both of you are sent to the stars at the same time, gasping, moaning, screaming, like you’re colliding stars, like you belong to nothing but each other. It’s everything. It’s huge. It’s that something more you’ve always felt, that cosmic connection, that dual astral projection. For what feels like hours, you lay together, breathing in each other’s air, satisfied and happy.

Both of you end up in the shower, although you can’t remember either one of you asking to move towards the fresher. You let Din drag the soap over your sore shoulders, cleaning between your legs, frothing the suds in your hair. You don’t know when he had the time or the energy to do it, but he got that lavender soap you love, and the scent fills up the place with steam.

You do the same, wordlessly, dragging his soap over his broad shoulders, across his toned stomach, down both of his legs. You kiss Din as he presses his lips against yours, over and over again, and when you leave the shower, you’re both inches from sleep, happy, exhausted.

The bed is so much more comfortable than the one on Kicker. You sink into it, completely naked, shifting as close to Din as you possibly can. It’s dark in here, but you’re close to the window, and you see the foreign shapes of the buildings of Mandalore, and everything filters back in.

“Did you ever believe,” you whisper, not even sure if Din is still awake, “that when we met, we would end up both being Rebels and the leaders of a whole planet?”

“No,” he answers, immediately, his voice muffled against the back of your neck. “Not a chance in hell.”

You grin, into the darkness. “And now?”

“Now,” Din sighs, pulling you closer, “I truly can’t imagine our lives being any other way.”

You nod, in silent agreement. The night beckons you in closer and closer, and you let yourself fall onto the edge of sleep, heart full, eyes closed, exactly where you’re supposed to be. When you drift off to dreamland, you hear Din whisper he loves you, and you replay the words over and over in the back of your mind until they forge a promise stronger than the one living on your ring finger, content, together, on the precipice of something more.

Morning comes quickly, and it comes with Grogu jumping on the bed and waking both of you up with his abnormally loud cooing. You wake first, not even sure how the little guy found his way up on top of a bed that’s easily five times his height, but you pull him into the nest of sheets and blankets you and Din made in your sleep. When he wakes up, it’s slowly, and you touch your fingertips over to his face, tracing lines of love into his skin.

“Good morning, Mand’alor,” you say, and Din’s eyes open slowly.

“Not yet,” he answers, voice flat. You look over at where Bo-Katan must have left your outfits while you were gone on Hoth. His is typical—the Mandalorian beskar he’s been wearing for as long as you’ve known him, but with a neutral blue cloak to replace all that black. Your dress is gorgeous. You didn’t even know if you would have anything new for the ceremony, because all you’re doing is standing there, but you have to admit, Bo-Katan went above and beyond with this one. The color of the dress is shimmering, a dark navy blue that’s almost completely black. The fabric hugs the top half of your shoulders, and as the dress flows down the rest of your body, the blueness lightens into the same color Din’s cloak is made of. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, rivaled only with Yavin’s sunsets and Naator’s pink skies, and when you put it on, you feel like a princess. It’s not practical, but it’s also functional, and as you interrogate the chair full of things Bo-Katan brought you, you find a matching garter, shimmering in the same impossible way the dress does, embroidered with twin silver stars. When you slip it on, the lightsaber Luke’s letting you hang onto fits perfectly, flush against your legs. There’s a small slit trailing up the dress, so hidden by the starry, shimmering fabric that no one would catch it if they weren’t looking for it, and you grin as you put it on, thanking the Maker above for the Mandalorians being so effective in their aesthetic.

“Holy fuck,” you hear behind you, and you turn around. Din’s only in his underclothes, the tiniest bit of his belly peeking out from under his new tunic, and he’s staring at you.

“Bo-Katan,” you say, shyly, taking stock of his shocked face, “does not miss.”

Din walks toward you, taking in every inch of your shimmering dress, mouth slightly ajar. “No,” he murmurs, and then he’s striding towards you, holding your face in his hands, his lips feverish and frenzied against yours. “She certainly does not.”

“Neither do you,” you whisper, dazed, touching your lips, staring at him as he shoulders the cloak. “You look—”

“Strange,” he mutters, checking out his reflection critically.

“Amazing,” you correct, walking closer. The two of you look like royalty—outfitted in all the blue bells and whistles that Mandalore has to offer, standing tall in all that silver regalia—and when Grogu tugs at the bottom of your dress, you lift him into your arms, adjusting his own blue outfit. You don’t look like a rebel and a bounty hunter and their strange baby. You look like a family, a real one, and something else. You look like you belong here.

When Bo-Katan meets you at the door, she looks equally as regal. Her eyes roam over Din’s helmeted face with slight disdain, but she looks at you like she sees stars, and when her gaze flits over to Din again, her expression has molded into something that faintly rings out excitement.

“Are you ready?” she asks, leading the three of you down the staircase at the back of the quarters. You can tell by the shift in architecture that you’re heading straight for the throne room, and your heartbeat is knocking itself dizzy. Everything feels alive and electric, that buzzing of something more loud in your ears. You know this isn’t the ending. You know that by all accounts, that this is truly a beginning—you’re about to be married to the new leader of Mandalore, you have an entire shadowy fascist regime to beat, you know practically nothing about being a Jedi—but everything that started when you crash landed on Nevarro all those years before feels like it’s settling cosmically into place. Your breathing is quick and shallow as you hear your heels click against the empty hall, trying to take everything in, and before you know it, you’re at the door.

Bo-Katan looks at you and Din. “Everyone’s in there,” she says, and her voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard it. “They’re likely not going to be happy with this. But I’m going to go out first, and I’m going to introduce you and…” she looks over at you, and then back to Din, “and then you three will come in.”

Din nods.

“Are you ready?” Bo-Katan asks again, and there’s no greed in her voice. She’s not wanting for him to fail. You watch as she stands up straighter, and you notice the same color cloak flowing out from all of her beskar. You don’t know if you fully like her, yet, but you trust her, and you know that’s far more valuable in a situation like this. She offers you the tiniest of smiles. You return it, tenfold.

Din nods again, and then opens his mouth to speak. His voice is calm through the modulator, calmer than you would have expected. “Yes,” he says, finally, “yes, I’m ready.”

Bo-Katan nods at both of you, catches your eye one last time, and then shoulders herself through the double doors. The cheering and noise of the whole planet filters through the wide doorway, and then they click closed, leaving you and Din and Grogu together with nothing but each other.

“We can still run for it, you know,” you whisper, trying to shake the jitters out of your voice. “Think about it. We could disappear back on Yavin. Or Naator. That tiny little village. Pink skies, beautiful yellow trees.”

Din looks over at you, and you know you’re looking straight into his eyes under the visor. Your heart is beating so fast. “You made a promise to me, cyar’ika,” he says, “that you won’t run.”

You grin back at him. “True. I did say that. But I meant it in the context that I was never going to run from you. I never promised I wouldn’t run with you.”

“That’s quite the loophole.”

“I’m good,” you say, giggling, “and smart. I have like ten thousand contingency plans.”

“Well,” Din says, facing back to stare at the doors, reaching his gloved hand out to meet yours, “you don’t need them here.”

You look at him. “We’re gonna pull it off,” you repeat, trying to make your promise shine just as bright as all the ones he’s given you. “All of it. You are going to be the greatest leader that Mandalore has ever known. Grogu,” you continue, looking down at your adorable, green child nestled safely in your arms, “is going to become a Jedi.”

Din turns to you again. “And you?”

You smile. “Maybe both. I contain multitudes.”

Din laughs, and the noise is so light and so free that it makes every single inch of you melt. You beam up at him. “You certainly do,” he says, quietly, and then, after what seems like a moment of deliberation, he lifts his fingers and pulls his helmet off. He doesn’t look relaxed, but he doesn’t look particularly fearful, either.

“Are you sure?” you ask, breathless, as he brings his helmet all the way off, staring back at the double doors that Bo-Katan disappeared through a minute ago. You can only faintly hear what she’s saying, but you know it’s nearing the time when the three of you—your strange, wonderful little family—have to meet her in there.

He nods. “We’re both done running,” he sighs, his voice thick with resolve, “and I’m done with hiding.”

Your eyes fill with tears. “I love you. Ni kar’tayl su, darasuum.”

“Forever, Nova,” Din whispers back. He turns to face you one last time. You stare into his eyes, that warm, eternal state of brown, and as he moves closer to you, his hands around your waist, you don’t take your eyes off of him. Not even to blink. Not even for a second. You just stare, drinking in every single inch of his gorgeous face, knowing that you know him. It pulses and burns inside you like a shared, glorious star. “This is the beginning, you know.”

“I know,” you repeat, softly, feeling as his hand gently strokes over your perfect hair. There’s a headband as part of your outfit, made out of glittering spikes of beskar, and when Din touches his hand to it, it feels like a crown. “We’re going to change the world. Stop the order. Bring peace and good things, and then when we’re done, we can retire knowing we made all of this better for the rest of the galaxy. And then,” you inhale, staring into his eyes, “we’re going to have a real wedding. Flowers. Grogu presenting our rings. Boba Fett marrying us.”

“Absolutely not,” Din cuts you off, but you can hear the lilt in his voice. “Cara or nothing.”

You grin back. “Deal.”

“And where are we retiring?” There’s a tiny sparkle of humor hidden in his voice.

“We’ll have homes on all our favorite planets,” you decide, “but we can live on the ship for good, if you like.”

“No,” Din says, his voice faraway, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “When I make our next home with you, it’s going to be permanent.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Nova—”

“We’re ready,” you assure him, stepping closer, tipping your head back. “I’m ready. Are you?”

After a moment, Din nods. The way he’s holding you—protective, possessive, wholly yours—it makes everything fade out. For a moment, a dazzling, fleeting moment, everything else fades out. You see the two of you on Nevarro the first time, the way his hands felt when he was patching your wounds, all the promises you both made and broke back on Dantooine, the vows to each other on Naator, the proposal on Yavin, every single time you’ve saved each other, which is now an even tally, standing together at the Rebel base, standing together through the darkness, through the light, still standing together here. You love him. With all of your heart, you love him, and you know it’ll last even longer than forever. There’s war coming, but for now, you’re with your husband and your baby, about to step into the next phase of saving the world. And after everything, after all of that, you know the perfect thing to say before moving through those gilded double doors.

“I’m ready,” Din repeats, more fortified. You nod, and then beam at him and the baby, pushing your shoulders back. “This is a lot,” he says, his voice still tinged slightly with anxiety, “are you sure?”

You step as close as you can, reaching your hand up to bring his face down to yours, tipping your foreheads together. “Din Djarin,” you whisper, “I’m sure. We were always meant for something more. And,” you continue, smiling, mouth an inch away from his, “I don’t scare easy.”

And as Bo-Katan opens the double doors, you lean into your embrace, everything rushing back to the present, the entire galaxy evaporating and colliding at once. You hear the crowd in the throne room. You don’t know what’s coming next. But, you think, as you prepare to move forward, as long as you’re doing it with Din and Grogu, you’ll be okay.

So, regardless of the open door waiting for the rest of your lives in front of you, you slide your hand down Din’s face, lean into his kiss, and whisper that you forgive him.

*

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*

I HOPE YOU ALL LOVED IT!!!! writing this has been the adventure of a lifetime. it's given me peace, solace, happiness, giddiness, and, most importantly, all of you. thank you all endlessly for coming along on this journey with me. i love each and every one of you with all of my heart. thank you for supporting me and my story, for leaving incredible comments and analysis, for being my friends, and for jumping off this crazy cliff with me. SM turned into the story i was always meaning to write when introduced Nova as her whole character, and your love for her has filled my soul up with so much joy. thank you, endlessly, for coming along this ride with me. i know this isn't a "real" ending, and that not every single little plotline was tied up in a neat little bow, but i hope you'll forgive me because i have PLANS for the sequel. give me a month or so to get writing and planning, and the next installment in the SM series will be up as soon as possible!!!! as always, i'll give ya all the updates on tumblr (amiedala) and tiktok (padmeamydala) when writing starts!

you are all so important to me. thank you for reading, thank you for loving my words, and thank you for seeing this through with me.

onward and upward; the next adventure awaits!!!

all my love always,

amelie