#a pity they did not fix the level curve

[a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats]

mostly just happy they're not doing a third rerelease of gen 2

let's do some new stuff rather then consecutively release remakes

there is So Much that could be done with the franchise

[yellowocaballero]

writing even stupider things? <3

Oh my god this was the pilot episode/prototype of Sakuragakure!!! It was so high up because I was poking around at it recently. I wrote in literally 2021 and then decided it was unwritable. Looking through this, it's very funny how Obito is still basically the same even though the final story was written 3 years later and I had to change it a lot to make Sakuragakure. It's only eight pages and it ends very abruptly because it was not published and I wasn't feeling it.

Here it is!

Obito came back six months later.

It was less time than he wanted to stay away; more time than he technically should have. A responsible adult probably wouldn’t have left at all and stuck around to keep an eye on what was probably the world’s strangest social experiment. But Obito was pretty far from a responsible adult, and he believed strongly in not disrupting the scientific validity of experiments. Some plants grew the most successfully when left to their own devices. 

This was why orphans were so competent. It was a known fact. No bedtimes, no hard limits for stopping children from training all night. Obito was great with kids. 

Obito stopped in front of the tree, surveying it up and down. A tree might be a generous term: it was a true monster, outclassing the famed towering Hashirama trees by several orders of magnitude. Where Obito stood, it was more of a wall of bark and scuttling insects. If he hopped up high enough onto a neighboring similarly large tree, then he would see the curve of the bark forming the trunk. There were no branches or handholds in easy reach, with the tree’s branches blooming so high that they were abjectly impossible to reach without chakra infused tree walking. And any shinobi who tried out that tactic would be in for an even ruder surprise. 

Well. They hadn’t burned it down yet. Considering the fact that Obito had made it fireproof six ways to Sunday, he shouldn’t have felt as relieved as he did. 

He formed a seal, and with barely a thought a section of the tree melted back into the ground and left a doorway into the dark depths of the tree. Obito reached up, fixing his calloused thumb under the garish orange swirls of his mask, and pushed it off. He stowed the mask in a seal at his hip, grimacing slightly at the unfamiliar feeling of wind on his face. 

Obito entered the sakura tree, his footsteps muffled by sakura blossoms. 

*

The village had grown since the last time Obito was here. Significantly. So significantly that it deeply concerned him. He had left plenty of city planning manuals with the kids, but he hadn’t expected them to actually - yeah, he did. 

Pity he hadn’t been able to find any economics books. Oh, well. Kids knew economics. It couldn’t be that hard. That mindset had really propelled Obito through a great deal of this experiment, and it seemed to be paying off just fine.

It was immediately evident, upon walking into the village, that it was built up instead of out. One long and thick staircase wound its way along the inside circular walls of the trunk, and there were a few gear-powered lifts punctuating the staircase. There were no walls inside of the village, just growths within the tree. Restaurants and stores were fashioned from outcroppings of wood, and gnarled twists of wood provided shelter for restaurants. There were stalls lining the narrow streets outfitted from paper and bamboo, crowded with hagglers and shoppers. When Obito looked up, he saw winding curls of apartments for civilians and families both, so low to the market streets that a shinobi could easily jump between levels. Obito knew that if he were to jump onto the housing level, he would see another level above that was composed mostly of jutting empty platforms, marked by scorch marks and target practice posts. 

The school wasn’t where Obito remembered it being. Had they moved it? Obito craned his head, looking around at the thin stream of people wandering the streets. As usual, it looked like most of the village was out on missions, but the streets were congested with their usual thick crowds of playing children. Long, ropy strands of laundry lines fluttered between windows on the level above, and Obito saw one shinobi teenager jump effortlessly downwards from line to line until he landed on the bottom floor, almost capsizing an apple cart. 

He had time to gawk later. Obito carefully walked along the curving walls, eyeing the ceiling for a straight shot. An older kunoichi next to him crouched and jumped up, floating slightly in the air before landing solidly on a jutting branch on the second level, jumping off that branch onto another closer branch on the third level. Shinobi staircase - also new. What were those kids doing? Did he have to talk with them about compromising the structural integrity of the tree again? 

He never should have spent so long cleaning up that Oto problem. The worst thing about Orochimaru was that he minded his own business, and you always ended up dealing with him at the last minute after he had already turned an orphanage into werewolves or something. Obito sighed and jumped, effortlessly sailing onto the jutting branch and narrowly avoiding colliding with an older man herding goats up the staircase for...hopefully normal reasons. Were all of the shinobi still getting paid in random shit? Obito knew he should have found an economics book somewhere.

It was the work of a few seconds to scale the tree and land on the highest level built so far, still nowhere near the top of the tree. The building was upside down, its highest level built on a thick wood platform attached to the wall of the trunk with each successive level built beneath. Obito approved of the drama. The top opened almost directly onto a wide expanse of fruit and vegetable gardens, and platforms attached to the walls matched the upside-down tower. Obito recognized a few administrative buildings and some specialty shops - as well as a ramen shop that Obito knew used to be on the ground floor. 

Obito sighed, flared his chakra bright and hot as a warning, and hoisted himself into the Kage’s office in the misshapen and inverted Kage’s Tower.

“Guess who’s back!” Obito called, as obnoxiously as possible, “it’s your super-cute, super-cool, awesome Sensei Obito -”

A sandal collided with his face.

Obito went sailing out the window. He landed in a patch of ripe tomato plants, squashing many under his half-wood body. 

Fuck. Not the tomatoes. Sasuke was going to kill him. 

“You landed in the tomatoes!” his super cute, super sweet student called, jumping out the window after him. “Sasuke’s going to kill you!”

“Nice to see you too, Sakura,” Obito said weakly, working his jaw. “Have you gotten stronger?”

Sakura landed in front of him, scowling fiercely. She had cut her hair since he last saw her, the fringes brushing against the bottom of her chin in a very grown-up and cool look. It complemented the triangular white cap, posed in a jaunty angle on her head, and the forest green haori pulled over a pink shirt with a long-sleeved mesh undershirt. Combined with a knee-length green skirt and leggings, she looked like a twelve year old military dictator who had dressed herself. 

“You’re late!” Sakura cried, stomping her foot. Cracks split the wood, sending splinters flying. Obito winced, even as the wood smoothed over and healed itself. “You said that you’d be back three months ago!”

Obito rolled to his feet, holding his hands up placatingly. “I was back three months ago! I always keep my promises -”

“You were back for five minutes to drop off three more jinchuriki!” Sakura screamed. “You didn’t even come indoors! I needed you to kick out Jiraiya! You’re so useless!”

Obito was probably the only human being alive who could have tracked down three rogue jinchuriki, beat them all in single combat, and convinced them to join a brand new hidden village lead by an eleven year old. “Ah, sweetie, let’s not get too heated -”

“Lady Sakura, you need to sign these forms right now.” A small figure sat on the wooden windowsill behind them, waving a stack of paperwork. “I can beat up your sensei for you, if you wish.”

Sakura heaved an exaggerated, dramatic sigh. “It’s fine, Sai. The attention is what he wants.” Sai nodded sagely as Obito mimicked an arrow piercing his heart. “Are those the W-2s?”

“Yes. And the intake forms for ten new missing nin who wish to join. And allocation funds for the orphanage. And -”

“You sound really busy,” Obito said quickly, sidling away, “so I’ll just go say hello to your teammates, then. Have fun with your paperwork!”

“You’re such a bum, Sensei!” Sakura condemned. “Get a real job and do your own paperwork.”

“But I like being a bum,” the international terrorist whined. He opened his arms, smiling hopefully at Sakura. “So your old sensei gets a punch and no hug, huh?”

Sakura crossed her arms mulishly, looking away and pouting. “No way. You smell like dirt.” 

But then she hesitated - one second, two - before flying forwards, tackling him in a powerful hug that sent him skidding back half a foot before he dug his heels into the dirt in an attempt to save the rest of the tomatoes. She squeezed him tightly, face turned into his chest, angled hat almost hiding the sight of her silky pink hair. 

“Welcome home, Sensei,” Sakura said. 

As gently as he could, as if the little girl was made out of sakura petals instead of hard rock, Obito hugged her back. “Happy to be back in Sakagakure, Shodaime.”

*

The sequence of events was very straightforward.

If you were one of the kids. From Obito’s perspective, there were a few more twists and turns on the great journey of self-discovery and adventure. Some death, a few tedious years of brainwashing, a lot of wasted time in insanity. Some minor terrorism. Rethinking his life. Philosophical treatises on the nature of peace and prosperity. Minor forays into science. Some light kidnapping. What could he say? He got lost on the road of life a few times. 

Obito was no longer a chronically honest person, and it may be slightly more accurate to call him a pathological liar. The kids were blissfully unaware of some of Obito’s more dubiously moral actions. It was for the sake of the experiment: if they knew too much, then it would ruin their innocent and peaceful life. 

All they knew was that, two weeks after they had passed that useless no good idiot Kakashi’s bell test, they had been kidnapped by a mysterious figure in a cloak and a swirling mask, who had announced himself as their new sensei, I’m liberating you from Konoha, you’ll thank me later, stop screaming you’re hurting my ears.

 As far as kidnappings went, it had gone pretty well! After one week of life as a captive, Naruto had proclaimed that Obito was the nicest adult he had ever met and that they were best friends forever. After two weeks and certain Mokuton revelations, Sakura proclaimed Obito the smartest adult she had ever met and that he was going to be the best teacher ever and teach her how to make lots of poisonous flowers. After three weeks and a certain classified file, Sasuke had given up and accepted his change in circumstances and life goals. 

Obito liked being a teacher. He liked being a teacher more than he liked being anything else he had ever been: an Uchiha, a teammate, a tool, a terrorist. His dream of a better world was the fire within him, the never-ending energy source that kept him waking up and fighting to survive each day, but it was only through teaching that he realized how to build that better world. Children really were the post-apocalyptic future. 

Two weeks after kidnapping his mortal enemy’s students so he could brainwash them into fighting against Kakashi, forcing him to kill his ex-students and plunging him even further into well-deserved despair, Obito realized how short sighted he had been. Brainwashing the world into peace with a superpowered genjustsu from the moon suddenly seemed so strangely stupid. There were way easier ways to brainwash people than arcane alien magic. You just had to start them young!

After only a year of teaching, he had turned them into incredibly powerful ninja. After only a year of teaching her the Mokuton, he and Sakura had grown a village from nothing in the outskirts of Fire Country. And after six months of dropping undesirables in their laps like a cat with a dead rat, Sakura was now the Shodaime of a thriving hidden village so secret that only the underground ninja world had even heard of it. 

Kakashi had nothing on him. Obito: three adorable students. Kakashi: negative three adorable students. Obito: international terrorist, lots of friends, enough political power to elect a twelve year old as mayor. Kakashi: they literally called him ‘friend killer Kakashi’. Obito: ten thousand. Kakashi: zero.

He had visited Sakura first out of respect for village laws, such as they were, but it was easy to flare his chakra and ping Naruto and Sasuke. Sasuke was closer - in his own base of operations, strategically hidden invisibly within one of the impenetrable walls.

Obito carefully walked out of the garden, mindful of any stray soil, and then had to stop and wait for a small train of six year olds with little gloves and trowels to walk past. He fought the urge to rock on his heels. At the front of the train was an older kid, as impassive as ever. 

“Hey, Gaara,” Obito said, watching a kid accidentally run into the giant sand gourd. “Field trip?”

“Manual labor,” Gaara said serenely. “Say hello to Mr. Tobi, kids.”

“Hi Mr. Tobi,” every six year old chorused. 

Ah, the springtime of youth. “Grow up strong, our future generation of ninja,” Obito bluffed desperately, “and embody the Sakagakure ideal of peace!”

The children blinked up at him with wide eyes. Obito started sweating. Where had these children even come from? Why were they staring at him, so unblinkingly, so serenely?

“You’re old!” A six year old proclaimed - a death sentence, in Sakagakure.

“Why are you so old!”

“Are you a genin? Genin are old like you!”

Obito suddenly remembered, far too late, that he had accidentally dumped a huge package of small children liberated from ROOT on Sakagakure’s doorstep seven months ago. Whoops. 

“Remember, children,” Gaara said, “ninja over the age of fifteen are not allowed to hold positions of power within our government. Do we know why?”

“Because the adults of the world are poisoned by the well of conflict and greed, and a world without meaningless suffering can only be achieved through overwhelming power whose only ambition is peace?” A six year old volunteered. 

“Adults know what money is!” 

“Adults are stinky!”

“Mr. Tobi’s stinky!”

Gaara blinked solemnly at Obito. “I tried.”

This social experiment was working too well. They were striking back. “Great to see you again, say hi to your siblings for me -”

“They are in Suna, under the belief that I am dead.”

“ - and that’ll be great for diplomatic relations when we publically announce ourselves.”

“Diplomacy is next year. They’re learning tactics now.”

“Wow, I think Sasuke’s calling me,” Obito said, escaping the lurid scene as quickly as possible. 

Sasuke was, of course, not calling him. Sasuke wouldn’t ask for a bucket of water if he was on fire, because he was from a garbage family with garbage values. Obito had nothing to do with the massacre - which was only a little bit of a lie - but he sometimes wished that he had gotten to stab certain people himself. Itachi had all the luck. 

The kid was currently holding a meeting, in what Obito recognized as one of the standard debriefing and strategy rooms. Normally Obito would melt out of the wall, but Sasuke tended to yell a lot about ‘embarrassing him’ and ‘I can run my own black op missions’, so he settled for silently teleporting into the corner, letting the folds of his cloak blend in with the dark and knotted wood. 

The debriefing room was the same as the last few times Obito had stepped inside - a room identical to every other room in Sakagakure, wood walls with a wood floor and dim lighting. Seal tags were stuck to the walls, glowing faintly like lamps - fire was a no-no - and some of the most dangerous ninja in the world sat on folding chairs.

“We can’t kill the Daimyo,” Sasuke was saying, hands propped on his waist. “I don’t care how much of a dick he is. We can’t destabilize the economy of Konoha like that.”

“Why do we care so fucking much about the Konoha economy?” Hidan complained. He was leaning back in his chair, letting it balance on two legs. “Economies are fucking made up anyway. They’re like - uh, fucking astrology. Astrology for nerds.”

“Konoha is the only hidden village with a decent economy,” Sasori said, from where he sat next to him. He was whittling a hand from what Obito recognized as Mokuton wood - likely grown to be unnaturally soft and supple for crafting. “If we destabilize that then trade with the other hidden villages will be affected.” Hidan opened his mouth. “Which would be bad.”

“Idiots. Don’t presume knowledge on subjects you know nothing about.” Kakuzu, from where he was sitting across the aisle making prim marks on a ledger, stared with intense malice at an unrepentant Hidan. “Killing the Daimyo would endanger an already fragile relationship between the state and the ninja military. If we’re ever going to build an actual foothold in state politics, we can’t afford to stoke anti-ninja resentment.”

“Thank you,” Sasuke said, exasperated. “So let’s just maim him a little -”

“We kill the Treasury Minister instead,” Kakuzu continued, with no change in inflection. “As a warning to the successor. Treasury Ministers are hired, often from the middle class - they’re more anxious about keeping their job. We kill the current Treasurer. We threaten the next Treasurer into giving us favorable trade deals and looping us into current agreements with Konoha. Once we make our debut, we begin poaching contracts -”

“Will that really work?” Sasuke asked, clearly intrigued despite himself. “Konoha won’t get mad at us?”

“That’s why it will be covert.”

Sasuke ruminated on this for a while, obviously pretending that he knew anything about matters of state and finance. After pretending to come to a reasoned decision, he nodded firmly. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Kisame, please dispose of the current Treasury Minister. Make it look like a freak boating accident.”

Kisame saluted cheerfully. Next to him, Deidara snored almost pointedly. “The shark gambit. Nice.”

“Kakuzu, you’re in charge of settling out that deal with the new Treasury Minister.”

“Fine.” Kakuzu paused a beat. “Can you make me Treasurer now.”

Sasuke scowled at him. “No. That’s Neji’s job.”

“Neji is thirteen. I am ninety seven, and -”

“Now, Kakuzu! You have to know the rules, right?”

Everybody jumped. Obito smiled broadly, flashing two v-for-victory signs at the group. While they were talking, he had kamui’d to the front of the room next to Sasuke, badly startling everybody but Sasuke. He had beat situational awareness into Sasuke years ago, and he knew better than to be surprised by teleportation at this point.

The assembled members of the Akatsuki blanched. Deidara jolted awake, eyes widening and freezing in place like a rabbit. Sasuke just rolled his eyes and scowled. Kid needed to learn more than two facial expressions. Sometimes Obito could get a smirk out of him, which was highly rewarding each time. 

“What are you doing here, Sensei?” Sasuke hissed. “I’m holding a briefing!”

“Of course you are.” Obito patted Sasuke on the head, smashing his spiky hair and eliciting an even deeper scowl. He turned back to the Akatsuki, who seemed to believe that if they did not move then he could not see them. “A position in government? At your age, Kakuzu? Come on, you deserve to enjoy your retirement. Let the youth carry us, bright eyed, into the future!”

“Yeah, Kakuzu,” Kisame smirked, leaning back in his own chair and crossing his arms. “Don’t you have shogi to play in the park with Tsunade?”

“Rich coming from the Academy teacher,” Kakuzu snarled. “I will conquest -”

“Get off your shit, nobody cares.” Hidan yawned widely, casually and boredly sliding the edge of his scythe around his arm. Blood dripped down his arm, but after Sasuke’s look he wiped it on his pant legs. “I think it’s great we don’t have to do anything but kill dudes. Akatsuki had too many - uh, fucking, plots and shit. I couldn’t keep track.”

“You’re just stupid, un,” Deidara pointed out.

“Did you not like my plots?” Obito said, clutching his heart in faux-offense. “You kick Tobi? You kick him like the -”

“What are you doing here, Sensei?” Sasuke asked, cutting off one of the most powerful ninja in the elemental nations mid-sentence. “I thought you were off kidnapping random people again.”

“What makes you think I wasn’t?” Obito asked, offended. He had been finishing off the last of the Zetsus, but it wasn’t quite the time to admit that. “What if I missed my adorable little babies? What if I wanted to squish your little cheeks?”

Sasuke flushed a bright red as the Akatsuki snickered. “Sensei!”

“I just want to be involved in your life!”

Sasuke, still blushing deeply with a little expression contorted in miniature fury, tugged at Obito’s sleeve. Obito obligingly bent down slightly so Sasuke could whisper in his ear. “Sensei, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Oh, am I? My bad.” Obito straightened, flashing another peace sign at the assembly and unsettling them deeply. “I better go make myself scarce, then. I just wanted to stop in and make sure everybody was behaving themselves.”

“Tch. Of course they are. We are a perfectly functional Hidden Village.” Sasuke turned away from Obito, returning to facing the crowd. He put another transparency on the projector - this one a map of Sakagakure, with spaces to write in guard rotations. “We don’t need your babysitting. Onto the next order of business. Since we absorbed the Suna refugees and built Little Suna, we’ve needed extra security on the west trunk and our underground water supplies. The Shodaime is issuing a mission to -”

From his position behind Sasuke, Obito let his grin fall. He loomed down at the Akatsuki, who all abruptly froze in their seats. With excruciating slowness, he took an index finger and dragged it across his neck.

[snuggles-and-struggles]

Loveuary Day 28 - True Love

Spicyhoney, established relationship, post surfacing, fluff

Word count: 1136

Turning the ring over between his fingers, Stretch exhaled slowly. They'd had a good run, twelve years gone by so quickly. Would Edge want the ring back? The thought made his soul heavy in his chest, he'd made it just for him. What else would he even do with it?

With an aggrieved sigh, he leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs, mustering up his best scowl as he heard shuffling in a room down the hall. A door opened and closed, followed by footsteps that paused, but didn't stop. He kept his eyes fixed lamentingly on the ring as the man who had at one time been his husband passed behind him.

"You're being ridiculous," Edge muttered as he stopped at the linen closet.

"me? i'm being ridiculous?" He failed his self assigned task quickly, turning to watch as Edge tucked clean washcloths from his basket onto a shelf. "you kicked me out of the bedroom for the cat."

Meanwhile Edge didn't so much as glance to him, onto the towels next. "She is recovering. She had a significant medical procedure and needs to be accommodated thusly."

Okay, yeah, that he could concede but, "one little cat does not need an entire bedroom to herself. our entire bedroom."

At that, Edge finished stocking the closet, shutting the door and turning to face him with a scathing glower, "maybe she wouldn't if someone didn't antagonize her."

Antagonize?!

"how is that my fault?!" He flopped backwards, trying to keep his eyes on Edge as he maneuvered around him to head down the stairs, "she gets mad just from me existing!"

Just as he sat back up, Edge turned to pin him with a quirked brow bone. "Oh, yes, I wonder why," the sarcasm dripped from his tone, and Stretch raised a finger to point at him defensively.

"hey. i only took a little blood once, and it yielded important results!"

Edge rolled his eyes and shook his head, muttering something under his breath before he leveled an icy look at him.

"If you're serious about divorcing me over this I expect the paperwork on my desk by four pm, Tuesday." And with that, he marched the rest of his way downstairs.

Wow.

Of course, Stretch knew he'd be headed to the laundry room to put the basket back, so he took a shortcut to the sunroom couch, flopping back dramatically and catching his eye just as Edge moved back out into the hall.

"you're so cold."

"Mm."

Edge barely even spared him a second, already on the move again, but Stretch had a theory and proved it true by shortcutting to the living room. Right into an armchair conveniently located for him to push out into the middle of the path to the stairs, and therefore, right in front of Edge.

"that's it? you're not even gunna try to win me back?"

His dangerously-close-to-being-ex husband met his scowl so completely unimpressed. He even crossed his arms, oh, he actually looked annoyed now. Alright, he could budge a little. Compromise is the cornerstone of a good marriage or whatever.

Giving his best attempt at wet pathetic puppy dog eyes, he tilted his head to rest against the back of the chair for maximum take-pity-on-me energy.

However, Edge's expression hardly changed at all, shrugging as he looked away disinterestedly. "Eh."

He gasped as Edge walked around him, "the betrayal!"

"It's a real shame, too," he paused at the bottom of the stairs to glance over his shoulder, "I was planning on making an apple-raspberry tart later, but I suppose you won't be having any since you-"

"apple raspberry?" He straightened fast enough he nearly fell out of the chair.

"With a cinnamon crust."

"okay, divorce canceled–" Stretch shortcut directly to the step in front of him, putting them almost at a height, "what kinda apples did you get?"

"Honeycrisp and gala," he said it dismissively, but Edge couldn't hold back the smile that curved at the corners of his teeth. The coy bastard.

"i love you so much," he flopped against his husband as he stepped up beside him.

"Yes you've made that abundantly clear today." Judging by that dangerous tone, he'd be paying for the 'divorce' thing for a while.

Edge squeezed his arm, a subtly sweet way to tell him to get off, and continued up the stairs. Stretch merely flopped back against the wall with a dull thud.

"how are you making me apologize for you kicking me out of the bedroom."

At the top, Edge turned to face him again, raising a hand and tipping his head back in all his dramatics. "An expert strategist never reveals his secrets!" Then, more casually, "that, and you're exceptionally easy."

Stretch blinked in and out, landing on the small loveseat in Edge's office just as he came in.

"oh i'm easy, am i?"

However inviting he'd been aiming for, Edge only chuckled lightly, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his skull.

"You are," he teased, unfairly affectionate. A familiar, leather clad hand traced the side of his skull, catching his chin and leaning in to place a more proper, still chaste kiss to his teeth. Even after all these years, Edge's magic still felt electric against his own.

When he pulled back, Stretch sighed, half tempted to try tugging Edge down– but he'd already pulled away just out of reach.

"Myself however, not so much. Shoo. I have work to finish before I start dinner. Which–" he added just before Stretch could complain, "includes dessert."

His love knew how to bargain, no one could argue otherwise. He didn't have to be happy about it though.

"ugh, fine," he dragged himself to his feet as Edge went to his desk. He didn't let him get too far, though, trailing at his heels to flop against his back the moment Edge sat down. "i can help later, yeah?"

"Mm," he hummed, pretending he couldn't even feel Stretch at all. "We'll see."

It got harder to ignore him when Stretch clicked their skulls together, getting Edge to breathe a laugh. The scowl he turned on him had less effect with the poorly fought back smile.

A face begging for a kiss Stretch was happy to provide. Edge surrendered easily, tilting his chair enough neither had to crane their necks. Stretch broke it that time, but he didn't move away so quickly, Edge's hand finding his on the armrest.

"I'm glad you've changed your mind about divorcing me." Of all the things to be uttered so tenderly.

"me, too," he chuckled, stealing one more kiss before disappearing and leaving his love to his work.

Maybe he'd never be able to compete with Edge's one true love – cats – but second place didn't feel too bad, either.

[thekimskimchi]

EIGHT

Yoongi's gaze remained fixed on her. Another unprofessional handling would not be tolerated by the man. Not to mention the fact that this was for Hoseok. 'To see her potential,' he said before. It wasn't only about potential; it was also about how well she could handle Hoseok's restrained demeanor.

On the other side, he was emphasizing how at ease they would feel with the woman. He even prayed to the gods to have pity on his worn-out soul and to make matters worse, Seokjin's blood sugar level was dropping. Based on his previous experience, he predicted that the older would become easily irritable soon.

Yoongi took a peek at the curricular vitae to see her name.

The young woman reasoned that it would be best if she got started right away. "I graduated from Kyunghee University last year. I took a nursing course and received a degree after five years. Although I have a nursing degree, I choose to seek a normal job. I used to earn my own money when I was in college. I had worked as a part-timer in a restaurant as a waitress, at a café as well, at daycare during holidays, and doing laundry for the college students."

Something didn't feel right to Seokjin. He raised an eyebrow. "Doing laundry for the students?"

Jiah nodded.

"How much do you earn from a person?"

"About 10,000WON to 15,000WON."

"Was that a price you decide yourself?"

Jiah shook her head, denying.

"Who suggested the idea?" Seokjin asked.

"My roommate suggested the idea."

Through the corner of his eyes, Seokjin peered at Yoongi. Even though Yoongi was not the one who asked, he nodded gently. He uttered, "I see. You may leave."

Seokjin was stumped. He exclaimed, "just like that?"

"She is the most normal person I meet today. Isn't that good?" Yoongi threw him a lazy smile.

"But, the interview is too quick for me to make a decision. Don't tell me you're going to make this decision on your own!"

Being blasé, Yoongi repeated a familiar sentence. "She has a CV, you dumb."

Seokjin curved his lips downwards.

"I can... leave now, right?" Jiah carefully questioned.

Yoongi reacted instinctively. "Ah, yes." He got out of his chair and walked away from the table to lead Jiah out. "We'll contact you," he said, a small smile on his face.

"Thank you, sir."

Yoongi smiled as he watched Jiah backing him. Her feet led her out of the narrow corridor. When the girl proceeded further, he went inside and found an older man slouching on his chair with a phone in his hand.

"What takes Wheein so long?" Seokjin grumbled.

"Be patience, hyung."

"My sugar level is dropping!"

"Make yourself some sugar then."

Seokjin chucked the younger a stern look before returning his gaze to the phone.

Yoongi sighed, resting his back on the chair. In an attempt to switch the atmosphere, he said, "I kept remembering that nurse student."

"She graduated, Yoongi. And she fucking has a name!"

The older's new behavior came like a bolt from the blue*. Yoongi's eyes widened. "Wow, you that cranky? You are lashing out at me now."

"I'm – I need sugar!"

"Fine, fine. We'll talk about this after you get your sugar."

Seokjin looked at Yoongi, feeling bad. "If it's important, why not you cook ramen for me?"

"Do I look like your wife?" Yoongi said, looking at him with a frown.

A smile formed on Seokjin's face. "If your name is Min Yoonji, I would have purposed to you."

The room fell silent for a minute, with Yoongi staring blankly at the older and Seokjin staring back at him with innocence. After some time, Yoongi broke it by sighing through his nose. He said, "wait here."

"Thanks, Yoongi!" Seokjin snickered.

The mentioned man did not respond.

"I suggest naming your future daughter Min Yoonji!" Seokjin shouted when Yoongi was already outside the room.

And again, the younger one ignored him. However, after a long time since he left to prepare ramen, Yoongi ran back. With a puzzled expression on his face, Seokjin looked up.

Yoongi burst into the door and cried, "Namjoon and Hoseok return!"

Seokjin became tense. "Oh." He leaped from his seat and snatched a large, maroon cloth from the floor. The chairs were pushed under the table and covered with cloth. He moved the red stool to the corner of the room, placing an artificial plant on it before leaving. After turning off the lights, he dashed out of the room, straightening his shirt, and behaved as if nothing happened. He whispered, "phew!"

He ran into Namjoon in the corridor, where he had gone to look for him. "Here's your coffee and candy," said Namjoon.

Seokjin folded the little cover of the polystyrene cup and inserted it into a small, square hole. Grabbing the white plastic enclosing a packet of caramel candy, he took a sip. They walked out of the area together side by side.

Namjoon was curious. "How's the interview going?"

"First day. Hell!" The older one sighed.

Namjoon joked, "I bet you found some cute ones among the people you interviewed." He merely smirked as he peered at the man beside him.

"I have no time to admire anyone's cuteness."

Namjoon shrugged, sipping on his Iced Americano.

"How about you? How is your day with Hoseok?"

Namjoon slid the clear straw away from his lips and pushed his spectacles with the back of his hand. He said, "he didn't say much at all. Busy with his sketch, and I was just reading my book."

"With his hoodie on?"

Namjoon nodded and said, "with his hoodie on."

Seokjin exhaled a soft breath.

"You know what, hyung? It's best to leave him alone. He'll change someday," Namjoon said. "Or maybe not? It's entirely up to him. We don't have the power to alter him, in my opinion. Or perhaps we'll have to wait for the right person to come along and change or even better him. Then, he might be able to change his own."

"Amber wants him to quit wearing hoodies," he said slowly.

"Because of what? Because he's the boss of Bejiwoo boutique?" Namjoon asked calmly. "Hoseok told me, but it didn't turn into a deep conversation. Oh, I was sneaking glances at him to check how his sketches were coming along."

Seokjin remained silent to listen.

"Wanna know who is his model for the sketch?"

Seokjin gave a small jerk of his head.

"He doesn't draw the facial features. You know, like obvious nose, eyes, lips. Just some distinct line. I thought of boss Jiwoo at first glance."

"How do you know that's Jiwoo? You've never met her."

They happened to walk past Jiwoo's office. Namjoon pointed to several framed photographs of Jiwoo on the diagonal glass wall.

"Right," sighed Seokjin.

"I understand Hoseok's feelings as someone who has a sister. It's only the changes he makes in himself that I don't understand. For all we know, we can presume he always wears a hoodie because of his sister, and that's all we can do."

Seokjin kept quiet.

"I was nervous thinking of revealing what I have in mind after hanging out with Hoseok," Namjoon said, chuckling and scratching his head. "I was going to tell Yoongi hyung about it, but it seems like my mouth just slipped for you."

Seokjin let out a chuckle. "You are free to tell me anything. It's fine with me."

Namjoon shared a chuckle. "Thanks, hyung," he said.

"But, what do you believe are the reasons why he changes into someone who always wears a hoodie?"

The younger young man with dark brown hair shrugged. "I don't want to make any assumptions. It's not my style to speculate on other people's reasons for loving, hating, and living."

Seokjin rolled his eyes amusingly. "Sure, Namjoon."

**********

The noises coming from his employees did not bother the boss. He sat at the counter, still working on his sketch. The sketch's essential darkness was delicately handled by the slender finger. When the darkness did not come out as well as he hoped, he sighed. He picked a green eraser and rubbed the mistake with its sharp corner.

Then, he resumed drawing.

"Hoseok hyung!" Hoseok raised his head to Jimin's voice. "Do you want some glazed donuts?"

Hoseok shook his head without looking.

"Hoseok," Seokjin called.

Hoseok raised his head, but this time, with a frown.

Seokjin made a big bite of the glazed donut. He closed his eyes as he bit. "Hmmm! Warm, sweet, and delicious."

Hoseok gulped his saliva hard.

"You'll regret not eating one, boy."

Hoseok stuttered, "I-I won't regret."

Seokjin smirked. "Tsk. Suit yourself."

Jimin then spoke, "Come on, Hoseok hyung!"

"I'm on diet," Hoseok said.

"Quit the diet! Take one and eat!" Seokjin scolded. Nonetheless, Hoseok feigned an unbothered, shaking his head.

Yoongi took action this time. He picked a donut and a brown napkin, then walked towards Hoseok. When he presented them to the younger, the latter was perplexed.

"Eating one is not a sin."

"I just ­­–"

Yoongi was oblivious. He snatched the mechanical pencil from the boss's grip and placed it next to the sketchbook, putting the donut and napkin on his palm. He then returned to the table and grabbed a plastic cup. "Black coffee. Here are the sugar packs and the spoon." He slid two small blue sugar packs and a small plastic spoon.

Hoseok hesitantly accepted them as Yoongi returned to his seat.

He was fortunate that the counter table's edge had a higher cover. As he stared at the donut in his palm, he began to wonder why he felt like crying. He swallowed his saliva hard as his nose began to sting, attempting to bear the pain inside.

Regardless, he chewed the donut slowly. His right hand drew incessantly. It appeared that chewing assisted his unhappy mind in channeling to a happier place. Maybe it was the sugary donut that did it. Maybe it was his staff's warmth and sweet care that moved him, and he began to recognize the good in them.

Seokjin cast a glance at Yoongi. Yoongi noticed his stare and looked up from his phone.

Yoongi stretched his neck to check on Hoseok as a result of this. He was chewing and sucking the tips of his index and middle fingers.

In response, Yoongi bobbed his head up and down and smiled at Seokjin.

They both knew what they wanted for Hoseok. To maintain his quality of life while waiting for his sister's homecoming.

[pivotalmarka]

an amused little smirk curves his lips. ❛ piss you off ? no. push a button ? perhaps. ❜ a soft laugh escapes the elf , short &* sharp. ❛ i find there's no better way to find out a person's true beliefs , without pretense or social influence or etiquette , than making them a bit angry. perhaps not the best time to change a mind , but it gives me a deeper understanding of what they truly believe. ❜ he's never claimed not to be a hypocrite ---- he wasn't allowing her to see his true disdain for wardens, after all. that did not benefit him ; it was best to not dwell on it.

❛ the world has a funny way of leveling the playing field when needed. it is never peaceful or enjoyable , but it is often needed. PERHAPS THESE ARE THOSE TIMES. ❜ his gaze flickers up to the torn sky , a sad hum leaving him. he truly does pity the world for his error ; the best he can do is fix it. they certainly would not go down without a fight , though. for now -----

❛ perhaps cheerier topics are advised , hm ? ❜ his attention returns to the other , gaze flickering to study the hue of her hair. ❛ i suppose i don't know too much about your life before the blight , outside of the circle tower you were in. what brought you joy in the tower ? ❜

It's her turn to notice something, and she smiles a little to herself, "You knew I didn't like blood mages. You keep mentioning my biases, didn't really need to hear my response to know how I felt. So if you started this conversation just to try to piss me off because you disapprove of my alleged black and white thinking, shouldn't you also set yours aside and try to get to know me as a whole?" She already knows she can never agree - just by virtue of picking the riskiest type of magic, of wanting to use something that keeps them alive as an object, just because of how tempting it is to use a power like that when desperate and an easy pray to demons, Neria can't accept the use of blood magic. And then there is Jowan.

"All." Her correction makes no sense this way, but she's been surprised by his words, and continues a moment later, "Costs all of us our lives. There is no survivor. You start going mad, and then you go die fighting Darkspawn or become one of them. Which doesn't make me feel any better about blood magic nor the rite. And you know how history will record the Wardens." Because the Wardens have been history before the return of the blight. "The mighty heroes who show up to stop the end of the world. Like you said, history is written by the winners, and nobody wants to look bad by acting like the Wardens were unwanted. People already talk about me killing the Archdemon as if I didn't have an entire team at my side, rallying up an army to fight it. Nope, just me and the dragon." Even if technically in charge, Neria had never bought the air of mystery around them, the awe in some cases, any more than she took seriously the instant hatred that came from other public figures. Because Grey Wardens were just another system, a group with rules, lives, qualities and flaws, same way the Circle, Chantry, and even Inquisition were. Nothing less and nothing more. Could do right and could do wrong. And Neria questioned rules every time she disagreed which was why she was fighting to change the way things were done.

[talesofesther]

dreams made of sand and golden waves

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: It's time for the yearly trip to your grandparent's beach house; this year you are hellbent on not going alone, and Eddie is just about the only person who can pass as your boyfriend. It's just one weekend, so keeping real feelings at bay should be easy, right?

A/N: aka a very cliche fake dating au with lots of domestic fluff that I indulged myself in writing. I wrote this as nothing serious and just because I really like this trope (but boy did it take me fucking long to write it wtf). Also very important to say that I don't live in the USA, so if anything about the locations in here is wrong, blame it on Google. That being said, let's take Eddie to the beach <3.

Word count: 12,6k

Masterlist

"Eddie, pleeease!" You groaned, following him around inside his trailer.

He picked up a beer from the fridge and walked back to his room, turning his head to give you a quick glance with a smirk. A Black Sabbath album resonated through the trailer from his player beside his bed. The cheap yellow lighting made his eyes glint, the brown orbs you adored now causing annoyance to surge inside you.

Eddie plopped himself on top of his worn yet incredibly soft bed, crossing his legs and taking a sip of his beer. "Sorry sweetheart, can't do it."

You heaved an exasperated sigh, resting your hands on your hips and avoiding his eyes, to look around his bedroom. His guitar hanging in front of the mirror felt like it might as well have been laughing at you, given the hole you dug for yourself. Right beside it, haphazardly taped to the mirror, was a Polaroid of both of you; Eddie's arm around your shoulders, your smile almost as big as his, the two of you on the Ferris wheel, with the light from the fireworks illuminating your faces. Eddie always loved to capture moments like these. That way they'll last forever, he'd said.

The picture brought good memories, but you forced your eyes away. You'd spent countless hours hanging out with Eddie in this same bedroom, listening to music and smoking the occasional weed to loosen up weekly nerves. You were no stranger to the posters, the VHS tapes, and the mess, yet now your anxiety made the room feel a little suffocating.

"Please Eddie, it's just one weekend." Your voice leveled out in a steady tone.

The half-full beer bottle was discarded to the floor. Eddie looked up at the ceiling with his lips parting in a sigh, before he let himself fall back on his bed, his head hitting the mattress. Deep down he knew he'd never be able to deny you anything.

The mattress dipped as your knees came to rest on top of it, you slowly crawled your way to him. Laying down beside him with one hand under your head, you fixed your eyes on his profile. You followed the line of his nose to the curve of his lips, gripping the bedsheets so you wouldn't reach out.

Eddie turned his head to look at you. "Your family is not gonna like me, y'know. Why does it have to be me?"

"Because," you pursed your lips, "everyone is going to be there, all my cousins and aunts. With their plus ones. And I can't be the only sad loser who's still very much single and alone." You picked at the sheets, avoiding his eyes. "I can't stand another year hearing the 'when are you gonna find someone, Y/N?' questions with that pitiful look on their faces."

"You're not alone." Eddie reasoned.

Ever the charmer, you thought to yourself. His words made you chuckle lightly. "Sorry, I know I have you. And…" Biting the inside of your cheek, you said in a lower tone; "no one here knows me better than you do Eddie, you know that. If anyone is gonna make it believable when pretending to be my boyfriend, it's gonna be you."

Eddie could feel his mouth drying up just by hearing the words, his heart picking up a quicker pace. Pretending. That word would be haunting him forever.

How was he supposed to hold your hand, kiss your cheek and keep you close without it meaning anything?

How was he supposed to go back to being your friend — best friend, most important person in the world, as you liked to call it, yet friend nonetheless — after living through the one thing he wanted the most?

He'd be driving a knife right into his chest. And yet, for you, he'd do it smiling.

One thing he knew though. He wouldn't have to pretend to be head over heels for you.

"Okay."

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, wide eyes glued to him in excitement. "Really?"

Eddie sighed loudly, running his hands over his face. He peeked at you through his fingers. "Yeah really, whatever. You'll owe me big time."

Next thing he knew you were throwing yourself on top of him, momentarily knocking the air out of his lungs. He held you back with a huff, already smiling at the affection you gifted him with. His arms encircled your waist, while yours closed around his neck between his soft hair and the bedsheets.

"Thank you, Eddie. I'll make it up to you, I promise." You breathed out against his skin. Relieved out of your mind that you wouldn't be alone in that beach house. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Eddie's lips parted as he stared at the stained ceiling, feeling a distant sting in his eyes. He gripped the fabric of your shirt, focusing on the comforting weight of your body atop his; instead of the fact that he'd be condemning his poor heart in just a few days.

_____

It was a yearly family trip, you could go as far as to say it was a tradition. Everyone coming together in your grandparent's beach house in Porter, for at least one weekend. The place was beautiful, and you had countless unforgettable memories there from when you were younger; however now, the trip was starting to become a day you didn't exactly look forward to — especially after moving to Hawkins, going back to your hometown usually only made you miss it more once you had to leave again. And you loved your family, but naturally, they could be a little too much sometimes, especially your aunt Kathy, who was your typical matchmaker.

Having Eddie with you would be a relief, not only because you wouldn't have to hear the incessant nagging about when you'd find someone, but also because he would quite literally be your source of comfort.

After loading up everything you'd need for the weekend, you drove up to Eddie's trailer. Parking your car beside his beat-up van, you got out and walked up the stairs to the front door, not bothering to knock before getting in, he knew you were coming.

Wayne looked up from his place sitting on the couch when you walked in, a beer can in his hand. "Hey Y/N."

"Hi Wayne, how are you?" You smiled.

"Good," he nodded, and a smirk appeared on his face, he tilted his head towards Eddie's bedroom, "so you're finally making it official then?"

"Ha ha." You humorlessly faked a laugh, feeling your face heat up. "Don't start, it's just a stupid family gathering that I don't wanna go alone to."

"You kids always finding excuses." Wayne raised an eyebrow at you with a teasing look, that you chose to ignore, making your way to Eddie's bedroom.

Eddie was rummaging through his wardrobe, a deep frown on his eyebrows. He threw a black shirt on his bed and you noticed that he already had a small backpack with clothes there.

"How's my other half?" You teased, sitting down on his bed. You picked up the shirt he just tossed there and folded it neatly.

Huffing out a sigh, Eddie turned to you, now with a pair of grey sweatpants in his hands. His hair, you just noticed, was tied in a low bun; you always loved this look on him.

"Trying to find beach clothes… that I don't have."

"Spring has just started Eds, we're not gonna swim, don't worry." You grabbed his backpack, curiously peering inside to see what he was taking.

Eddie sat down beside you, clutching the sweatpants to his chest. "You think that's enough?"

You chuckled, leaning towards him and snatching the pants from his hands to fold them and tuck them in his bag. "I think you're worse than me when it comes to packing."

His unamused look made you smirk. You closed the zipper on his backpack and raised a hand to his face, flicking away a loose strand of hair that had fallen on his eyes. "It's perfectly enough, and we should be leaving already."

You got up from the bed pulling a strap of his bag over your shoulder, not seeing the way his cheeks reddened with your touch.

Eddie followed suit, stuffing his hands in his pockets and giving his bedroom one last glance over to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything.

"My parents already left yesterday to get there earlier. We're going with my car," you turned to him, walking backward and to the living room, "you're driving." You threw the car keys to him, which he scrambled to catch mid-air.

After saying goodbye to Wayne and tossing Eddie's backpack in the back of your car with your own bags, you were finally on the road to Porter Beach. The drive was a little long so you stopped by a gas station to grab a few snacks.

About one hour of driving, and you were munching on a cereal bar, feet resting up on the dash. Most of the way there was through a beautiful countryside, green fields surrounding the highway as you avoided going through any city's traffic. You were looking out the window, enjoying the low tune of a Bon Jovi tape you insisted on playing.

Lazily turning your head to the side, your gaze settled on Eddie. He had one hand resting on the wheel while the other held a can of soda, his eyes focused on the road ahead. You felt your lips curling up in a smile. He looked handsome, it felt right to be doing this, casually going out of town with him to meet your family. For a moment you forgot it was play pretend.

"So um- what are the ground rules?" Eddie's voice brought you back down to earth, making you frown.

"Ground rules?"

"Yeah, I mean, what we can and can't do. What are the boundaries of this relationship?" He shot you a suggestive glance with a toothy grin.

You rolled your eyes, stretching your arms above your head before throwing away the empty wrap of your cereal bar. "Well, we just have to pretend while we're with them so… holding hands, the occasional cuddle, those things. It's pretty straightforward, just like any other relationship you've had I guess."

Eddie promptly fixed his eyes back on the road, biting the inside of his cheek and gripping tightly onto the steering wheel. "But I don't… Just- just give me some pointers alright? What are you comfortable with?"

"There's not much to say, Eddie. You just kind of roll with it, and I'm sure whatever you're used to will be fine by me too, I trust you." You lean your head on the back of your seat, looking at him and taking notice of his tense shoulders. Whole body, really. "I mean, you've been in a relationship before, right?"

Eddie clenches his jaw, eyes looking anywhere but you as he grumbles; "you know I didn't." He didn't know why it bothered him, it's not like you'd judge him. But a little embarrassment still twirled in his stomach. And Eddie wasn't an idiot, he knew how couples behaved, but not having any experience in the matter still made him worried about crossing your boundaries; worried enough to step out of his comfort zone and ask.

"I know you didn't in the two years I've known you, but… before that?" You inquired tentatively.

Eddie's face twisted in a mixture of a smile and grimace. "Not many people are interested in dating the town's freak, I'm afraid."

His voice dripped with sarcasm but you could see the hint of hurt underneath, the loneliness. It baffled you though, how no one had had the privilege of knowing him like this. No one but you. The thought sent a shiver down your spine and you suppressed it just as fast as it came.

"It's alright, I know you'll make a great boyfriend." You smiled, poking his arm to bring a smile to him as well. "Just do what your heart tells you."

With your words, Eddie's heartbeat sped up. He cleared his throat and tried to sound casual with his next question; "what about kissing?"

That had you chuckling. You finally looked away from him and watched the road in front of you. "I guess we'll have to? At least some pecks here and there, otherwise they'll see right through it. If you're okay with it. I mean, what couple doesn't kiss, right?"

Eddie pursed his lips, gulping down the feelings clawing at his throat. "Right."

As you reached town, Eddie started following your instructions to get to the house. The town was pretty, and in some ways, reminded Eddie of Hawkins.

He ended up driving to a secluded neighborhood, and as he sped forward, fewer and fewer houses started to appear; until he reached the end of the road, and there, facing Lake Michigan, stood a big, white wooded house. It had two floors and a run-down stone path that lead to its entrance, surrounded by a few patches of grass, and a few coastal trees, but mostly light-colored sand that blended with the house nicely. And as Eddie parked the car beside the house, he noticed that some of the white paint was wearing off, certainly a teller of how long the house had existed. Yet despite its age, the house still looked well taken care of, fancy. It stood on a slight hill, giving them a perfect view of the beach ahead.

Eddie was quiet as he took in his surroundings, slowly pulling the key from the ignition when your car was settled beside the other two already parked there. Sometimes, he forgot how different your world was from his. Rich parents, fun childhood, big family. In moments like these, he was reminded of it.

"Here we are," you said quietly, eyes fixated on the house you practically grew up in. "I swear this place never changes." You opened your door with a soft click and the coastal wind filled your nostrils, making your hair fly. You turned to Eddie before stepping out.

He spoke before you could, hands still gripping the steering wheel. "You know, sometimes I forget that you're-"

"Don't say it." You cut him off.

"Rich?" With a raised brow, Eddie finally peeled his eyes away from the house and the waves washing to shore, and looked at you.

"Stop it, Eddie," you huffed, "for the last time, all of this," you gestured to the white house, fresh sand and seagulls that flew by in the distance, "belongs to my grandparents, not me."

Eddie squinted his eyes at you, pushing his door open as well. "It does belong to you, at least a little."

Rolling your eyes at his stubbornness, you climbed out of the car and pushed the door closed. The golden glow of the setting sun was warm against your skin, you took a moment to watch the way it blended in with the crashing waves, taking in a deep breath of the air that still tasted as fresh as you remembered it.

Eddie leaned his elbows on the roof of the car, about to ask if he should already take the bags but biting his words back when he saw you. The sunlight highlighted your profile with an orange glow and made your hair shine. Eddie could feel the air leaving his lungs and not coming back. This would be a long weekend.

You opened the trunk of your car and you and Eddie picked up all your bags. When you closed it again, you noticed the dark blue BMW parked beside you. You groaned, "shit, aunt Kathy is already here." With one hand you held onto the strap of your backpack whilst hooking your other arm with Eddie's, pulling him with you towards the front door. "Last time we were here she tried to pair me up with one of the surfers her son is friends with. He wasn't bad looking but… such a douche."

Beside you, Eddie hummed, subconsciously pulling your body closer to his. He took a quick glance down at his black jacket and ripped jeans. "More and more I'm kinda feeling like I won't be exactly the guy who fits in with your family, sweetheart."

You looked up at him with the ghost of a smile, watching the way his brown curls flew in front of his eyes and he tried to blow them away. "You fit in with me, that's good enough right?" The words slipped from your tongue before you had the chance to weigh them. Eddie turned his head to you, and you didn't let yourself think if the pink on his cheeks was from the sunlight or something else. "And you know, my parents adore you. They were thrilled when I told them about us." You finished quickly.

Eddie halted on his feet and pulled you along with him, his eyes comically wide. "You told your parents we're- we're…"

You chuckled and avoided his eyes, adjusting your backpack over your shoulder. "Of course I did, I had to, they're here too."

"But, what happens when we go back to Hawkins?"

You hadn't thought that far yet, but you pursed your lips with a smile and urged Eddie to continue walking. "I don't know but we'll think of something until then, say it didn't work out or whatever, and we're back as just friends."

Sand got inside Eddie's sneakers as he dragged his feet toward heartbreak. The thought of you and him not working out stung.

You stopped in front of the wooden door, reaching for the handle but hesitating. "You ready… boyfriend?" You chanced, smile teasing but tone anxious.

Eddie gulped, his lips parted as he looked at you with the most gentle eyes. "Nah man."

You nodded. "Me neither, let's go."

The front door opened with a quiet creak, allowing you the full view of inside the house, which hasn't changed much either since last year. The walls inside were cream colored, with a very open floor plan downstairs — joined kitchen and living room, that had a colorful couch and bamboo chairs for the dining table — and huge glass doors that lead to the porch facing the beach and the wooden stairs that made the path down to the sand.

In the living room sat both your parents, your aunt Kathy and her husband, uncle Arthur; and your grandmother, Louise, who got up as soon as she caught sight of you and Eddie.

"Y/N darling, you're finally here."

You gave her a big smile, letting your backpack fall to the floor and letting go of Eddie — who, you noticed, took half a step behind you — so you could hug your grandma. "Yeah, it was a bit of a drive, but we're here."

She let go of the embrace only to cup your face, squishing your cheeks as she always did. "Oh it's been so long, you've grown so much. How are you?"

Your parents, Kathy and her husband were now standing behind Louise with smiles of their own, waiting to greet you.

You chuckled. "I'm okay grandma, really, and it's good to be back." Gently prying her hands away from you, you blindly reached a hand behind you and grabbed the sleeve of Eddie's jacket, pulling him to stand beside you. "I want you all to meet my boyfriend, Edward."

Eddie, feeling a bit self-conscious under all the eyes fixed on him, managed a tight-lipped smile and a quick wave. "Hey, you- you can call me Eddie. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

"No need for introductions darling." Kathy squeezed her way through the rest of your family and towards you. "Your mother has been telling us all about you two the whole afternoon."

"Aw shit." You mumbled under your breath, biting back a chuckle when your aunt pulled Eddie in for an unexpected hug.

She came to you next, keeping and arm around your shoulders as she said; "I'm so happy you found someone."

"Yep," you forced out a laugh, mindlessly intertwining your fingers with Eddie's, "I did."

After exchanging greetings with the rest of your family — including your grandpa; and your cousin Sean who came back from the beach dragging sand everywhere and earning a scolding from his father, Arthur — you found yourself alone with Eddie on the porch facing the beach, or, as alone as one could be through glass doors and a full living room.

"Aunt Jane will be arriving tomorrow morning, I think she couldn't get off early from her job today." Sitting on the wooden railing, you swing your legs back and forth. "She's a bit more easygoing than aunt Kathy." You extended a hand for Eddie to take, and when he did you pulled him closer and between your legs, letting your arms rest on his shoulders.

Eddie tensed with your touch, his brown eyes searching your face as his hands hovered just above your waist. He read your look quite quickly; 'play along'. Carefully, Eddie allowed himself to embrace your waist, praying you wouldn't hear the thundering of his heart. He kept his gaze over your shoulder and in the darkening sky above the shoreline.

You sneaked your hands up his neck and through his hair, mindlessly messing with his curls. Eddie closed his eyes momentarily, hearing the muffled voices from inside the house, the clattering of plates as they set the table for dinner, the crashing of waves, and the leaves rustling with the cold wind. He knew already, that going back from this, from having you, would be difficult.

"They like you, you know." You gently pushed away strands of hair that were in front of his eyes, watching the way his gaze lazily met yours. "I knew they would."

It was true, you heard your mother earlier, whispering quite loudly to your aunt; "always attached to the hip those two, no wonder they're together, took too long if you ask me."

And to which your aunt answered; "he's not what I expected for her, but I have to admit, they are adorable. And what a kind young man, so respectful."

"They're just being nice," Eddie mumbled, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie.

You furrowed your brows at that. "No, they're not. I know my family, they wouldn't have a problem in letting it show if they don't like someone, in one way or another, especially aunt Kathy."

Maybe you were right, maybe Eddie could belong here. But he looked away and made the bold move of resting his chin on your shoulder, almost flushing your chest to his, with his hands holding your back so you wouldn't fall; because getting attached to a fake reality would be too hard of a blow in the long run.

And you didn't say anything else, feeling your skin prickle with goosebumps where he touched you. Closing your arms around Eddie's shoulders, you realized you'd never noticed how good it felt to hold him this close. Stop it. You told yourself. He's just playing his part like you're playing yours. It doesn't change anything.

The glass doors opened with a quick motion, making you and Eddie snap your heads towards the sound. Your father peeked his head through, sporting his 'kiss the cook' apron and with a spatula in hand. "Dinner's ready, you two. Come on in."

Everyone sat together at the table, talking loudly and passing bowls of food between each other. Eddie felt overwhelmed, but in a weirdly good way, with your family talking with him as if they'd known him for years.

"Edward, tell me a little about you. How'd you meet my niece?" Kathy asked excitedly from her end of the table.

Eddie gulped down half of the orange juice in his cup, his knee going up and down as he looked up at her. "We um- we met at school, right after she moved to Hawkins." He shifted his gaze from your aunt and to you who sat beside him, lips parted with uncertainty.

When you were about to step in and say something, you noticed his eyes softening. He focused on you and let the other people around fade out. With a soft breath, Eddie continued; "she stood out from day one, I- I couldn't understand how someone as amazing as her had ended up in Hawkins, of all places. I just knew I had to meet her."

Your hands became sweaty, and you couldn't hold his gaze. His words were too genuine for a made-up scenario, so you followed his lead shamelessly; "he was my first friend there, part of me knew we'd end up together, I think. He's been an easy one to love… from day one." The words grew quieter, you tilted your head and glanced at Eddie with a soft smile.

She doesn't really mean it. Eddie kept repeating inside his head, for the sake of his heart. But as you looked at him with a love that felt so true, his mantra started to become blurry.

All Eddie managed before going back to his food was a shy smile back.

Dinner went on as if nothing happened, the only one to mention how pure the young love was, was your mother.

Being tired from the long trip, everyone went to bed early tonight. You and Eddie ended up settled in your old bedroom in the house, now being generically furnished with a small bookshelf, a wardrobe, a desk, and a double bed in the middle.

You closed the bedroom door and leaned your back against it, huffing out a sigh.

Eddie, who was holding all of your bags, stood in the middle of the room. "Where should I…"

"Just leave them in the corner there." You pointed to the space beside the wardrobe. It wasn't worth unpacking everything only for the two nights you'd be staying.

You pushed yourself away from the door, grazing your fingers over the dusted books on the shelf. Some of them you knew, some had been your favorites growing up. You could feel Eddie's eyes watching you. "it wasn't too bad, right? Them and… us?"

Shifting in his stance, Eddie took off his jacket, leaving him in only a dark red Metallica shirt. He attempted to run a hand through his hair, his fingers getting caught up in loose tangles. "Not too bad, I think we'll manage to pull off our roles just fine." Despite the sour taste the words left in his mouth, Eddie shot you a teasing grin; "I do like to have a pretty girl to call mine for a change."

The warmth on your cheeks was instant, you chuckled, "don't get ahead of yourself, Munson." You pointed a finger at him and walked to your backpack, starting to search for pajamas to keep your hands busy.

"Uh, I'm gonna take a shower, you can go after, okay?" You glanced up at Eddie through your lashes.

"Yeah, sure."

Eddie busied himself with snooping around the room until you come back. Eventually, on the bookshelf, beside the old books, he found two portraits. Eddie picked them up with care, running a thumb over the images. In one of them, you and your whole family stood on the beach, with the big white house in the background, you were younger, maybe not older than seven and the smiles on all your faces were genuine. The other portrait was a picture of only you, maybe two or three years older than on the other picture, you held a plastic shovel and had a huge smile that missed one tooth, the beach water reaching up to your waist as you played in it. Eddie found himself smiling, they looked like happy memories.

"Oh no, you've found the relics." You walked back into the room, still drying your hair with your towel.

"I was hoping I'd find some ugly baby photos of you here." Eddie raised a brow, putting down one of the framed pictures. "These aren't so bad though. You really did grow up here huh?"

"For the most part, yeah. The house was big enough, and when I was around six my parents decided it was more worth splitting the bills, back then at least. And it's nice for a kid to grow up by the beach. Their words, not mine." You draped your towel over the desk chair, ruffling your damp hair with your hands. "And it was. Nice."

"Hmm, yeah." Eddie glanced down at the picture of the younger you in his hands, momentarily wondering what it would be like to grow up in a place where happiness and love surrounded him. He then held the picture up with a teasing grin; "where did all this cuteness go though?"

Your lips parted in a 'how dare you' way and you narrowed your eyes. "Fuck you." You giggled, walking up to him and snatching the portrait from his hands, pushing him to the door. "Go take a shower, you stink."

"I do not." Eddie joined in with a chuckle of his own, smiling big with the familiar teasing.

"Two doors to your left, pretty boy. Go on." You threw a clean towel on his arms and raised a hand to mess up his hair, just the way you knew always made him pout.

Eddie walked out and into the hallway with a permanent smile attached to his lips. The easiness with which you showered him with affection made his heart skip a few beats.

Closing the bathroom door, Eddie pulled his hair in a high bun to avoid getting it wet; it was a nightmare to sleep while his hair was still damp and even he wasn't able to tame it in the morning when it happened. He had to admit, the house was a pleasant place to be in, it had a natural homey feeling to it, and your family wasn't as bad as he was picturing them to be, he'd never felt so welcomed so fast. Part of him was already dreading the feeling though, all the more reason for it to hurt in the end.

The warm water of the shower was a relief against his skin and soothed his tense muscles. But he had been working almost on autopilot since you both arrived, and now, with the water hitting the tiles being the only sound, his mind had time to catch up. It was so easy for you to take his hand and pull him to you, to flush your bodies together as if it was nothing.

"Jesus, man." Eddie breathed out, splashing water on his face and keeping his hands over his eyes for a second. He doesn't think it could ever be nothing.

When he exited the bathroom all the lights in the house had already been turned off, he kept his hand clued to the wall to guide himself as he walked.

Eddie opened the door to your room slowly, cursing under his breath when the wood creaked quite loudly. He threw his clothes from earlier into a pile on top of his bag and just… stood there; in the dark room, with the only light being from the moonlight coming in through the window.

You were already laying down, covers pulled up to your chin. Eddie swallowed. You'd never discussed sleeping arrangements. He picked at his fingers, worrying his lower lip with his teeth; should he just lay down beside you?

After a beat, you answered for him, apparently feeling his worry all the way from under the covers. "Just get in here, Eds."

"Right, right," Eddie mumbled and scrambled his way to the bed. He made sure to keep a good distance between you two. His hands twitched to reach out for you, but he settled on watching the outline of your back until sleep overtook him.

_____

Saturday dawned with the sun shining right on your face, you nuzzled into your pillow to hide from its light; the pillow that felt weirdly warm under you. And you hugged the covers closer to yourself, except they definitely didn't feel like covers.

With your eyes still closed you scrunched your eyebrows, and when you felt your body being squeezed, you finally peered them open. Somehow during the night, you and Eddie apparently bundled together in the middle of the bed. Your body was almost fully on top of his, with your head resting on his chest and arms loosely around his waist. And Eddie had his nose pressed to the top of your head, snoring softly, his arms snuggly around you.

For this early in the morning, your heart definitely shouldn't be beating this fast. Yet his body was so goddamn warm and soft under you that you wondered if it was too selfish to allow yourself at least five minutes of this bliss. Waking up cuddled together without knowing where your limbs started and his ended could be excused for the sake of fake dating, right?

It was dangerous, you knew that, you felt it in the way Eddie mumbled something in his sleep and subconsciously tightened his arms around you; it was the one thing you tried to suppress the hell off when his warm brown eyes made your stomach fill with an annoying flutter of butterflies. But in the seclusion of the bedroom, under the first lights of sunrise, the worry felt insignificant.

Until you heard the clatter of plates and the muffled voices from downstairs; seagulls singing on the beach announcing the start of the day.

You gently ran a hand over the faded Dio print on Eddie's shirt, before trying to push yourself up and away from him. Try being the keyword, because his grip on you didn't budge in the slightest.

"Shit." You mumbled under your breath as you were squeezed back against his chest. You were hoping to separate your body from his before he woke up and noticed what happened. Apparently not.

You cleared your throat, turned your head up to look at him, and called quietly; "Eddie."

Nothing.

"Eddie, come on." A little louder.

Nothing.

"Ugh, dude." You grumbled. "Eddie! Wake up!"

His eyes shot open with a start and landed on you instantly, his hands gripped onto you before he let go completely as if you'd burned him. "Shit, shit, shit." He was all stiff limbs and warm cheeks because he'd just woken up with you in his arms, and it wasn't fair how pretty you were this up close.

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- christ, I'm sorry."

Eddie's rasp morning voice sent a shudder down your back. You finally moved away from him and to your own pillow. "It's alright, don't worry, it was my fault too," your mouth hovered open, you shifted your gaze, "I just needed to get up and… Yeah."

The tip of Eddie's fingers — his whole body, really — was still prickling from having you so close. He missed the contact immediately. "Sorry." He said one more time for good measure.

You waved off his worry as if it was nothing, getting up from the bed and making your way to the bathroom to freshen up. Except it definitely wasn't nothing.

When you walked back to the bedroom, Eddie was already dressed up in dark grey sweatpants and a red flannel shirt. He turned to you when he heard the door open, and you had to stifle a laugh because his hair was all over the place. The sunlight coming from the window made the wild strands shine and look golden.

"Jesus Eddie, you're not going downstairs like this, sit." You told him with a smile, pointing at the bed.

He chuckled, one hand automatically going up to his hair. "What, you don't like it?"

"You know I do, but," you mindlessly reached for his hand and sat him down on the mattress as you stood in front of him, "just let me tidy it up a bit."

"And ruin my metal look?" Eddie clasped a hand over his chest.

"Drama, drama," you mumbled, running your fingers over his fringe and then the soft strands that framed his face.

Eddie closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxing. Slowly, his forehead dropped to rest against your abdomen as you worked your hands through the curls on his head.

It went unsaid just how much Eddie loved when you'd mess with his hair, it was a secret you kept close to your heart. And if you kept massaging his scalp for a minute longer after you were done, no one needed to know.

You walked down the stairs with Eddie behind you, your family was in the kitchen, starting to prepare breakfast, and you got down just in time to see your aunt Jane arriving. Stripes of sunlight were coming in through the windows and glass doors, bathing the wood in golden as a soft breeze came from the shoreline.

"Aunt Jane!" You called with a smile, skipping down the last steps of the stairs and pulling the older woman into a hug.

"Y/N, it's so nice to see you again." Jane pulled away, her hands still gripping your arms as she looked you up and down with a fond smile.

"Auntie, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Eddie." You said excitedly, turning to Eddie, who stood by the stairs, and making grabby hands at him.

"Boyfriend huh?" A new voice mocked.

Samantha, Jane's daughter, walked through the front door. Glossed lips pulled in a devilish smile and manicured hands held onto her purse and her boyfriend's fingers, who stepped in behind her. Much different from her mother, she wasn't the most pleasant person to have around — the tension between you and her was innocent, for the most part, coming from years ago ever since she used to steal your toys and go cry to her mother when you snatched them back.

You tugged Eddie to your side, intertwining your fingers with his with a proud tilt to your head. "Yeah, all mine." You raised a brow and felt the way Eddie's eyes snapped to you. "Hi Samantha, made a lot of children cry on the way here?"

"And I thought you wanted to be the lonely cat lady of the family." Samantha chuckled, earning a stern gaze from her mother.

Suddenly, your own mother materialized beside you and pinched your side, mumbling a "behave" to you through the gritted teeth of her overly sweet smile. She always advocated for peace in family gatherings. You couldn't blame her.

"It's uh- a pleasure to meet you." Eddie cut through the light tension, not knowing what else to say. But apparently, it was the right thing, because you and Samantha shared only one last glare before you were pulling him towards the kitchen.

"What was that about?" Eddie asked — close to your ear in a whisper that made the hairs on your neck stand up — when you stood side by side in front of the kitchen table.

You took in a breath, picking up four slices of bread to make sandwiches for you and Eddie. It was muscle memory to make them; butter, ham, and cheese for you, and only ham and cheese for Eddie. "We don't exactly get along. She's a stuck-up princess who likes to pick on me." You shot him a quick grin. "That's family for ya. Could you get us some coffee?"

Eddie chuckled, softly shaking his head. "Sure." He mumbled and leaned down to give your forehead a kiss before making his way to the counter near the sink, where the coffee machine was.

He poured two cups, one black and the other… Eddie looked around him, searching for the milk. Kathy stood only a little far from him, leaning on the isle and drinking from her own mug, talking to Louise about something regarding a paint job for the house.

Eddie raised a hand to the back of his neck, feeling self-conscious about talking to your family on his own. But before he could make a fool of himself, someone appeared beside him.

"Here you go, son." Your grandfather, Christopher, Eddie believed his name was, handed him the milk with a kind smile. "I gather that's what you're looking for."

With a sheepish smile, Eddie took the milk and thanked the man profusely, feeling his chest blowing up with warmth for the kindness.

He poured the exact amount you always did for your coffee and walked back to the table, taking his seat beside yours.

You turned to Eddie and gave his hand a quick squeeze as a thank you, setting his sandwich on a plate in front of him.

"Look who decided to show up." Arthur walked in through the porch doors, flip-flops covered in sand in his hands. He gave Jane a side hug with a smile.

She raised a hand in mock surrender. "I know, I know, should've been here yesterday. But I couldn't get off work and Sam was at a birthday party." She explained, throwing all her bags on the couch except for one. "But," out of the plastic bag in her hands, she carefully pulled out a tray, "I come bearing gifts."

Your face lit up with a smile upon seeing the neatly made cake, the recipe was Jane's specialty and your favorite.

"You are totally forgiven." Your father, who had been making himself waffles, ditched the food and made a beeline for Jane's baked sweets, already trying to take a piece and earning himself a soft tap on the shoulder from your grandmother as she looked at him disapprovingly.

Eddie chuckled beside you, and you turned to him with a smile of your own. "I absolutely love this cake she makes, you'll have to try it."

"If you say it's good, then I trust ya." Eddie took a bite of his sandwich, bread crumbs sticking to his adorable smile.

Breakfast went as it always did in the beach house, everyone sitting at the table and talking loudly about three things at once, passing food and drinks between each other, and making plans for the day.

One detail diverged, however. Samantha seemed to take an interest in Eddie's life, asking questions about what he did and what he liked, looking at him with a certain hunger that made you clench your fork to the point the metal was almost piercing your skin.

Fake or not, for this weekend Eddie was yours. And the jealousy that blossomed in your chest when Samantha reached out to tap his forearm almost made you haul yourself over the table to squeeze her throat.

After breakfast you decided to finally head to the beach, the air outside was chilly, but the sun was out as well, making the day perfect for a walk on the warm sand. You talked Eddie into borrowing your father's flip-flops and walked hand in hand with him down the wooden stairway. The steps creaked under your weight, they lead you all the way from the porch, down the slight hill, and finally to the beach. Near the house there were a few grass patches amidst the sand, along with a thin wooden fence, that had already crumbled in a few spots, leading you near the water.

The beach was mostly empty at this time of year, save for a few passersby and ambitious surfers.

Your fingers were loosely hooked with Eddie's, he was swinging your joined hands back and forth, his eyes stealing glances down at the way his feet buried in the thin sand as you walked.

You, on the other hand, were stealing glances at him. At the way he sometimes stumbled on the uneven ground, at the way his hair flew wildly with the coastal wind, at how the sun kissed his skin the same way you caught yourself wishing to, and at how he looked like he belonged here; with you and with the glistening water framing his profile.

You two ended up making your way to a local bar, the only one near the house. It wasn't big, but it made up for its size in the way it was built. The place had no walls, allowing everyone a full view of the crashing waves just ahead. A few tables were scattered underneath the roof and in the back stood the little booth that served the drinks and a few snacks, everything smartly decorated with the coastal theme.

"You want something to drink?" Eddie asked as you leaned against one of the pillars. His cheeks and nose were starting to take on a red blush because of the sun.

"Yeah I think so, we can drink while walking back." You smiled, absentmindedly running your thumb over his knuckles.

Chatter coming from one of the tables caught both yours and Eddie's attention, you turned around to see Sean, your cousin, talking loudly to some of his friends.

Eddie turned back to you and somehow his cheeks had gotten even redder, he mumbled an "okay", before leaning in and planting a tender kiss on your forehead. He made his way to the bar, fidgeting with the wallet in his hands, not bothering to ask about your favorite drinks; he knew it by memory.

You realized then that you weren't wrong, Eddie made for a great boyfriend.

"Y/N? Is that you?" An excited voice called for your attention.

You turned around and were met with the sight of Duncan, one of Sean's friends who just so happened to also be the boy your aunt tried to set you up with. He trudged his way towards you, sporting a long sleeve white shirt and shorts; and save for the shirt, he was soaked, causing the sand to cling to his skin and his blond hair to stick to his forehead and neck. You wondered if he was immune to the chilly wind.

"Hey, yeah it's- it's me." You raised your hand in an awkward wave, sparing him a tiny smile as he stopped a bit too close for comfort.

"I was hoping I'd catch you around, been a while since you've come here." He leaned a hand against the pillar behind you, causing you to take half a step to the side.

You stuffed your hands in the pockets of your pants, shrugging your shoulders. "Yeah, I usually don't come here more than once a year. Just for the family trip and all."

"Well I must say then, you've only gotten prettier since last year." Duncan smirked, leaning in towards you so he could speak in a lower tone; "you should definitely drop by more often."

You looked aside to take a breath, already growing annoyed. "I don't think that's likely, it's a long trip and I can't afford to leave work much often."

Duncan nodded slowly, "I could keep you busy here too if you'd like. What do you say we try again? Wanna go out tonight?" He was about to raise a hand to touch your cheek but halted in his movements.

"Got you your favorite, sweetheart." Eddie's voice washed over you like a fluffy blanket on a cold day. He was quick to swing an arm around your shoulders, squeezing gently and pulling your body flush to his.

The warmth was welcoming, undeniably comfortable and you were baffled by how safe he made you feel. You leaned into him, sneaking your own arm around his waist until you reached the pocket of his sweatpants by his hip.

"Thank you, Eds." You said quietly, not necessarily for the drink but reaching out for it anyway. Standing on your toes, you planted a kiss on his jaw.

"Hey dude," Eddie raised his chin towards Duncan, "I'm Eddie, her boyfriend." He made sure to accentuate the words, causing you to suppress a chuckle.

Shuffling on his feet, Duncan backed away from you. "Right, nice to meet you, man." He nodded awkwardly and turned to you, "I'll head back to Sean, see you around Y/N."

You waved him goodbye with a tight-lipped smile. When the blond was out of earshot, you let out a relieved sigh, leaning your head back into Eddie's arm. "Thank you for the save, really."

Eddie chuckled, taking a sip of his beer and pulling you along towards the shore and away from the bar; his arm steady around your shoulders. "No one's allowed to make the moves on my girl, even if she's fake."

You bumped your hip into him, laughing along, both your feet kicking the warm sand. "Told you you'd make a good boyfriend."

The walk back to the house was pleasant, you drank and talked with Eddie with the same easiness he always made you feel. Once the cans were empty and discarded, you and Eddie spotted a crab — who hid in its hole as soon as you approached — and then began the match of who could spot more crabs. Both of you ended up with the ends of your pants soaked, only thinking of rolling them up when the damage was already done.

But you couldn't care, because the sun was shining and the waves were crashing to shore. And you were both running like little kids, burying your feet in the sand and splashing water into each other. And you thought of Eddie's saying about pictures and moments, because you wanted today to last forever.

When your family's house came into sight, you were walking with your flip-flops in hand, lazily moving your feet under the water when the waves reached you.

Eddie followed beside you, avoiding most of the waves. There was a soft tilt to his lips, a permanent smile because he was happy. You made him so unbelievably happy, and as you looked at him then, meeting his eyes that were already on you; with the sun shining behind you and glistening onto the water, making you look heaven-sent — just like that, hair all over the place, skin flushed and clothes in a mess of sand and water — Eddie was not surprised to feel as if he was in a daze, in the most addicting high.

You extended a hand to him, fingers stretching to reach him. He did the same, his fingertips grazing yours, feet just out of reach from the waves; knowing he'd never risk his feelings getting in the way of this.

Five more minutes of walking and you were in front of your house, you stopped, feeling the waves crash to your ankles and bury your toes with wet sand. Eddie stood in front of you, with one hand trying to block the sun shining on his face and the other in his pants pocket. The tip of his nose and the outline of his lips were red from the sun. You wanted to kiss him.

Your gaze shifted from him and up to the porch of the house, you saw the outline of two people whispering in each other's ears, no doubt Samantha and her boyfriend talking shit about you. You knew she was doubting your relationship, or, you felt like she was; and the way her gaze kept searching for Eddie earlier really made your blood boil. So maybe it was a little bit possessive of you, but two birds one stone, you thought, and took the bold move.

You walked up to Eddie, not giving him much time to process what was happening before burying one hand in his hair and pulling his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle, testing the waters. Until you felt Eddie tentatively place his hands on your waist, bringing your bodies together as he angled his head to deepen the kiss. His nose bumped yours, his lips much softer than you imagined.

Pulling back slowly, you breathed air back into your lungs. Eddie was looking at you with those chocolate eyes of his, his lips parted and so inviting, his hands warm on your waist but still making you shiver. He was suddenly too close, the air too hot.

You separated your bodies, instantly mumbling an apology and; "we kind of had an audience." You pointedly shifted your gaze to the porch and the two people watching.

Eddie could only nod, the air still stuck in a lump on his throat because holy shit; you kissed him.

You squeezed his hand as you walked past him and towards the house. And Eddie stood there for a minute, his lips tingling with the remains of your taste, tears prickling the back of his eyes because for a second, for a fleeting moment where the world faded and all he could feel was you; it felt real.

Something shifted between you and Eddie after the kiss. Each touch felt heavier, each stare lasted longer. You wondered if there was a way back from the lines you were crossing in your friendship. You wondered if you wanted a way back. If you were still pretending at all.

Eddie stayed back at the house when you, Jane, and your mother left to go to the market — you kissed him goodbye before leaving, just a touch of lips that barely lasted a second, but already made your knees go weak — they wanted to grab a movie to watch tonight and you convinced them into picking The Shining, wanting to choose something Eddie would like.

As dusk settled over the beach, popcorn was made and a spare mattress was laid in front of the TV so the living room could accommodate everyone. You, Eddie, and your grandparents took the bigger couch, your parents and Jane took the smaller one, and Kathy, her husband, and your cousins were sitting on the mattress. All the lights on the house were off with only the TV on and you were starting to regret your choice of movie.

Eddie handed you the popcorn bowl, the scenes on the TV casting light over his eyes and making them shine. "Was it your mom who chose the movie?" He asked quietly, only for you to hear.

You squirmed beside him, tucking your knees closer to your chest, feeling a pit of anxiety in your stomach as the movie went on. "It was me." You mumbled back.

"You?" Eddie raised an amused eyebrow. "You hate these movies."

"Yeah…"

"Why would you-"

"I wanted to pick something you'd like, okay? Sue me." You interrupted him, avoiding his eyes and handing the popcorn bowl to your cousin Sean.

Eddie kept his gaze on you, the movie turning into background noise. You were making it really hard for him to not love you more than he should. His lips quirked up, watching the way your nose and cheekbones were highlighted by the TV. Eddie wanted to kiss you again so bad.

"You're something else, sweetheart." He said more to himself than to you, and brought an arm around your shoulders, squeezing your body against his.

You briefly closed your eyes when you felt Eddie maneuvering your body to his. You tucked yourself comfortably beside him, nuzzling your head on his shoulder.

When the movie finally came to an end, you were basically dozing off on top of Eddie. Your head on the crook of his neck and an arm sprawled across his lap, while he lazily played with your fingers.

When Kathy turned off the TV, Eddie looked down to see Sean drooling on the mattress and Samantha trying to wake up her boyfriend; Eddie stifled a laugh at that. Your grandparents had already excused themselves to bed, and Jane and your mother were in the kitchen tucking away the dishes from earlier. The house was silent and dark, save for the clattering of plates and the single light near the sink. Not even two days had gone by and he already felt like part of the family.

Eddie's lips grazed your hairline as he tried to look at you. Your breathing was starting to even out and your eyes were closed, most of your weight now laying on Eddie.

He was about to wake you up when the voice of your mother called out to him; "Eddie dear, can you come to help me out for a moment?"

"On my way." He glanced over the back of the couch and answered quietly enough to not wake you. With overly careful movements, Eddie separated his body from yours, managing to lay you down on the couch gently.

"Just put these up there for me would you?" Your mother instructed as he reached her, handing him the stack of porcelain plates and pointing to one of the higher cabinets above the sink.

Eddie did so with a smile, earning him a squeeze on the forearm from your mother and a warm smile of her own as she made her way upstairs.

"It's Edward, right?" Jane leaned back on one of the counters, dish rag in hand.

Eddie turned to her, fidgeting with his rings. "You can call me Eddie."

"Eddie, I just wanted to say, I'm happy for you two." She told him genuinely, and when Eddie frowned, she clarified; "you and Y/N."

"Oh," he felt his face warm up, "uh- thank you."

The older woman chuckled, she had fondness on her eyes as she stared out the window, listening to the waves crashing to shore. "What I mean is, she looks happy with you."

The words made Eddie's heartbeat skyrocket, hearing it from someone else made it feel real. And to hear he made you happy brought goosebumps to his skin.

"The last two years, ever since they moved away, she hasn't been the same. She was quiet, withdrawn, you know. Moving to a new town, and even more so far away from the place you were born, sometimes is hard." Jane explained with a faraway look in her eyes. "This year is the first time that I feel like she is really here, back with us. She looks happy. And I feel like a lot of it has to do with you. I'm glad she found you."

Eddie's words were stuck to his throat, he tugged at the ends of his shirt, taking in everything she said. He'd never been a part of someone's happiness. It felt good. It made his eyes glisten and vision blur. "I- all I want is to see her happy." The words tumbled out before he could think them through.

Jane pushed away from the counter, smiling at him. She landed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed before going upstairs as well.

For a few minutes, Eddie was glued to that same spot in the kitchen. He raked a hand through his hair, pushing back his fringe and making some strands stick up.

After gathering some semblance of composure, he walked back to the couch and crouched down to be at eye level with you.

Your cheek was pressed to the couch and one of your arms hung loosely from the edge, your fingertips grazing the wooden floor. Eddie deeply wanted to have his camera with him.

Raising a hand to poke your cheek, Eddie woke you up.

"Hmm no." You grumbled, opening your eyes to peer at him with a disapproving look before burying your head on the couch with a grunt.

"Come on, sleepy head. Let's get you to bed." Eddie was having none of your poutings, he easily put his hands under your arms and lifted you up to a sitting position.

You unenthusiastically slapped his hands away, trying to run your fingers through your mess of hair. "Ugh, you're mean, y'know." Eventually, you got up and started to walk up the stairs to sleep properly on the bed.

"Shut it," Eddie argued back with a smirk, walking closely behind you in case you'd stumble, "you love me."

You sighed, reaching for the doorknob of your room. "You know me too well." You thanked the heavens that you'd both showered earlier because you'd definitely be sleeping without it if you hadn't.

Unceremoniously, you threw yourself on the bed. Eddie followed soon after turning the lights off.

Shuffling under the covers, your hand found grip around Eddie's shirt. "Come here." You mumbled. And you would be blaming all of it on your sleepy brain in the morning, but right now you were tired, and Eddie was warm and comfortable.

"Hm?"

"Just come here, Eds."

"O-okay okay, coming." Praying for you to not feel his thundering heart under your hand, Eddie hugged you close, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder again.

Eddie's lips parted with shaky breaths. The hand he had around your waist grazed a patch of skin, courtesy of your pushed-up shirt. He shivered. This felt way too intimate.

But you were relaxed, one arm draped over his abdomen as if you'd done this countless times.

Eddie closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel it too, nuzzling his nose into your hair and tracing random patterns over your stretched arm.

"You know, they can be a bit much sometimes but… but I like your family." He said quietly, not above a whisper in case you were already sleeping.

"They like you." You told him, voice wobbly, slipping in and out of consciousness.

Several beats passed, and your breathing evened again. Moonlight bathed the room, and Eddie's eyes had already adjusted to the darkness.

"Maybe we could try this for real sometime." He whispered, quieter than before. A plea thrown in the open for no one to hear anymore.

Tomorrow would be your last day here. Tomorrow you'd be going back to Hawkins.

_____

Sunday was a quiet day in the beach house. You woke up the same way as the day before, with you and Eddie in a mess of tangled limbs.

You knew Eddie had woken up before you, being able to feel his fingers absentmindedly messing with strands of your hair as your eyes opened for the first time in the morning. You didn't say anything as you snuggled up closer to him, and he didn't say anything as his arms tightened around you.

Part of you knew you'd have to talk about it, eventually. Because you'd be going home later today. And an even bigger part of you was dreading the talk; the one that would end whatever it was that happened in the last days.

Sunday was a day for relaxing, always has been. Everyone knew it was the last day in the house, everyone already woke up with the bitter taste of goodbye on their tongues.

But you enjoyed the day until the last minute;

Before breakfast, when Kathy and her husband asked if you'd like to accompany them to the nearby market. You enjoyed walking the familiar streets with Eddie's fingers loosely intertwined with yours, telling him a few stories of when you were growing up here.

During breakfast, with everyone sitting together at the table, already making plans for next year's gathering.

And when, as it also could be considered tradition, the whole family went for a walk on the beach. Feet burying in the sand and splashing the water of the waves.

You basked in the utopian feeling of sitting together on the porch, watching as the sun started to descend over the water ahead, painting the sky orange and pink, turning the waves golden. And Eddie was always there, with you, and it felt so right for him to be there.

Your parents had already left about an hour ago, having work early tomorrow morning and with the drive not being a fast one, they didn't want to arrive in Hawkins too late.

Seagulls were flying by, their singing mixing with the crashing of waves on the shore. And the sun was only getting lower.

You sat on the railings of the porch with Eddie in your arms, standing between your knees. It reminded you of your first night here, just two days ago, and yet it felt like so much had changed. Eddie was talking with Sean, one of his hands was around your waist and the other moved around enthusiastically as he said something about DnD.

There was no telling how things would be once you were back in Hawkins, once the whole couple facade was broken. Anxiety was hot in the pit of your stomach, all because of the grave you dug for yourself. How naive, to think you'd be okay after having a taste of what it would be like to call Eddie yours and then having to let him go.

Twirling a curl of his hair on your fingers, you took a last glance over the beach. You only noticed the bouncing of your knee when Eddie laid a hand on top of it, calming down the movement.

Sean was long gone, and from the look on Eddie's eyes, he has been watching your profile for a while. "You okay?" He frowned.

You pursed your lips. Suddenly, you felt like crying. "Yeah, fine." You swallowed once, then took in a breath. "We… we have to go, Eddie. Or we'll get home too late."

Eddie's lips parted, he had words on the tip of his tongue that he bit back, instead settling for; "yeah, you're right."

He helped you down, his hand gently holding onto yours, and with that, you intertwined your fingers with his one last time.

Ever since you moved to Hawkins, today just might be the day where it hurt the most to throw your bags in the trunk of the car to leave the beach house, you weren't expecting to have enjoyed the trip so much.

You bid your family goodbye with a tight hug to each of them, laughing as your grandmother squished Eddie's cheeks and told him how much of a good boy he was. And just like that, you were on the road again.

The car's engine rumbled to life, Eddie turned it around in the driveway and towards the street. You kept your eyes on the rearview mirror, watching as the white wooded house got smaller and smaller in front of the setting sun, the hands of your grandparents happily waving goodbye.

Rolling down your window, you allowed the coastal air to fill your nostrils, extending an arm out the window to feel the wind. You tipped your head back against the seat, closing your eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie switched his gaze between you and the road ahead. His eyes followed the line of your eyebrows and the curve of your lips, with the passing shoreline as background. Part of him wanted to ask what happens now? But the moment felt too delicate to be broken. He turned on the radio instead.

Around the halfway point of driving back, you and Eddie decided to stop at a gas station to pick up some snacks and fill the gas tank. It was dark already, insects were gathering under the artificial lights of the gas station. Only two other cars were there, from people with rather tired looks on their faces, — Eddie noticed, as he walked side by side with you to the convenience store — travelers too, no doubt.

There was a stray dog there, caramel in its color, who came to both of you with its tail wagging. You kneeled to pet him and Eddie followed suit; it was all casualty and routine, none of you mentioning the huge elephant in the room.

Inside, you went rummaging through the bags of chips whilst Eddie scanned the freezers for the drinks.

When he had both soda cans in hand, Eddie made his way to you. Without so much of a warning, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pressing the ghost of a kiss to your hairline in a moment of heart overtaking brain, before saying; "found that one you were telling me to try out, let's see if it's any good." He wiggled the can in his hand.

The bag of chips on your hands nearly popped open with the way you squeezed it, a shiver running down your spine with Eddie's affection. Your words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. "Uh we're not at the house anymore, Eddie, there's no need to pretend here." You forced out a chuckle, if anything, to try and cut through the tension looming around you.

Eddie had never pulled himself away from you so quickly. He gulped, his eyes looking anywhere but you as he shifted his stance. "Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I- I forgot." He grimaced, shaking his head.

"It's alright. No biggie." You mumbled back, hating yourself for making it weird. It was never supposed to be like that, Eddie has always been affectionate, even before this whole ordeal, why did it suddenly feel like… everything had more meaning?

You made a beeline for the bored cashier, desperate to have something take your mind off of the situation.

The cold from the soda cans on Eddie's hands was starting to pierce his skin and make it sting. He watched your quick steps away from him, watched how you took a piece of his heart with you and made the remaining one inside his chest bleed.

You and Eddie walked back to the car in silence, each one holding a bag. Only as you were about to open the passenger's door, that Eddie extended a hand to graze the skin on your wrist, it was enough to hold you in place and get you to reluctantly turn to him.

Eddie licked his lips, fumbling with his rings in anticipation. "Look, I'm- I'm sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable these last days. It was never my intention, I promise, I wouldn't-"

"Eddie no, you-" you stopped him, because the way his chocolate eyes were glistening under the street lights made your throat feel tight. Boundaries be damned, you thought to yourself, it's not like we haven't gone way past them already. You took his hands on yours, brushing his knuckles softly. "You could never make me uncomfortable, okay? Never. I'm just… a bit bummed that we're leaving, that's all."

In a haste, you brought one of his hands to your lips, planting a tender kiss on his fingers and mumbling; "don't worry." You managed a reassuring smile before getting into the car. A smile that Eddie saw right through.

It was already late at night when you arrived at Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie parked your car a little far from his trailer, you didn't comment on it.

The night sky was gloomy, several clouds hiding the stars. There seemed to be some kind of gathering happening on one of the other trailers, you could hear excited voices and music flowing through the air.

Gravel crushed under your feet as you exited the car, ready to help Eddie take his bags inside; but he didn't let you, he jogged his way around the front of the car and to you.

"Y/N, can we… talk?" He half extended a hand towards you, giving you the chance to let him in or push him away.

Seconds felt like hours as you stared at his outstretched hand, until you finally took it, fingers lazily hooking together, the folds on your skin fitting with his. Eddie pushed himself up on the hood of your car, sitting there and pulling you between his legs, close enough that you had to lay your hands on his waist. A smile tugged at your lips at the familiarity.

You avoided his eyes though, keeping your gaze on the belt loops of his pants you were playing with.

With a gentleness most people wouldn't believe he was capable of if you told them, Eddie traced the outline of your jaw, urging you to meet his eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? You've been quiet ever since we left the beach house."

You bit onto the inside of your cheek until you tasted iron, the beginning of tears pooling on the bottom lid of your eyes. "I'm sorry, Eddie. I- I never should've asked you to do it." You choked out.

He frowned at your words, the hand he had on your waist pulled you closer in an attempt of comfort.

"Going there, with me…" You elaborated. "I feel like… it might have been a mistake."

Eddie gulped, his lips pulling thin to stop their trembling. "A mistake?"

"Last thing I wanted was for this whole fake dating thing to get in the way of our friendship." You brushed the sleeve of your hoodie under your nose, sniffing to hold back your tears.

Chances were; you were feeling awkward about being around Eddie now, or — and he took a leap of faith in even allowing his brain to conjure up the thought — he might just be lucky enough that you feel the same way he does.

Holding tight to every last bit of courage inside him, Eddie took a deep breath, pushing strands of hair behind your ear; "were we… ever faking it?" His voice came out much quieter than he intended. "Or- or did I just imagine what we had? Because it felt real sometimes."

The last of his words came out in a breath, big brown eyes tearing up under the cheap lighting of the trailer park the same way yours was, looking at you with blown pupils; and at that moment, you realized there would never be a reality in which you wouldn't fall for him.

Your silence made Eddie's hands fidget with your hoodie. He squirmed in his seat, heart in his throat. "Because, I think I'd like it to be real."

The air in your lungs left you in a breath that didn't come back, and you were glad Eddie was holding you because your legs just about turned to jelly. "You serious?"

Eddie chuckled, a fond smile on his lips. "To be totally real with you, I wasn't faking any of it."

You tugged at the collar of his jacket, moving closer and leaning your forehead to his. You smiled when Eddie nuzzled your nose with his. "Neither was I."

Eddie's cheeks hurt with how big his smile got, his eyes crinkling on the sides. "Then, I'm guessing we won't have to tell your parents we're breaking up?"

Pulling away with a smile of your own, you lifted a brow. "That's what you're focusing on?" A stray tear dropped from your eye, now more in happiness than anything else.

Eddie brushed it away with his thumb in a gentle touch, pulling you in to lay a kiss on your forehead. He was buzzing with happiness, his heart light with joy and affection. He closed his eyes for only a second, lips still grazing your skin, to take in the feeling of finally, truly having you.

He pulled away but kept his hold on you, a boyish grin on his face. "Oh and, you know, the fact that maybe I can call you my girl for real from now on? No biggie."

You gripped his thighs and tilted your head with a grin, leaning your body closer to his. "You may."

Eddie didn't waste a second in pulling you in for a kiss, he was all passion and neediness, with a tight grip on you as if you'd go away if he let go.

The metal of your car was cold against you as you leaned a hand on it, the other going up to Eddie's head and burying itself in his curls. His lips were soft, tender, and perfect. It tasted different, kissing him for real.

A kiss that was soon broken by shared giggles, by the way Eddie hugged your body to his and gently swayed you both from side to side.

You wouldn't have to fake break up with him after all; and who knows, maybe next year, when you both drive down to the beach house as a real couple, this can be a funny story to tell over dinner.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this story. This one also took me weeks of writing, rewriting, and editing, so feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated so I can keep bringing you these stories. <3

Eddie’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @boooil @science--hoes @cherrypieyourface @tssf-imagines @daph-505 @astream-ofconsciousness @fentyreligion @fantasylovestoryme @justabeautiful-letdown @crazyrapunzel @yessica41 @dancing-hillary @bakugouswh0r3 @hehehehannahthings @jakebasement @zervopoulouu

@forverdaydreamer-blog @fromthedt @oeuryale @mcueveryday @palah @witchbinchstories @call-me-magpie @loveshineslikethesky @luvmybbies @tvserie-s-world @agirlsguidetolove @hallothankmas @ribyourtoplip @sweetpeapod @harringt8ns @forsaken-letters @hazydespair @fangirling-4-ever @electric-cabaret @ollyoxenfrees @linkpk88 @twinkofmydreams @paola-carter @masterlistmanic @xceafh

[lgcminseo]

"All I hear is nerd talk..." Minseo teases, eyeing the the plastic bricks in varying shades of grays and sizes inside the backpack. It was a far cry from the final assembled piece, but she didn't doubt his attachment to the spaceship model. She would never understand people who could disassemble a model and start from scratch. All that time wasted... She did not have that level of patience within her. She had an inkling Jino hadn't done it on purpose. Perhaps, she felt a bit bad and pitied the man. Her expression doesn't waver, amusement glinting in her eyes and reaching the soft curve of her lips.

"What autographs, Moon Jino?" Her lips twitch, following him closely with her gaze. She crosses her arms over her chest, stepping to the side and allowing the pen to fall near her feet instead of lifting her fingers to catch it. "I want to know if you were born with the audacity, or if that came later?" She utters, rolling her eyes when she crouches down to grab the pen, tucking it in the back pocket of her jeans. "You're going to have to embarrass yourself in front of the movers, or give them the album that I gave you..."

"Speaking of your parents, how long will they stick around?" She asks, curiosity etched over her brow. His parents had been lovely to her and unbelieably accommodating when his parents didn't have to during her impromptu crashing of Jino's vacation. "Before the two of them head off to their next mission..." She whispers the last part, playfully pressing her index finger in front of her lips as if she was uttering a secret she shouldn't have. "I felt bad that I couldn't really stay when I dropped off the gift. I hope your grandparents didn't find that rude..."

"How was your weekend? Was it less eventful than mine?" Minseo dramatically drapes herself over one of the taller boxes, resting her chin on her arm to keep her head upright. "I wonder if the food will get here before we finish with the couch at this rate. You're so slow like a slooooth." She fixes her posture, standing up straight to cross the room and try her hand at removing the plastic around the couch without the box cutter.

“yea, you just keep telling yourself that.” he says in passing.

more of a murmur than anything else, even though jino didn't really expect her to do any heavy-lifting. but it comes and goes as he moves to and through his new home — boxes being placed in any space that wasn’t already occupied by the other things he apparently owned. after living in the dorms, jino had not realized how much stuff he had unconsciously hoarded — damn, maybe he should have marie kondo-ed his shit like his mom had told him to.

jino startles when he sees minseo haphazardly pick up his backpack — hands immediately reaching out to relieve her of the bag so that she doesn’t accidentally drop it in her dramatic exaggeration, “not just gold.” he unzips the main pocket to show the pile of unassembled legos that would have been the millennium falcon from star wars — long story short: they had been assembled … perfectly so … but jino, in his haste while packing, had accidentally knocked it over — and now the after math was nearly a thousand pieces of legos that he wasn’t entirely sure how to put back together. “its the millennium falcon.”

placing the backpack down, carefully, hands on his hips, he takes a long look around at their surroundings — unsure of where they should start. he had packed everything but … he had also forgotten to write down what was what and now all they had were unmarked boxes full of things that he was sure he had — and wasn’t sure what was where. 

“we can do the couch? at least that one just requires removing the plastic, right?” moving to the kitchen, he retrieves the box cutter from one of the drawers. “oh yeah, don’t forget to sign those autographs — i promised the movers earlier, they’ll be back tomorrow with the tank i ordered for moo. also my grandma and grandpa — and my parents want one as well, so …” he tosses a pen her way. “you better get started.”  

[inkformyblood]

a soft epilogue

After Fox’s chip malfunctions and he kills Palpatine, Cody and Obi-Wan are forced to reckon with a war that ended far sooner than either of them expected and everything that neither can bring themselves to say.

Pairing: Codywan, minor Quinlan Vos/Fox

Warnings: mild injury

Day 01 Prompt: Fix-It AU

@codywanweek

Cody couldn’t say what alerted him first; whether it was the sudden sense of relief that bloomed in his chest, foreign and fragile, or the immediate starting howl of the alarm klaxons that was suddenly cut off into painful silence.

He tucked his cards — the beginnings of a winning hand — into his chest as he reached for his bracer, every movement deliberate and practiced, projecting a quiet confidence he did not feel as worry twisted through his stomach. They were on leave, had been for three days now, and there had been no communications about planned drills which could only mean…

A single message flashed on the interface, marked as the highest priority in the Command Track Chat, supposedly sent from Fox but lacking his usual typing style. ‘Ignore alarm. All fine.’

Cody felt his heart stop, reading and rereading the message as his mind worked frantically, running over the possible scenarios in an instant. Obi-Wan was meant to be in one of the meditation rooms on the fifth floor, too far away for Cody to reach easily, but if he sent a scout to collect the General—

He ignored the twist of emotion in his chest, pushed it down as he had been doing for years, pulling a deep breath in through his teeth before looking up to catch Wooley’s eye. The other clone's eyes were wide, chewing over the side of his cheek in time with the flutter of his fingers over the edges of his cards as he waited, trying to read Cody’s expression.

The barracks were silent around him, the emptiness of several men waiting for an order, waiting for something to shatter the sliver of peace they were only just beginning to enjoy.

“Wooley,” Cody began, before cutting himself off. He pushed himself to his feet, scooping up the blaster from next to him, turning to level it at the door as it slid open, seconds after the hurried heartbeat of stumbling bootsteps echoed down the corridor.

Fox’s grin as the man stumbled into the room, supported between Stone and Thire, was nothing short of triumphant, the man’s teeth blood-stained and bared. His curls were plastered to his head with sweat, the grey that gathered at his temples more pronounced next to the wild rolling of his eyes.

“What’s going on?” Cody asked, his words sharp enough to cut, and Fox tipped his head back to laugh. It was harsh and broken, like a degraded holo-film, rumbling through him as if he was in his death throes, pulling against Stone’s grip as Thire turned, glancing back down the corridor.

There was a set of footsteps drawing closer, purposeful and clear, and Cody felt the familiar fear of the battleground settle in his chest, the tension the moment before the first shot fired when the entire world stopped.

“I—“ Fox broke off, a spasm rumbling through his body, his hands curling into desperate fists before they flexed out like talons. His jaw clicked shut, a wave of helpless anger passing over his face as a muscle in his cheek jumped. “I—“

Cody felt the horror at his vode’s state settle in his stomach like a stone. What was going on?

“We didn’t know what to do, so we brought him here after Vos brought him to us.”

Cody caught Stone’s eye as the man finished speaking. They were clones trained for war and raised to be perfect soldiers, but the other clone looked haunted, the ghosts of something Cody couldn’t name settling into his bones. His gaze remained steady, boring into Cody’s, even as he shifted to re-balance Fox against his side.

Some distant part of mind whispered the similarities between their current state and that of a drunken shiny, flushed from shore leave, even as his thoughts sharpened, battleplans curling their grasping fingers in readiness.

“Vos is involved?” Cody knew the Jedi well enough through their shared connection to Obi-Wan and the mountains of paperwork his missions inevitably created, but there had never been anything like this. Quinlan had always seemed to care for his men and the other troopers, but Cody had to protect his vode.

“He didn’t— He, no,” Fox ground out, his gaze sharp and his teeth bared. He wavered, stumbling on his feet as he tried to get his limbs underneath him, sagging against their grip. There was bruise beginning to form on his temple with a matching one curved across his cheek, the edges red and muted against his olive skin. “Not him, never— No.”

“Okay, vode. Then who did this?” Cody felt the air grow sharp as every trooper behind him, their previous tasks fully abandoned, focused on Fox’s next words. Fox had paused, however, his head rolling backwards, the whites of his eyes bloodshot as he tried to stare at the door. The footsteps were echoing louder, drawing ever closer. Cody’s hand drifted to the blaster at his hip, his fingers brushing along the empty lightsaber clip and his heart twisted in his chest.

The door hissed open, and Quinlan Vos stepped through — his face bloodless except for the furious colour high in his cheeks — to a fanfare of the clicks of primed blasters. His hands raised, fingers splayed and trembling, but his gaze didn’t linger on the group in front of him, skimming over their faces before settling on Fox.

“Talk quickly, Vos.”

Quinlan took a moment, leaning forward, turning towards Fox like a plant turning towards sunlight, before he caught himself, settling back on his heels.

“I don’t have all the details.” His words ran together as he spoke, and his eyes only flickered back to Cody, watching Fox as if he couldn’t bear to look away from the other man even for a moment. “But it seems like there is dormant programming in some of you, or all of you, I can’t say.”

Fox laughed, the same grating stuttering sound, and Cody shivered, the hair on his arms and at the base of his neck prickling.

Quinlan grew paler, chewing on his lower lip as he swayed in place before continuing. “It looks like it was a Sith plan, to have you turn on the Jedi and kill us, but something went wrong, and Fox’s activated both early and twisted.”

Quinlan paused, a grin twisting over his face despite his worry clouding it. “Saved us a lot of time with investigating.”

Cody’s head span, cold dread mixing with biting horror in his gut, and he forced himself to draw a deep breath in. He couldn’t let himself falter, not without the safety of his helmet and not in front of his men. His free hand crept up to curl his fingers around the empty lightsaber clip once more and felt his heartbeat settle.

“What happened?”

Fox jerked himself out Thire and Stone’s hold, stumbling forward with a snarl, and Quinlan stepped forward, his hands settling on Fox’s hips with an ease that made Cody’s heart ache. They came together so easily, their jagged edges melding rather than crashing against each other.

Cody’s grip tightened on the clip, metal biting in his palm, and forced his thoughts away from the gulf that duty created between himself and Obi-Wan. But they both knew they had a war to fight, so settled back into their own lonely orbits, skin burning wherever the other had touched them that time.

It hurt more than he could say.

Fox leant forward — the slight movement drawing Cody out of his own bitter self-pity — pressing his forehead against Vos’ with a sigh. “The Chancellor is dead,” Fox murmured. His gaze shifted sideways to lock onto Cody’s, burning with a bright feverish intensity. “I shot him.”

Quinlan caught Fox as the clone fainted, his eyes rolling backwards in his skull, his body falling limp as if he had been shot, and Cody couldn’t breathe, could barely think, but he had to stay strong. For his men and his General.

“We’ve got work to do.” Cody turned away from Quinlan, unable to fully ignore the whisper in the back of his mind about the last time he had seen Obi-Wan.

That morning felt like several lifetimes ago. Obi-Wan had hesitated in the doorway to the small meeting room, the datapad containing the final forms to confirm their shore leave for the next few days. His blue eyes seemed clouded, a storm brewing that had only intensified with every accidental brush of their hands, or every time their knees bumped beneath the cramped table.

Cody turned to watch him, feeling the distance between them keener than ever, another knife sliding neatly between his ribs. Obi-Wan had smiled, inclining his head a fraction before moving away, his steps slower than usual as if he was pulling against a tether that was drawing him back into the room, back towards Cody.

“Get the medics. And Wooley?”

Wooley snapped to attention, his hands slamming against his thighs hard enough to draw bruises.

“Go get the General.”

⁂

Cody stopped in front of Obi-Wan’s door. The metal was as carefully blank and featureless as every other door he passed to get here, but there was a warmth about it that was absent, a lingering promise of the man who was waiting on the other side.

He should knock. He should let Obi-Wan know in a tangible way that he was here, but he couldn’t. His hand remained frozen at his side, and he found himself studying the door to try and stem the mounting wave of worry rising in his chest.

It wasn’t as blank as his first glance made it out to be. He could see the faint lighter patch at one edge where it opened that matched the press of Obi-Wan’s hand, stretched out to prolong their parting for a moment longer. His heart twisted in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Throughout the war, they had both held back from uttering the words that could destroy them both.

The closest they had gotten was one late night amongst thousands of other nights when they could barely keep their eyes open and ran from one emergency to another. Cody had startled awake, his cheek aching with the indentation of his datapad, but he had barely started to shift when he paused. Obi-Wan was resting against his shoulder, his weight warm and grounding, the same way it had been for countless nights before this one. But it was different.

Obi-Wan had stirred, pushed himself upright with his cheeks turning a pale pink that only highlighted the freckles cast across his nose like a constellation.

“When this war is over,” he began, his voice thick with sleep, but his eyes were bright, locked onto Cody’s.

“When the war is over,” Cody echoed, missing Obi-Wan the moment the man moved away.

Now it was over.

Cody shook himself free of the memory as hurried footsteps echoed from behind the door. He had kept his General— he had kept Obi-Wan waiting for too long.

The door slid open at his touch with a mechanical hiss, but Obi-Wan still jumped, turning with his reflexive smile — the one that rang false and hollow and failed to illuminate his eyes, constructed for politicians. It was wiped away in an instant for something genuine, something true, the smile made just for Cody.

Owning things was still new to him, to all of them, but that smile was something he treasured more than he could say.

“Commander— Cody.” Obi-Wan caught himself, his smile softening and ducking his head before he straightened. He wasn’t wearing his usual robes but instead a pale wrap that hung loosely from his shoulders and just past his wrists and was belted around his waist. Beneath it, Cody caught a glimpse of a form-fitting black jumpsuit before Obi-Wan stepped forward, and his gaze snapped back to his face.

Cody tugged at the edge of his own shirt, the black cotton soft and worn-in, and felt a prickle of shame in the pit of his stomach. How could he have ever thought that he would be good enough for the Jedi?

“I’m glad you’ve come to visit me. I know the past few weeks have been busy.” Obi-Wan laughed slightly, shaking his head at his own statement. Now that he was closer, Cody could see the dark circles that clung beneath his eyes like bruises and the pale cast to his skin that spoke of far too many hours spent hunched over a datapad. Cody’s fingers twitched with the urge to try and smooth the other man’s exhaustion away.

“Please, sit.” Obi-Wan gestured towards the small sofa before stepping away. He tucked his hands into his sleeves before catching himself and shifting to clasp them in front of him. “I’ll get us both some tea.”

Cody took the offered place, mindful of the weapon oil that likely still clung to his hands as he perched on the edge of his seat, an immediate ache radiating down his thighs. He let his gaze wander as Obi-Wan stepped away, keeping track of the Jedi’s movements from the gentle sound of his footsteps and the rattling of the porcelain that was quickly replaced by the hiss of the kettle.

He had been in Obi-Wan’s rooms before, but never like this, never with the knowledge that they were equals, and he could look around to his heart’s content.

To one side, a large window was set into the wall, ringed by carefully tended plants. Wooden stakes were tied to some, the twine a pale flash amongst the dark green and brilliant flowers. Amongst the earthen pots, Cody could just make out the flat curves of several stones, some of which he recognised from Obi-Wan’s quarters on the ship. He hadn’t understood why the other man took a moment to slip a stone into his pocket on every planet he could, but Cody had found himself studying the terrain closer than usual, carefully adding his own contributions to the collection on the ship.

Obi-Wan had never mentioned it, but Cody recognised a large dark blue stone that held pride of place on the shelf — its surface shot through with silver veins that gleamed like stars in hyperspace — from their mission before the leave that changed everything.

The rest of the room was as sparse as Cody had come to expect from the other man. A data pad lay on the desk that was tucked away in the opposite corner, Obi-Wan’s lightsaber carefully resting on a stand above it. The sight of the saber in its correct place and not discarded on the churned mud of a battlefield or hanging from Cody’s hip made him bite back a laugh, but he couldn’t disguise the slight hitch in his breathing.

“Your disapproval may finally be influencing me, Cody.” There was a flicker of pride across Obi-Wan’s face, hidden as the other man turned away, his hands perfectly steady on the cups.

Cody looked around the room once more, understanding settling over his shoulders like a shroud. Everything had been cleaned and organised, and re-organised, because Obi-Wan wanted it to be perfect, because Cody was stopping by as a free man, not a soldier, and they were finally equals. He could almost picture Obi-Wan moving back and forth, his steps a frantic beat to a music only he could hear as he second-guessed the placement of every object in the small room.

“Not at all, General— Obi-Wan. Just surprised to see it in the same room as you.”

Obi-Wan laughed, and Cody turned back to him, keen to study the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. He stepped closer, holding out the cup to Cody, a curl of sweet-smelling steam wafting from it.

Their fingers brushed as Cody took it, his blush mirrored on Obi-Wan’s paler cheeks, and the Jedi carefully sat on the other edge of the sofa, his inherent grace making it look effortless.

Cody focused on the cup, taking a small sip of the hot tea and feeling it burn against his tongue. There was a faint lingering bitterness beneath the tart sweetness of the berries infused with it, and Cody rocked backwards with a sigh.

“I remembered that you liked this one.” Obi-Wan wrapped his hands around his cup, but made no movement to drink it, his gaze fixed on the blank wall opposite. The early afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating him like he was a work of art, and Cody felt his heart twist.

“How did it go? Your surgery, I mean.” Obi-Wan’s blush deepened as he stumbled over his words, his nails tapping against the side of his cup.

Cody carefully transferred his hold on the cup to one hand — the heat pressing against his fingertips and raised his free hand to trace the faint healing incision on his temple that curved up into his hairline. His hair had been shaved to accommodate the surgery and was rough against his touch. “It went as well as Helix expected it would. They had to remove ours last due as they were implanted differently, and they needed to work out why Fox’s was activated early.”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan set his cup down by his feet and sat back with a world-weary sigh, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes with a grimace. Cody mimicked him, and shifted closer, his knee bumping against Obi-Wan’s, and the man froze before relaxing into the whisper of contact.

“Quinlan is apparently taking good care of him. I don’t think Fox has had to raise a finger for anything in a week.” Cody bit back the rising tide of anger as he recalled the list of Fox’s injuries. The final trigger had been a slap, dismissive and cruel, but it had been enough to spark the chip that had been primed through months of the Sith lord tearing out Fox’s thoughts by the roots, pruning his mind for no other reason than he could.

“I’m glad they have found each other.” Obi-Wan glanced up at Cody, catching his gaze out of the corner of his eye, and paused.

Countless stolen moments and bitten-off confessions, everything they had been unable to say culminated in here and now.

“Given that the war is over,” Cody began, watching hope burn in Obi-Wan’s eyes like a banked flame that grew with every word. The Jedi’s hands were curled into fists on his thighs, restraining himself from reaching out, as, although Cody was free, Obi-Wan couldn’t make that first step himself.

Doubt still gnawed at the base of Cody’s skull, but it couldn’t hold its place amidst the warmth flooding through his chest.

“I would like to kiss you now,” Cody finished, leaning forward a few inches, before he stopped, waiting for Obi-Wan’s reaction.

The Jedi’s cheeks were burning, and Cody wanted to commit the colour to memory, to study the flecks of darker blue in Obi-Wan’s eyes that were nearly obscured by his pupil, dark and encompassing.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan breathed, the word catching in his throat and dissolving into a sibilant hiss against Cody’s lips as he pressed himself forwards. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

Cody laughed, the sound muffled against Obi-Wan’s desperate kiss, his beard scratching against Cody’s lips and cheeks, and broke apart just long enough to press their foreheads together. He could feel Obi-Wan trembling beneath his hands, the other man’s grip on his shoulders almost biting.

“I love you,” Cody whispered, kissing Obi-Wan once more, soft and sweet.

“I love you,” Obi-Wan replied as if it was the simplest thing in the world and pulled Cody up to kiss him again, murmuring half-broken promises against his mouth that rang true and heart-felt, everything they had been leaving carefully unsaid for years.

This was where he was meant to be, safe and loved and by Obi-Wan’s side, and Cody knew that whatever happened, they would face it together.

[monkeydlesbian]

this is so random but,,, babysitting fukunaga’s little sister and he just looks at the two of u with the biggest heart eyes,,,that’s all i want tbh

babysitting

fukunaga shouhei x fem!reader

wc: ROUGHLY 1.6k ???

a/n: BRAINROT!!!!! this is literal brainrot i’m in so much pain i don’t know whether to bite u (affectionately) or kiss u for this. all payne no liam. also i didn’t mean for this to turn into a whole ass fic?? holy fuck i whipped this up in one night LMAO fukunaga brain just took over

warnings: maybe two (2) swear words, the beheading of dolls (just read. it will make sense), reader and fukunaga makeout, NOT PROOFREAD

You’re not exactly sure what you thought you were getting into when you had agreed to babysit Fukunaga’s little sister with him.

Sure, children are a little fucked up. But that’s why they’re so entertaining, right?

Fukunaga’s little sister is about five years old, and the embodiment of the “weird little girl” stereotype, you’ve come to find out. One minute she’s coloring (inside of the lines; really weird) in her jungle themed coloring book, and then the next she’s asking you if you’d like to watch her take the heads off of her dollies.

At first, you chuckled nervously at her and scratched the back of your neck, spitting out a meek: Yeah... haha... sure...

But then the smile she gives you is bright and toothy (or lack thereof; she had lost one of her front ones last week), grabbing your hand and dragging you towards her room. Your previous apprehension leaves you the moment you remember that you were just like her when you were younger.

No pink and sparkly nail polish, no princess playhouse, just you and the dead mouse you found outside that you had brought into the house. You remember your parents not letting you go outside for a week after that.

“Look, they come off so easy!” She squeals, excited, as she turns to you with the body of a doll in one hand and the head of it in the other. You stare at her for a couple seconds before you’re laughing, loud and genuine with your shoulders shaking and head thrown back.

You’re still laughing when you scoot closer to her on the floor, “Can I try?”

She looks at you with wide eyes and an excited smile, “You wanna rip their heads off with me?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” you say politely, a little whimsical and formal, a tone that makes her giggle.

You can almost see her vibrating from where she’s sat on the floor before she jumps up, head and arms buried in the bin with all of her toys before she comes back up, another doll in her hand with an almost manic smile on her face.

She stumbles over to you and sets the doll in your hands. It’s a pretty one, with long brown hair and bright blue eyes. Too bad they won’t be attached to its body anymore.

She squeals and giggles again as you yank it’s head off, a loud popping sound following.

“Wasn’t that fun?!” She asks you, sitting down beside you and leaning her head on your arm.

“Oh yeah!” You confirm, reaching your hand around to pat her hair, giving her a playful scratch on the scalp. “Can the heads go back on, though?”

At that, she sighs, a pitiful sound that makes your heart clench. “No... but Mommy always buys me more! She does get mad at Shouhei when he rips them off with me, though.”

You laugh at the mention of her older brother, your classmate, your friend, the guy you really really like.

“That Shouhei would help you with something like that, wouldn’t he?” You ask, not really searching for an answer. It’s not really a question, honestly. More like a musing, a dreamy sigh that escapes your lips.

“Are you Shouhei’s girlfriend?” She asks suddenly, curious, turning to face you as she places her head in your lap.

You gasp at the question before your cheeks and neck start to heat up, like you stuck your upper body in a furnace.

“N-No!” You say, stuttering at the bluntness of her question.

“Oh,” She says; Disappointment laces her tone. “Well, you should be! He really likes you.”

“H- He what?”

“Yep!” She says, her response really not making any sense, but it makes sense to her. She’s smiling like she knows a secret, one that you happen to not know about.

“I— Well— Okay...” You trail off as you think about the boy in question, probably on the couch reading a book or flipping through the channels of the television to pass the time.

Next thing you know, Fukunaga’s mother is home from work to pick up her daughter and take her to her Jujutsu lessons.

She walks into the foyer and takes her heels off, putting on her slippers, and then she’s smiling. Smiling at the sight of Fukunaga’s very pretty friend fixing the belt of her daughters traditional Gi in the living room. Fukunaga sits on the couch, watching them with a little grin. His mother remembers how fond he is of you.

“Hey, bug! You ready to go?” She asks, her smile growing wider at the sunshiny smile her daughter sends her when you finish with her belt.

“Yep!” She beams, before grunting and planting her feet in a fighting stance in front of you, never faltering as you do the same.

“That was amazing!” She exclaims as she relaxes her body, throwing her arms up in the air as she grins at you.

“Why, thank you! I had a wonderful teacher,” You compliment her, grinning as color starts to bloom on her cheeks. Your grin turns into a watery smile the moment she attaches herself to your side, slinging her arms around your waist and burying her head into your hip.

“‘M g’nna miss you, Miss Y/N,” She mumbles against the fabric of your sweatshirt, squeezing you tight in her little arms.

Fukunaga and his mother nearly melt at the sight in front of them. Fukunaga wears a fond smile, one that makes it look like he’s almost daydreaming.

Except he’s not. It’s real this time.

You chuckle at her before you’re squatting down at her level, her arms dropping to her sides as you hold her face in your hands.

“You’ll see me again, silly,” You tease her, grinning as she scrunches her nose up at you. “I’m gonna be annoying your big brother for the rest of my life, so I’ll be here for a while.”

She giggles at that, “Good! He deserves it. He’s a boy, and boys are smelly.”

“That they are,” You and Fukunaga’s mother say simultaneously. Your eyes grow wide once you meet her own, then laughter rings inside of the living room from the two of you.

You stand up now and accept the hug she gives you when she walks across the room.

“Thanks for helping Shouhei today,” She says with a sigh as you pull away, smiling at the sheepish smile of your own.

“It was my pleasure,” You say as you watch Fukunaga’s sister walk over to her mom and cling to her leg. “We had so much fun!”

“I wouldn’t consider ripping the heads off of dolls to be fun, but I’m sure she really appreciates it. I do too.”

Your cheeks heat up at the praise from your crush’s mother as you fiddle with your fingers nervously. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Fukunaga suddenly standing up from his place on the couch and walking over to stand beside you, placing his elbow on your shoulder to lean his weight onto you.

The little girl at her moms side seems to get a little anxious standing there, if the tugging of her blazer was anything to go by.

You say your goodbyes to Fukunaga’s sister and his mom, the two of you waving as they walk out the door together.

The door closes shut and now it’s just you and Fukunaga in the house. Silence fills the living room.

Suddenly, he’s grabbing your hand, leading you towards the couch.

Your eyes grow wide when he sits down and next thing you know, you’re being yanked to sit on his lap.

“F-Fukunaga!” You yelp, heat filling your cheeks at the intimate position he put the two of you in.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” He says, joking and innocent-sounding like he didn’t just place his large hands on your hips, rubbing his thumbs above the soft fabric of your sweatshirt.

“You— I— Wha—?” You seem to short circuit at the way he’s looking up at you, smile fond and eyes soft, like you’ve hung the goddamn moon.

“You’re good with her,” He muses, his hands shifting from your hips and over your skirt to rest on the bit of your thighs that’s exposed. “Not many people are.”

“Well— She’s uh— She was like me as a kid,” You nearly choke on your own words when you feel Fukunaga’s hand squeeze the curve of your knee, hooking his hand under it.

“You ripped the heads off of your dolls too?” He asks, an amused smirk gracing his lips.

You laugh, “No, but I did bring a dead mouse into the house one time. I wasn’t allowed outside for a week.”

This time it’s Fukunaga who laughs, eyes scrunched shut and head thrown back against the couch as his shoulders shake under your hands. You would’ve melted at the sight had you not been laughing too.

“Why haven’t I kissed you yet?” Fukunaga asks suddenly as your laughter dies down. He asks it like the question is dumb, like the answer is stupid.

“Why’re you asking me?” You shoot back with another question, trying your best to keep your composure at the feeling of his hands sliding up and down your thighs, barely slipping underneath your skirt for one quick moment.

He doesn’t respond.

Well, technically he does, if you could classify your eyes fluttering closed, his lips on yours, and a hand cradling the back of your head as a response.

His lips move languidly with yours. He’s warm, and you find yourself sliding further into his lap to push yourself closer to him.

A warm, large hand squeezes one of your thighs from under your skirt and you squeak, jumping in his hold. You feel his lips form a smile against yours and you fight the urge to pull away and smack him.

It’s actually Fukunaga who pulls away, but he doesn’t stay away for long, instead dipping his head down to leave kisses across your neck. They’re as light as a feather, barely there but you let out a soft moan nonetheless.

“Want you around here more,” He whispers against your skin. “She likes you, Mom likes you, I like you...”

“And your dad? The fish?” You joke, squeezing his shoulders when you feel his teeth nip at your neck.

“Why’re you asking how my dad and fish feel about you while I kiss you?” He laughs against your neck, his voice louder this time.

“‘Dunno,” You shrug with a sigh. Another moan leaves your lips when he sucks harshly at the column of your throat. “‘S important for me to know.”

He laughs again, “You’re so— Wow.”

“You think?” You giggle, a teasing lilt to your tone. You yelp when you feel a pinch on your inner thigh, pushing his hand out from under your skirt in retaliation.

“Shut up,” He says, no venom to his words. There never will be.

His lips move back up to your own, instantly slipping his tongue into your mouth.

“I’m supposed to be the funny one here,” He sighs these words against your lips, instantly attaching himself back to you once he’s finished.

“Didn’t say that had to change.”

“Shhh,” He shushes you, his tongue dancing with your own once again. “Just let me kiss you.”

[dirtychocolatechai]

meet-cute | b.b.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warning(s): fluff, awkward Bucky, vet appointment stuff, Alpine Request: Babes if you're lowkey taking requests can I lowkey make one? 👉🏼👈🏼🥺💕 something flirty and cute and maybe a lil spicy with Bucky and vet!reader where something's going on with Alpine? Not self indulgent at all 😻💖 Notes: This was the first thing I’ve written in months and it felt damn good. Funny story, I actually almost went to school to be a vet tech + shadowed a vet for two weeks and got to see some wickedly cool things.

This was a bit self-indulgent on my part because I had a cat who passed away some years ago because of struvite stones and I wished he had a happier ending like Alpine so I thought why not 🤷‍♀️💖

Taglist is open

(gif from google)

There’s nothing Bucky hates more than the stringent smell of industrial cleaners and clinical white walls - too many associations and shades of memory long laid to rest - except for when something’s going on with Alpine. The Turkish Angora was fine up until a few days ago when he started to hide away and sleep all day.

That wasn’t too concerning at first...

But then came the pained little noises, the frantic running back and forth from the litter box, the excessive grooming. The pit that started forming low in his belly grew, his instincts screaming at him that something was wrong, very wrong, with his little buddy. 

Bucky wasn’t about to fuck around and set up an appointment with the first vet office he could find that had a same-day opening. And now he’s trying not to fall apart at the seams while he waits for the docs to do their magic and tell him what the hell’s going on with his cat and what he has to do to fix it.

The vet tech collected Alpine a bit ago and every minute stretches into years, the cat’s pitiful meow echoing in his ears and those betrayed eyes burned onto the backs of his eyelids.

I know, Bub, I’m sorry but they gotta figure out what’s going on. It’ll be okay, they’ll take care of you. 

His ass went numb from the plastic chair ages ago, his leg jiggling up and down at a rapid pace as he chews on his thumbnail and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

God, he knows these things take time but he’d rather be back at home, curled up on the couch with Alpine pigging out on breakfast food and watching space documentaries. 

How much longer-

“Alright, Mr. Barnes?”

The heavy door swings open with a click, a kind, professional voice preceding a pair of sensible shoes as the vet steps into the room with a clipboard cradled against her chest. His eyes snap up, skipping over her completely to look at the tech holding his cat who looks absolutely miserable. 

She introduces herself but he’s not paying attention. He’s not meaning to be rude but all his focus narrows in on that white little face, the knot in his chest unfurling at the little mew.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he breathes, “Hey there, Little Buddy.” 

The vet doesn’t push, in fact, she seems a little enamored with how much he melts at the sight of his pet. Her own lips quirk up into a soft smile while she stands off to the side patiently as Alpine’s set down on the metal table.

Bucky gets in a few good scritches under his chin, the beginnings of a purr just starting to vibrate his hand when the vet clears her throat delicately. 

He clears his throat, heat burrowing into the apples of his cheeks. “Shi - uh, ‘m sorry.” A hand scrubs over the back of his neck. “I’m just - uh - y’know...” 

Her laugh trickles down his spine like warm rain, the sound effectively drawing his attention away from the cat rubbing up against his side. He gets his first look at her and oh.

A bare face and a no-nonsense hairstyle greet him, her scrubs and white coat adding to the overall doctor vibe but she’s still breathtaking. The natural beauty in the curves of her face, the slant of her brows, the sparkle of her eyes.

He feels like he got sucker-punched in the chest, his heart giving a sudden throb that has him coughing like an idiot as he scrambles to not look like such a jackass.

“So,” he clears his throat, scratching at the stubble along his jaw, “What’s - what’s wrong with him?” 

Glancing down at Alpine’s chart, she hums and writes a note before glancing back up with a reassuring smile. “Nothing that can’t be managed with a special diet and watching his water intake.”

It’s like the weight of the world disappears from his shoulders, his broad frame practically heaving with his sigh of relief. “Oh thank fucking- ahem, ‘scuse me - thank god.” 

Her chuckle and sly smile have him blushing from the roots of his hair to the collar of his shirt, his stomach squirming in discomfort. Old habits are hard to break, especially ones his momma taught him with a box to the ear.

“You’re allowed to swear, Mr. Barnes,” she says, reaching down to run her fingers through snow-white fur. “We’re all adults here.” 

“No, no, I know...” 

“Hm, anyway, his blood work came back and everything looks fine which is a good thing.” 

And it’s back to business like that, any hint of personality hidden behind cool professionalism that Bucky thinks even Tasha would admire. Except for the playful gleam in her eyes as she sneaks peeks at him while going over everything they did and what they found. 

“Struvite crystals are quite common in cats at low levels, especially males because their tract is longer and narrower.” She pauses, flipping to a new page. “Depending on the severity, they can clump together in the urinary tract and actually form stones. That’s where the true problem lies because get one large enough, and it can cause a blockage.”

He’s listening with rapt attention, soaking in the knowledge she’s imparting to him all the while, petting Alpine who keeps nuzzling him and making little sounds. Honestly, he could listen to her talk for hours even if he didn’t understand a goddamn thing. 

She’s so animated when she speaks, holds eye contact and makes sure he understands everything without making him feel like an idiot. He’s had so many doctors who talked at him rather than with him, staring through him without seeing, more interested in the paycheck rather than their patients.

But not her, she cares.

Deeply.

He can see it all over her face and it’s utterly enchanting. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little enamored, charmed.

Turning the tablet towards him, she shifts closer and a waft of whatever perfume she’s wearing tickles his nose as she explains what the x-ray of Alpine’s abdomen found.

“These are the stones but thankfully they’re relatively small,” she points to several hazy white ovals starkly visible on the radiograph, “We caught them in time before they became a really big problem.” 

Shit, she smells so good...

 “Now, we’ll send you home with a special diet and see how he does. Also, make sure to up his fluid intake as much as you can. The food can take several months to start dissolving the crystals so we’ll have to do everything we can to help. Sound good?”

Bucky hasn’t pulled his eyes away from her face once this entire time, and how fucking creepy is that?

Quickly looking down at Alpine, embarrassment gnawing at his belly, he nods and wishes for the first time since he cut his hair that he hadn’t so he’d at least have a passing chance at hiding the blush burning its way across his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, picking up the ball of white fluff to hold against his chest, a makeshift shield. “Is there anything else I should do?” 

“No.” She smiles, writing another note and tapping away at the tablet next to her. “I do want to see him again in about a month for a check-up.”

Fuck, he doesn’t want to leave so soon.

The irony isn’t lost on him either.

How does he make this last longer? What can he do? If Sam was here right now, he’d be kicking him in the ass and bitching at him to ask for her number already, Ice Pick.

The clack of the chart being set down rings through the room, bouncing off the walls and sounding so fucking final that he starts to panic. 

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. 

She’s already halfway to the door when she asks, “Do you have any questions?”

The word vomit spring from him, unbidden and sudden without any thought, more forward than he’s been with a woman in years.

“Can I have your number?”

As soon as the question leaves his lips, he curses, cringes and wishes he could snatch the very words from the air itself.

Great, I just hit on my vet.

No amount of backpedaling can salvage this but goddamn it if Bucky doesn’t try, stuttering out some half-assed excuse about wanting it just in case he thinks of something later.

When he glances up, he wishes he hadn’t. The vet tech is in near tears in the corner, biting her lips so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if they started to bleed.

But it’s the absolute surprised bafflement on the woman he just inappropriately hit on that does him in, makes him about ready to burn all forms of identification and run for the hills. 

Her brows nearly reach her hairline, her mouth slack, eyes startled. She gets ahold of herself before he does, and he barely stops himself from slapping a hand over his face.

Right when he’s thinking there’s no way he’s going to be able to show his face in the office again, her expression softens with gentle amusement and her lips twitch. 

Struck dumb, he can only watch as she writes something down on a slip of paper before handing it over to him. He barely believes the string of numbers and the cheeky little call me anytime :).

The wink she sends his way is there and gone, so fast he almost believes he imagined it. 

“For emergencies only,” she says, slyly. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he agrees, almost tripping over the cat carrier as he hurries to stuff Alpine back in. “Of course, thank you. I...appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, Mr. Barnes.” 

Bucky leaves the room in a stupor, the world sharply shifted to the left as he heads to the front desk to make the follow-up appointment, but not before hearing the whispered, “Girl, you’re lucky. He’s fine!” and the “He is, isn’t he?”. 

[adorethedistance]

Party Hard - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: drinking, partying, intoxication, non sexual stripping, swearing probably, 

Words: 6343 (which, if you know me, is a FUCK ton)

Summary: Going from tipsy to full on drunk is a terrible idea, but especially when you’ve got a secret to hide that could mean the difference between preserving and ruining your relationship with your best friend.

A/N: A couple items before we get started: I think I’m back on my bullshit? I mean I wrote this fic and it’s three times the length of my normal fics. Also I wrote this headassery as a literal self insert me(ace) x someone and so there are a couple flaws here and there that make this something I’m not 100% proud of. Owen picks the reader up a few times and I’m aware this kind of thing can really effect someone’s experience with this fic so I do apologize for the lack of inclusivity in regards to body type/ableism. I’m falling really behind on school work because I just can’t find the motivation which either means y’all will be seeing a lot more of me soon or absolutely nothing at all. Not sure which yet.

“You’ve got it so bad.” Charlie rests his left arm on his best friend’s shoulder, tipping back the half-full angry orchard bottle he’d been nursing for the better half of an hour. Owen’s stare is immediately broken and he crosses his arms defensively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Turning to meet his friend’s smug stare, Owen shoots Charlie a glare of annoyance before returning his attention to the girl on the dance floor. Surrounded by a gaggle of her closest friends, Y/n is dancing and singing her heart out to Fergalicious with Chelsea, Leila, Savannah, and Carolynn. The bunch of them share in sporadic laughs as they exchange ridiculous dance moves just to add to the fleeting moment’s laughter. An assortment of screeches and squawks blend together as they all prepare to sing the rap section of the song. Observing the level of excitement the girls have over the verse, Owen can’t help but laugh at the spectacle.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Charlie inquires between sips of his cold drink.

“What?”

“Y/n. Why have you not asked her out.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Yeah. Because you haven’t asked her out.” Owen rolls his eyes before turning 90 degrees to fully face the smug guitarist. He turns about-face to prove a point, but another symphony of squeals at the next song choice drags his attention back to his other best friend on the dance floor. “You’re so whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! Look, if you don’t ask her out tonight, I will.”

“You’re not even into her,” Owen protests unceremoniously. Setting the molasses colored bottle on the counter next to Owen, Charlie steps back and copies his position of crossed arms and a relaxed stance.

“You’re right, I’m not. But you are, and if that’s what it takes to light the fire under your ass then I’ll do it.”

“She wouldn’t say yes.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the only way to know for sure is to ask.” And with that, Charlie is off, speeding toward Y/n at a pace that launches Owen into an impulsive chase. To prevent his friend from doing something stupid, Owen shoves him in the opposite direction from the group of girls on the dance floor. What he hadn’t anticipated was Charlie moving so far so fast. Owen has longer legs, he’s supposed to be the faster one, not Charlie. That’s why he hadn’t anticipated turning away from his musical friend to come face to face with a very flushed Y/n. Her lip-gloss coated lips are parted as she catches her breath from all the dancing. They look so soft and inviting that Owen can’t help but stare, and doesn’t realize the several looks of confusion among the girls around him.

“Everything okay, Owen?” Snapping out of his hyper focused stare, Owen blinks a few times, trying to generate a reason for coming over.

“You’ve been dancing for a while.”

“...Yeah?”

“Let me fix you a drink?” His statement comes out as more of a question but the breathless girl agrees nonetheless. Owen extends his hand to her which she gladly accepts but not without a quick word to her friends.

“I’ll be right back, I’m getting a drink.”

Her friends aren’t stupid, quite the opposite actually. And they see right through Owen’s facade of fixing her a drink because she’d been ‘dancing a while’. Please. As if they didn’t know a desperate attempt at flirting when they saw it.

The pounding music from the backyard begins to fade and muffle once the pair step into the Shada’s beautiful kitchen space. Owen leads her to the kitchen island where he has her take a seat on one of the barstools in front of the high countertop. Stepping around the fixture, Owen busies himself with whipping up a drink for Y/n at the makeshift bar on the island. He doesn’t even have to ask what it is she wants. Ice, pink whitney, club soda, and a splash of lime juice mixed together in a red solo cup Owen had considerately written her name on before going all mixologist-mode.

“Your usual.”

“Thank you, sir. You know, I’ve only had a handful of barbecue chips since I got here, and I’m already tipsy, so this actually might get me completely drunk.” Taking a sip, Y/n hums out of pleasure, “Why do you make my favorite drink better than I make my favorite drink?”

“So you have a reason to keep me around.” At the sound of Y/n’s laugh, Owen cracks a smile in time with his favorite sound in the world. The blonde haired man leans forward to rest his weight on his left forearm. He stares at her with adoration seeping from his gaze, before lifting his own cup to drink with her.

“What is that?” she asks, sitting up taller to try and see into Owen’s cup over the island.

“Jack Daniels.”

“I want some.”

“No,” Owen answers swiftly albeit softly. Y/n, however, is not feeling as conciliatory.

“No?”

“Have you ever tried whiskey before?”

“Well, no-”

“You’re drinking a fruit flavored cocktail that’s like 30% nonalcoholic. A sip of this would knock you off your little ass.” Y/n frowns at his words and employs a fake pout of anger to guilt her now laughing friend. Despite her smile, she whines,

“You suck.” Owen merely shrugs unapologetically before sipping and wincing at his drink of choice. “So… how did your date go- with Amy?” And there it is. The question that’s been at the forefront of Y/n’s mind for the last 24 hours.

Owen met this girl Amy at a more professional house party type of event and they hit it off right away. They spent the night invested in conversation, sharing in a cacophony of laughter. Y/n had no right to be upset, but she was. Amy was drop dead gorgeous in that Mini length red, velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her figure was snatched to the gods, and she was about 5’3”; a seemingly irrelevant thing to notice, but Y/n knew that was the height Owen loved in a partner. At least, based on all his previous flings. And not to mention, her beautiful golden blonde hair that extended all the way down her toned back. Amy was perfect to all standards including that of any straight man with eyes and undoubtedly Owen’s. They spent the entire night together, Y/n long forgotten despite having been Owen’s plus one.

Y/n on the other hand didn’t exactly view herself as the drop-dead gorgeous supermodel type. Seeing how Owen took an interest in her at that event, it was no wonder Y/n was jealous. In fact, she had been so jealous that she allowed their flirting to ruin her entire evening.

She had been invited platonically as Owen’s guest, but Owen didn’t feel guilty about leaving her alone once he saw Charlie was by her side the whole night. Little did he know Charlie was only there for her because Owen wasn’t. It was pity company. Pity company that she was grateful to have as she cried into a few gin and tonics. Y/n avoided telling Charlie about her feelings for the adorable drummer, but with the way events transpired, he had figured out what it was that had upset her.

Charlie so badly wanted to give Owen the guilt trip of a lifetime. And he did once he and Owen were alone, heading home in Charlie’s orange hatchback car. He did so by telling Owen about how his best friend had spent the entire evening crying into gin and tonics. ‘Y/n doesn’t even like gin and tonic’ was all Owen could come up with.

When he inquired about why his best friend was crying, Charlie said he didn’t know, but it may have had something to do with the fact that the person who invited her spent the whole night ignoring her; he left it at that, leaving Owen to connect the dots, sort of. Owen had come to the realization that Y/n must have been crying over him, but why? Unable to comprehend a reason, he pushed the situation to the back of his mind. So far back that when Amy texted him that same night, he immediately responded and eventually set up a date for them to get dinner alone Friday evening.

The date was fine. Objectively there was nothing wrong with it. But every time Amy took a sip of the gin and tonic she had ordered, he couldn’t help being reminded of Y/n that night. It took Owen a solid thirty minutes to finally conclude that maybe Y/n was... jealous? Of what? Of Amy? Quickly reviewing a long list of qualities, identical to the one that Y/n had thoroughly checked through when she first saw the blonde, Owen realized she was indeed jealous of Amy. But why? What did Amy have that Y/n didn’t?

Oh.

His initial conclusion in the car with Charlie had to be right. Y/n was crying over him, and seemingly jealous of Amy, all because Amy had his attention. Why was that a problem?

Oh… no. No, Y/n does not have feelings for him. Y/n is... well, Y/n. His best friend, his partner in crime, his confidant, there’s no way she’s in love with him. There’s a different reason as to why she’d been crying into drinks she didn’t like. And that different reason is why her text replies have been short and cold when he had asked for date night conversation pointers. And that different reason is why her smile kept faltering on FaceTime when he was asking for fashion advice for his date.

Y/n is not in love with her best friend.

Owen had spent the past year pushing down his feelings for the girl that threatened to bubble over the top. If Y/n was truly into him, he would’ve acted on them. But she isn’t, so he didn’t. At least, that’s what Owen told himself…

“It was alright,” he offers lamely as a reply to her inquiry. Y/n simply nods and takes another swig of her drink to dull the ache in the center of her chest.

“Just alright?”

“Okay, it was better than alright. She was great.” There’s a hole burning in the center of her heart, and against her better judgment, she expands the deficit by asking for more information.

“What does that mean- that she was ‘great’?”

“You know…” Owen trails off in search of the right words, some words, any words, but nothing comes to him. To sell her nonchalant demeanor, the hopelessly devoted girl is staring down into her cup as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room. She didn’t expect Owen’s eyes to be boring into hers when she looked back up, so she quickly musters a polite smile. Maybe the average onlooker couldn’t tell it was fake, but Owen knows something is off. He just knows. Because he knows her.

“How did those conversation pointers pan out?” She’s deflecting, he thinks.

“One of them worked.” I’m just feeding into it, he thinks.

“Only one of them?” He’s holding back something, she thinks.

“Well, yeah. We didn’t really do much talking if you get what I mean.” I don’t think I can handle this, she thinks.

“I see…” The pair stands together in a silence so tense they felt like strangers. It’s awful. Y/n and Owen hate every second of it, but what could they do? In a moment blinded by upset, Y/n reaches across the island to grab the newly opened bottle of grey goose and pours what must’ve been no less than three shots of liquid into her cup. No club soda or lemonade this time, she chugs down the rest of her drink in a flash; Owen stares at her in disbelief and shock.

Y/n hates being drunk, she likes being the designated driver, she’s never had straight up liquor in her life, and she’s a lightweight, that’s for damn sure. Owen knows all of these things and is even more surprised to see her reaching for an almost empty bottle of gin.

“Hey. Maybe you should take it easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a lightweight and you know it. Put the cup down.” When Y/n shakes her head no, something in Owen snaps and his desire to be gentle is long forgotten. “Y/n. Put the drink down.”

“Why do you care, Owen?” In taking time to respond, Owen sees the opportunity and goes for it, taking the cup from her loose grasp and splashing it down the drain of the vegetable sink. “What the fuck?!”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink. Come on.” It’s only a matter of time until Y/n becomes an incoherent human being that’s impossible to wrangle, so Owen is very aware he’s on the clock. Snagging two Arrowhead water bottles in one hand, he takes Y/n’s hand in the other and brings her into the Shada’s den. There are only a few other people in the room, one is a couple and the other a pair of pining idiots, to which Owen becomes slightly wary. Not that the dynamic would change much. He and Y/n are practically a couple according to everyone around them.

Chelsea and Charlie are sitting fairly close together for just friends, on the chocolate brown loveseat facing the couch that Owen has plopped his increasingly intoxicated friend onto; Leila is sitting in a single armchair that a very tipsy Taylor is hanging over the back of to hug her shoulders. Upon seeing Y/n’s pouting expression Chelsea seeks more information,

“You good, fam?”

“He threw it down the sink!” She’s fading faster than Owen had hoped.

“I did. I poured what would’ve been her fifth and sixth shots down the sink.”

“Jesus, Y/n, are you trying to kill yourself?”

“What are you, a cop?” Even tipsy she’s still sharp as a tack. If Owen wasn’t frustrated with her at the moment, he would’ve probably laughed. But he is, so he didn’t. Slipping back into caretaker mode, he hands her one of the water bottles he snagged from the cooler on the way out. In her typical stubborn and petulant fashion, Y/n weakly throws the unopened bottle onto the couch cushion next to her. All their friends laugh but Owen isn’t having it.

“Y/n.” And it only takes a firm call of her name for the slumped over lightweight to glare at him but oblige. She retrieves the bottle and sticks her arm out straight toward Owen’s still standing figure.

“I can’t open it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucked up,” Leila comments.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you fucked up period,” Chelsea adds on. Charlie laughs lightly before resuming whatever conversation the four of them had going pre-Owen and Y/n’s entrance.

Satisfied with the small sips she’s taking of her water, Owen relaxes and takes a seat next to her on the couch. The temporary break in her temper tantrum allows Owen to save his breath; he opens his own water bottle, taking a few drinks which ended up being half the bottle. He’s given her a good bit of room on the couch but it isn’t good enough for Y/n. It takes her a few failed attempts to screw on the cap of her water but once it’s properly sealed, she moves closer to her best friend. The water has acted like some magical temperament cure as Y/n’s previously permanent pout has disappeared.

Owen knows he and Y/n are close enough to where cuddling wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But the way she’s burrowed into his side, picking up his seemingly ‘heavy’ arm to place it around her own inebriated frame, laying her head high up on his chest, and unintentionally resting her hand on his lower abdomen, something feels off. Her hand isn’t dangerously low, but low enough that the side of her limp palm has met the waistband of his jeans. Owen can’t help but feel his skin tingle and burn under her touch. Why is he so affected by her touch all of a sudden?

Owen is pulled from his snowballing thoughts by the sound of Y/n’s muffled voice against his chest. He leans down as far as he can which places his head on top of hers gently.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry,” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. A tiny drop of warmth on his shirt under her head triggers Owen’s memory: Y/n’s an emotional drunk. She doesn’t get drunk often but when she does, she goes all in and becomes somewhat manic as a result. That accounts for her previous anger. Now it’s sadness, so in about ten minutes, she’ll be easily excitable and bouncing off the walls.

Y/n had carpooled with Leila and Chelsea to the party, and though Owen was upset about her not picking him up like they’d briefly talked about at first, he’s suddenly thankful for the arrangement.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Unhhh.” The lack of a coherent response is enough for Owen, and after finishing the rest of his water, he sits up on the couch.

“Where’s your house key? Hm?” The prospect of losing her key is absolutely devastating to Y/n as she begins to weep. Her imminent distress in response to Owen’s question has all their friends laughing once more; Leila speaks up,

“Check the left chest pocket of her jacket.”

Owen nods, noting the directions, and gently rolls his friend over on her back. Deciding against using her strength, Y/n flops over onto her other side which still allows Owen access to her pocket. His long fingers dwarf the button fastener on her jacket that she often struggles to open, and sure enough her sky blue house key is in her pocket just as Leila said.

“Thanks,” he acknowledges Leila before taking Y/n’s cold hands in his own larger ones to help her stand. It’s a bit of a struggle to stand and as a result, the fading girl leans a bit of her weight into Owen’s side. “You gonna say bye to our friends?”

Y/n nods a goodbye to each person in the room, moving from left to right naming Leila, Taylor, Chelsea, and then Charlie. Upon saying bye to Charlie the small girl starts to cry again, harder this time, much to everyone’s confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie looked a-at me like he didn’t l-like me.” The entire room bursts out laughing, Owen included this time, but she’s still crying. “It’s no-not funny.”

“I know. You’re right, it’s not funny.” Owen’s exaggerated sympathy goes undetected by the very emotional Y/n as she presses her face into his grey long sleeve shirt. She reaches up to hug her arms around Owen’s neck for stability as she adds more tears to the tiny spot from before. “Can you walk?” He asks genuinely as more of her weight leans into him. The only response Owen gets is a few soft sobs, and in reaction to her messy state, lets out a subtle eye roll. He shakes his head before bending down to place one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades, sweeping her off the ground before she can protest.

“Would you guys tell Jer thanks and that I had to take her home?” A symphony of affirmations and goodbyes usher him out of the house, and once outside Y/n’s crying diminuendos into short sniffles and the occasional sigh.

“Here, be careful,” Owen panics as his friend nearly bangs the front of her head against the roof of his car. Once he cautiously places all her limbs in the passenger side, Owen shuts the door and hurries over to the driver’s side as if Y/n could hurt herself in the next five seconds. He places the key in the ignition but before he even touches the gear shift, he turns and looks quizzically at his best friend. The sniffling and sighs coming from her puffy face have lulled her into an almost unconscious state; Owen puffs out a frustrated sigh as he reaches across the entire car to grab Y/n’s seatbelt for her.

Another thing about drunk Y/n is that her emotional state makes her more likely to give in to physical impulses. So after she registers Owen leaning across her lap for the seatbelt, she grabs his shoulder so he doesn’t move away. The action surprises Owen and he turns his face to look into her half-lidded eyes. He’s trying to make sense of the action but his trailing thoughts are interrupted when the girl in the passenger’s seat leans forward slightly to put her face against Owen’s neck.

“I like your smell.” Owen tries so hard not to laugh in fear of upsetting her again, but he can’t conceal the smile growing on his face. He then gently pulls away from her grasp in order to actually start driving,

“Okay. Thank you.”

The car ride is composed of mostly comfortable silence with the occasional inebriated comment or nonsensical sound from the girl in the passenger seat; Owen had been so captivated by Y/n’s uncharacteristically relaxed state, he’d been driving on autopilot and instead of turning left to get on the highway that runs south to where her apartment is, he’d gone north to go to his own place. No big deal, Owen didn’t plan on leaving her intoxicated and alone, and she’s stayed the night plenty of times before now. What’s one more night? It isn’t until he puts the car in park and helps her out of the vehicle that Y/n clocks her surroundings.

“I don’t live here.”

“You don’t, no, but I do,” Owen replies simply before he slides out of the car. Y/n stays in the car as if Owen told her not to move, and looks up at him confusedly when he opens her door. In her tipsy state, she is able to recognize what Owen is doing and smugly places her hand over the buckle of her seatbelt. With her tiny palm over the red button, she begins giggling maniacally.

“What are you doing?” Owen asks with a frustrated sigh although he can’t help the small smile overtaking his features at the sound of her growing laughter. He doesn’t get a response, just more giggling which lets him know he’s going to have to do things the hard way now that she’s in a lifted mood. “Kid, you have to get out of the car.”

“You can’t make me.”

Owen takes a step back from the open door to reevaluate. Y/n always tells him to work smarter, not harder. Another one of her many bouts of wisdom is that you can keep the attention of children and adults alike with a vastly dynamic change in volume. The question is will she notice Owen using this tactic on her in her drunken state?

“Hey, Y/n/n,” his speech drops to a low whisper. “I’m sad, can you hold my hand?” The change in volume works exactly as described; completely convinced by the sincerity of his whispering, Y/n gives him her right hand. “Can I have the other one?”

When she nods a small ‘yes’ and gives him both of her hands, Owen finds himself fighting the urge to laugh at how easy that was. He takes both of her cool hands in his larger left one to reach across her body and release her seatbelt with a swift CLICK.

Luckily Y/n didn’t tangle herself up in the seatbelt, but she had other ideas for causing trouble. Owen helped her out of the car but once she was standing on her own two feet, she began running away from him. With a slam of the car door and a string of breathy curses later, he chases after his best friend before she can hurt herself on literally anything in the parking garage. The sound of Y/n’s laughter carries through the vacant space, and despite all her best efforts, Owen quickly catches up to her. Her giddy intoxication allowed for the suspension of disbelief that she could outrun the much taller Owen Joyner, but she’s sorely mistaken when his strong arms wrap around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. Y/n’s bouts of laughter are contagious; Owen finds himself laughing alongside his best friend. Setting her feet back on the ground he asks,

“Are you going to run away again if I let go of you?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out through the tail end of her laughing fit. The candidness of her reply prompts Owen to throw his head back, shaking it as if in disagreement with the universe itself,

“I appreciate your honesty.” And with that, Y/n screeches in glee as her best friend maneuvers her body in his grip to lift her over his right shoulder.

“Owen!”

“You did this to yourself, kid.”

The silent elevator ride up to his flat is comfortable relative to the current position they’re in. Y/n’s no longer fighting being carried but instead entertains herself by tapping out an intricate beat on the surface of Owen’s back.

“Guess what song this is.”

The beat she’s playing is close to incoherent and Owen tries to stifle his full laugh in fear of making her cry again. He’s been successful so far, but now having Y/n over his shoulder, she can feel the movement of his abdomen that was unintelligible by sight alone.

“Your favorite song,” he guesses insincerely.

“No, my favorite song doesn’t sound like that. It was sicko mode.”

“That was not sicko mode.”

“Owen, how come you don’t wear a badge?”

“What?”

“Because you’re the song police?” Owen can’t help but snort out a laugh even though the comment was made at his expense. Still sharp as a tack.

Once the pair reach the front door of Owen’s ‘bachelorette pad’ as Y/n liked to call it, he sets her back on the ground albeit reluctantly as he recalls why he was carrying her in the first place. Thinking quickly on his feet, Owen forms a plan that’s more likely than not foolproof.

“Hey, Y/n/n?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is still right behind him thankfully.

“Can I have a hug?” After a few seconds of silence in the hall, Owen begins to doubt his plan until he feels the weight of his best friend leaning on his toned back. With her cheek pressed against the middle of his spine, Y/n brings her arms around his waist, clasping her hands tightly together. Her semi-public display of affection allows Owen some time to unlock his front door. Once he props the door open, Owen realizes that Y/n probably isn’t going to let go any time soon and opts to waddle through the threshold with her still attached to him. He’s able to turn around and lock them back in for the night which makes the girl begin to laugh.

“Was this your plan all along? To get me drunk so you could lock me in your apartment and hold me prisoner for the rest of my life?”

“And I would’ve gotten away with it, too...”

“If it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog.”

True to his imagination that Y/n wasn’t letting go any time soon, Owen swivels her around his torso so that he could hold her to his side rather than support her with his back. He now has his right arm over both of her shoulders as she continues to hug her best friend. The way she leans her head onto his chest makes Owen’s heartbeat the tiniest bit faster. ‘She’s drunk, she doesn’t know what this does to you’ is the mantra blaring through Owen’s subconscious. Shaking any and all sort of romantic thoughts out of his head, he begins to lead her back to his bedroom.

Flicking the lights on proves to be a mistake once Y/n starts groaning miserably, and Owen decides the floor lamp is a better option than the overheads. Much to Owen’s surprise and relief, Y/n moves to sit on the edge of his bed on her own volition. She’s not upright for long as she collapses into the sheets of his unmade bed that contemplated neatening before leaving the house; hindsight is 20/20.

“Hmm. I like your smell,” Y/n parrots despite already bringing up the topic on the ride home.

“This is the same cologne I always use.”

“No. I like your natural smell.”

“What?”

“I was reading up about pheromones the other day. And there was this thing that said when couples like each others’ scent, it’s like a primal way of seeing if you’re immuno-compatible with someone so your offspring have the best chance for survival. It’s an evolutionary thing for the survival of our species. Ants have pheromones, too.”

Sometimes she has trouble remembering to feed herself, but leave it to Y/n to remember extensive information about pheromones whilst intoxicated. The concept is intriguing to Owen, so he proceeds to ask questions, ignoring the tug on his heart he felt after hearing her say the word ‘couples’.

“So, if I like your scent, we’re immuno-?”

“Compatible, yeah. But it’s mostly me because you can sniff out my period.”

“I can what?”

“I read that men can tell when a woman is at her most fertile because that’s when they like her smell the best. They did a study where a bunch of men were introduced to a few different scents, and without fail, the one they liked the most or would describe as ‘sexy’ or ‘attractive’ was the scent they took from the woman who was ovulating.”

Y/n continues talking about what she learned about pheromones as Owen picks up a bit of the mess around his room. She returns to the topic of ant pheromones as he digs through his surprisingly large closet for something for his friend to sleep in. His temporarily bubbly best friend also notes that he should ‘sniff her now because she’s ovulating and he would like that’ which makes him laugh into the drawers of his waist-height dresser. Returning to find her still slumped over on the bed, he pats her leg and beckons her to sit up. After Y/n’s upright again, Owen hands her his classic black ‘BEANS’ t-shirt and a pair of briefs that won’t properly fit her but will fit better than a pair of his actual pants.

“Can you put these on for me?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s conflicted with both wanting to respect Y/n’s privacy by leaving the room, and prioritizing her safety, and not leaving her unattended at any moment. He comes to a compromise which is staying by her side but turning a full 180 to face the wall of his bedroom. A couple of moments pass until Y/n begins whining frustratedly.

“Owen.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t ubns-” her words become incomprehensible as she begins to cry again and Owen turns around to find her struggling with the buttons on her shirt, her jacket long discarded on the bedroom floor. This shirt: her white, cap-sleeve crop top with a peter pan collar that she wore for anything mildly significant, this was her favorite. Owen remembers her fussing about how she ruined it only to find that she just forgot to steam it one day. So with a little heat and water, Owen had fixed the shirt like nothing ever happened, and he’d do it a million times over again if it meant he got to relive seeing the smile that graced her face for the first time again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do the buttons.” She runs the back of her right hand against her tired eyes to wipe away her tears and Owen internally curses himself for the way the small action makes his heart flutter.

“Do you need help?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen to me, you are okay,” he sinks to kneel in front of Y/n as she sits tiredly on the edge of the bed. Owen doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands as he reaches up to unbutton her shirt, but he prays that she will. Through tiny sniffles and teary eyes, she watches his hands effortlessly work down the length of her shirt, each button modestly dancing between his fingertips. Once the short top is fully unbuttoned, Owen returns to his normal standing height and Y/n attempts to shrug the fabric off her body. She struggles lightly and knowing her frustration is imminent, Owen reaches down to gingerly push the sleeves off her shoulders. The light graze of his rough, calloused skin against her own skin sends electric-like shocks through the both of them; yet neither of them believed the other felt it too.

Owen hastily withdraws his hands and, without warning, Y/n quickly removes the bralette she was wearing. Owen’s eyes widen slightly at her lack of inhibition. He does his best to be a gentleman and swiftly redirects his gaze to the white ceiling fan that has all of a sudden become the most intriguing object in the universe. His lower peripheral vision indicates that she’s finally slipped the black tee over her head, but she begins sniffling more fiercely as she struggles with taking off her jeans. Owen sighs and drops to his knees once more in spite of himself, and aids his best friend in slipping the material over the length of her calves and off the tips of her toes. Hoping to speed up the process, he grabs the briefs he had brought her and unfolds them in preparation for helping her into them. His efforts are all for naught as Y/n forgoes the need for any more clothing and slides under the covers of his unmade bed. Owen then turns to leave the bedroom, opting to set up on the couch for the night before Y/n’s small voice is cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Where are you going?” He sighs,

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get you some water and Advil for when you wake up tomorrow.” Y/n then nods acceptingly and allows her eyes to flutter closed as he leaves the room. Despite how tired she feels, Y/n won’t quite yet let herself sleep--not ‘til Owen is beside her. When he returns he sets the ibuprofen bottle on the nightstand before uncapping the Kirkland brand water bottle he had in the fridge. He coaxes her into sitting up just one more time so she can drink some of the water before falling asleep. She sits and rubs her tired eyes as she drinks and Owen has to physically force himself to look away from the adorable sight. He just wants to take care of her forever but things have always been strictly platonic between them.

The risk of making their friendship weird or awkward was just too great.

“Goodnight kid, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Owen leaves without awaiting a response and lets out an annoyed sigh before setting himself up on the couch in his living room. He was so focused on getting Y/n to bed safely that he forgot to grab clothes for himself. Not a big deal. He simply strips down to just his underwear and climbs underneath the thick Pottery Barn throw blanket Y/n had gifted him as a housewarming gift. That and a fire extinguisher because ‘you don’t notice its absence until you need it’ she claimed. The memory makes Owen smile and he allows his eyes to close after a long day.

A long day that was about to get longer. Owen finds himself sinking further and further into sleep until he hears the padding of footsteps that are now in his living room. He’s too tired to open his eyes, and it’s not like he doesn’t already know who it is. What does surprise him, however, is the feeling of the familiar weight squeezing between the couch and his turned back.

“What are you doing?” He half mumbles into the night.

“You’re warm.”

“That was not the question, Y/n/n.” After not receiving a reply, Owen turns as best as he can to look at his friend who’s nestling her way into his sleeping arrangement for the night. “Kid-”

“I just wanna be with you.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out of irritation, exhaustion, and a sliver of adoration before sitting up on the couch, “Come on.”

He stands up, fully expecting to have to drag her back to the bedroom, but finds relief in seeing her struggle her way off the couch. Slipping her tired hand into his unexpecting, larger one, Y/n allows her friend to lead her into the bedroom for the second time that night.

Owen considerately lifts the covers for her to climb back into before getting into the other side of the bed.

“Owen.”

“Hm?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

“No,” Y/n speaks in a casual tone as if she’s not divulging into her biggest emotional trepidation to date. “I love you, Owen.”

Owen can’t help the way his heart seemingly stops. The way the butterflies in his stomach are going wild. The way he wants to smile like he’s the biggest lovestruck idiot on planet Earth.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She won’t remember this tomorrow.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

She won’t remember that tomorrow.

***

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[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Fifteen ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3995

Warnings: None

A/n It may be late on Monday (10:51pm to be exact) but it’s still Monday! Happy reading :)

I find little rest.

My night is plagued by worries over Cosima’s state and Rumil’s ominous—and ridiculous—warning.

Around five in the morning, I can bear it no longer and throw myself from bed, showering and dressing quickly. Before I know it, I’m on the second floor, rounding a corner that will take me down the hallway that leads to Cosima’s room.

Her door is ajar.

Despite the early hour, I hear animated voices coming from inside — it seems Baranor is visiting, just as he promised. Upon hearing Cosima’s laugh, I breathe a sigh of relief. She sounds much better than she did yesterday.

With a new relaxation in my shoulders, I hover in the doorframe, knocking on the wood while I wait for permission to enter. Cosima’s eyes—surprised but alert—meet mine and she smiles warmly. I feel my lips return the gesture automatically.

“Ah, good morning, Haldir,” Baranor welcomes. “I came to check on Cosima before my shift and, to my surprise, she was already wide awake.”

Cosima giggles guiltily. “I’ve been up since three. I guess when you fall asleep when it’s still light out, that’s to be expected. Haldir, you can come in.” She waves me in and I cross the distance between the doorway and the foot of her bed. I stand there, arms crossed over my chest, and examine her face more closely. The brightness has returned to her eyes, color once again tints her cheeks, and there’s not a trace of pain in her features.

Thank goodness. “You are feeling better?”

Her smile softens and she looks down at the blanket before meeting my eyes again. “I am. I’m sorry I scared you.”

I shake my head quickly. “No, I’m thankful I was there. And I’m even more thankful that you’re better now.” I tilt my head in Baranor’s direction. His frightening words from last night have not left my mind. “She is better?”

He hesitates only a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to send a searing path of anxiety through my chest.

“Yes. Her symptoms from last night are gone.”

I raise my chin, fighting the urge to more visibly react. Baranor has noticed something’s still wrong with her fæ, then. But there’s no reason to worry Cosima with this — yet.

But if Elrond can’t fix it…

I attempt to push that thought from my mind. There will be something to be done. She will get better.

I turn back to Cosima. “Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head then rolls her eyes, presumably at my disapproving look.

Thankful for the task to redirect my nervous energy, I push myself towards the door. “I will return shortly with food. Baranor?”

He takes the hint and wordlessly follows me out, pausing at the door to smile at Cosima in farewell. As soon as we are clear of the hallway and her human hearing, I turn on Baranor.

“What?”

He sighs. “No, come with me. Elrond will want to hear this, too.”

I quicken my pace to follow him through the estate, but my frustration spikes. “Is it so bad that you cannot tell me now?”

He huffs, avoiding my eyes. “It is not ‘bad,’ per se — it’s just a new development. Elrond might be able to help us understand. There’s no point in leaving him out of the discussion.”

Thanks to our pace, we arrive in the archway into Elrond’s study in a matter of minutes. He stands, seeming unsurprised by our presence.

“What did you learn, Baranor?”

Baranor exhales heavily and meets Elrond near his desk. I follow on his heels, anxious for some answers.

“Her fæ is better than when I checked on it after the orc ambush,” he begins.

I crush down the temptation to hope. If it were that simple, Baranor would have told me immediately.

“But it is different,” he continues. “Many of the previous injuries are in various states of healing — some scarred, the smaller tears are nearly invisible now. But, well, there’s a new tear that wasn’t present before.”

I suck in a sharp breath. Her fæ shouldn’t have a new injury.

Elrond levels us with a steady look. “But the other wounds are healing?”

“Yes, like I said, she is making progress,” Baranor allows, “but something has caused another deep cut — the edges are serrated, almost like it was slashed with a knife.”

“Hm.” Elrond frowns. He turns his thoughtful eyes to me. “Baranor mentioned you were with Cosima when she became ill? What happened leading up to that?”

I blink, trying to follow Elrond’s reasoning for changing the topic. “We were talking normally. I was telling her of a personal memory, one from my childhood, and her health took a turn.”

Elrond purses his lips. “Interesting…I had a meeting with her human companion yesterday, Alexander, and he mentioned a similar experience. He’s noticed that any gain in memory is often accompanied by an ache in his head. What we previously attributed to a head injury might actually be related to something else. Is it possible Cosima remembered something and did not mention it?”

“It is possible,” I allow, though I wish I could deny it. If what Elrond is suggesting is true, then every time Cosima remembers something, she runs the risk of suffering through horrible pain…the thought makes me feel ill.

“On the other hand,” Elrond continues, “perhaps that very restoration in memory is an indication of healing. I think it is quite possible the fæ injuries, the return of their memories, and the headaches are all somehow related. There is still much to learn…But overall, they are both making progress,” Elrond declares, expression settling into one of serene neutrality. “I will spend time with both Cosima and Alexander and attempt to help them find their way to more memories and address any side effects that may produce. Baranor and I will monitor their fæs and see if the healing continues or if new wounds arise. That will help us gather more information and then we can proceed with a more knowledgeable plan.”

I feel my jaw tighten. “And if the memories cause new wounds to appear?”

A note of pity entered Elrond’s eyes, and I am momentarily taken aback. Pity for Cosima and Alexander…or pity for me?

“I will do all that I can. Though, I suspect your Lady will have more wisdom on this subject than I.”

I bow my head in acknowledgement of his commitment, though I agree. If anyone can help, it will be Lady Galadriel.

Baranor darts his eyes in my direction. “Should we tell them?”

Elrond shakes his head. “I would prefer to do so, if you do not mind. I expect it will lessen their anxiety if we can begin what I hope is treatment immediately after I alert them to the issue.”

Fair point. I square my shoulders. “Understood, thank you both. Please alert me if there is any change.”

Both agree to my request and I leave them to their discussion, seeking out the kitchens so I can procure food for Cosima and myself.

I try not to dwell on what Baranor’s discovery could mean. Cosima seems to be healing, but with this new wound and the possibility of more in the future…will it be enough? Can her already fragile fæ handle all this damage?

Eru above, I pray so.

When I return to Cosima’s room, I find her in a rose-colored tunic and dark leggings, her long, wavy hair damp from a shower. She smiles brightly, taking one of the plates from my hands.

“Thank you! Want to sit?”

I accept her offer and sit opposite her in the small seating area, resting my plate on the coffee table that lies between us. I try to study her inconspicuously. She looks fine. Kind, dark eyes alternate between meeting mine and looking at her plate. The shorter pieces of her hair near her face brush against the arch of her neck as she shifts in her seat, stretching forward to reach her glass of water. She has a small freckle below the left edge of her bottom lip. I’ve never noticed it before.

Amused chuckles disrupt my inspection.

I blink, my eyes leaving her mouth to meet her gaze. “What?”

“You’re staring at me, stop it,” she laughs, fiddling with her hair.

I narrow my eyes. Oops. “You’re sitting right across from me, what else is there to do but stare at you?”

She rolls her eyes, though it’s clear she’s only teasing me. “I guess I have no choice but to stare back.” She makes a big show of resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, setting an unwavering gaze upon my face.

I raise an eyebrow. “You know it is my job to watch? I spend days in the trees watching for movement or something out of place. This is not a competition you can win.”

“Oh yeah?” She quirks an eyebrow of her own. “Watch me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

She purses her lips and my eyes are once again drawn to that little freckle that somehow escaped notice for so long. Her lips twitch in amusement and my eyes follow their curve.

I tear my gaze away. Clearing my throat, I reach for my water. Cosima leans back into the couch, popping a blueberry into her mouth. “Ha!”

“Yes, congratulations,” I mutter, throat going dry despite the water.

She furrows her eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Yes, of course.” I turn my attention back to my food. “Are you feeling well enough to begin training today?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yep, as long as today still works for you.”

“It does. I am meeting with my brothers to formulate a plan for Elrond’s guard, but I should be done by this evening. Can I come by then?”

With a smile, she agrees. We pass the remainder of breakfast easily. I keep a tight reign on my “staring” as she called it. There’s no reason to do that.

{***}

“What are you going to teach her, exactly?” Rumil lengthens his stride to keep up with me.

I look at him from the corner of my eye. “The basics.”

“Would you like my assistance? I could join you.”

He hasn’t let his misguided notion from last night drop. I quicken my pace. “No, thank you. If you want to help with something though, you could convene with Glorfindel and get the name of every member of Elrond’s guard.” There. That should keep him distracted tonight.

Rumil huffs, evidently displeased with my request, but doesn’t argue. “Alright.”

He sidesteps to enter the hall to our room but I continue, taking the stairs that will lead me to Cosima’s room. Rumil gives me a look but says nothing, keeping to his path.

I knock on the closed door — humans are so funny with their distrust of others to respect their privacy — and Cosima quickly opens it, welcoming me in with a smile. She shuts the door behind me.

“I pushed the furniture back to give us more space.” She gestures to a corner of her room where the plushy seats and wooden table are gathered near the wall.

I nod. “That’s good, thank you. And you feel alright?”

Her smile softens. “Yes, I promise.”

“Good,” I exhale. With that reassurance, I can get down to business. “If you could stand here.” I direct her to a spot in the middle of the room. “And move your feet a bit wider than hip width apart, like this.” I show her, and she mirrors the stance. “A little wider.” I step forward and nudge her right foot with my own, showing her how far I want it to move. “Now bring your dominant foot back a little. And lean forward slightly at your hips.” She follows the instructions, hinging forward as directed. “Like that, good,” I approve. “Now this is known as your fighting stance.” Cosima looks up at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain. “It is not realistic to be able to keep this during a fight, but it should be your default, something you can get to automatically. A fighting stance allows you stability to keep from falling and gives you an anchor if you need power to wield a weapon. As a general rule, you should always attempt to attack or defend from this position.” She nods seriously.

Before she has a chance to register the movement, I shove her shoulder. Predictably, she stumbles backwards, arms flailing in an attempt to catch herself. Before she can fall, I grip her forearms, pulling her forward and steadying her.

With my hands still locked around her arms, I pause.

Were I training one of my wardens, I would have let them fall — why didn’t I let her fall? I should have. It’s an important lesson — if you don’t do something perfectly, you could get hurt.

I glance between Cosima—who looks at me with narrowed and confused eyes—and the stone of the floor. The foundation of the bedroom is solid rock, she could be seriously injured if she collided with it. An elf would be able to fall unscathed, but a human…

“What?”

Cosima’s voice brings me back to the present. My hands are still gripping her arms.

I quickly release her. “Nothing, just thinking.” Before she can investigate further, I hurry to move on. “Your stance should be solid enough to allow you to be immoveable. I should be able to push you and you stay upright. Now that you’re expecting it, let’s try again.”

It takes a few attempts, but eventually, Cosima learns how to hold tension in her core and ground her feet so it’s more difficult to push her over. Of course, if I really used my full strength, she wouldn’t stand a chance, but there’s no need to discourage her this early. And, by the amused twinkle in her eyes, she already knows.

Once her stance is satisfactory, we move on to blocking. I step back, taking a moment to analyze. She’s shorter than me, smaller than me, which automatically gives me an advantage. I have thousands of years of experience while she has about half an hour’s worth. Again, advantage me. She relies too much on her dominant side — if I struck at her unguarded left, I could knock the wind out of her and then, while she’s distracted, pull a weapon and strike a fatal blow between her ribs.

I’m surprised by the resistance that rises within me. My mind shouts that I am not going to do those things, that I would never cause her harm. The thought of striking her or hurting her is unthinkable, repulsive. And all the while she looks up at me with trusting, curious eyes, not at all thinking that I’m currently running through a list of different ways to kill her.

I take a deep breath. This is just training. In order to better train someone, you have to get into the mindset of their opponent so you can plan for and strengthen weak spots.

I try again to study her analytically, distantly, as I have done countless times before with countless others, but the emotions still cause my gut to tighten every time I identify yet another weakness I could exploit.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to push past the mental block and continue. She is leaving her left side unguarded. I start there.

Like most inexperienced fighters, she sees my slowed-down strike coming towards her left and grips my wrist with both of her hands, stopping my progress. I raise an eyebrow, easily pulling my arm back and her with it, sidestepping as she pitches towards the ground. I catch her before she can make contact, wrapping an arm around her waist and immediately releasing her once she’s righted. If you ever take this outside, let her fall then, I remind myself.

She looks up at me, wide eyes blinking rapidly.

I clear my throat. “If someone is attempting to hit you, don’t grab their arm to try and stop them — they can use that to their advantage, as I just did. Instead, you want to use your stance—remember to stay on the balls of your feet—to move out of the way before they can hit you. If you move quickly enough, your opponent is likely to stumble forward since they expected to make contact but now have nothing to stop their momentum. Ideally, you will spin or maneuver so you end up at favorable angle and counterstrike while your opponent is disoriented. Let’s try that.”

She bounces on the balls of her feet and nods, resetting her stance. I raise my arm once more, slowing down my movement so she has time to plan. Just before my fist makes contact with the curve of her waist, she sidesteps, twisting so she ends up behind me. I smile, guessing her next move. I’m not surprised when she pushes firmly between my shoulder blades and, for her benefit, I stumble forward. When I turn around, she’s grinning broadly. The smile doesn’t leave my face, either.

“Good,” I approve, turning to face her so that we’re reset. “Do it again.”

We practice variants of this strategy for a long time, speeding up or slowing down as her progress dictates. I teach her how to effectively duck, to use her stature to her advantage, how to quicken her pace so she stays out of her opponent’s reach.

I lurch forward to grab her, but she spins away at the last second, emerging at my right. As my fingers brush her side for the millionth time, I begin to worry. Does she notice how much I’m touching her? She hasn’t said anything, but she’s certainly not making as much contact with me as I am with her.

That’s because you are mainly on the offense, it’s your job to get close. In hand-to-hand, you cannot strike from a distance, I remind myself. And her job is to try and avoid you. Besides, I continue, allowing her a blow to my shoulder before lightly pushing her in an attempt to throw her balance, this is just normal training. I’m following the same protocol I would with anyone else I train.

Cosima ducks from my outstretched arm and attempts to sidestep, but I switch tactics and block her path. I wrap my arms around her and lift her over my shoulder, her surprised yelp ringing through the room. As soon as my point is made, I set her back on the ground.

She huffs. “You didn’t tell me you were changing it up.”

I give her a dubious look. “Yes, an orc is likely to announce its plan of attack. Forgive me.”

“Oh, all right.” She rolls her eyes. “So what do I do?”

I feel my gaze intensify, wanting desperately to communicate how important this is. “If someone gets their arms around you, they have complete control of you — in the case of someone as inexperienced as yourself, it’s over. Do not let them get their arms around you. Duck out of the way if you can, try to kick them and throw off their balance, elbow them, attempt to get behind them, whatever you need to do. Just don’t let them grab you.”

She nods seriously.

I hope she is never in a position where she will have to use any of this training. The trip home will be dangerous, yes, and obviously I would rather her have the training just in case, but I have no plans of leaving her to her own devices. No, I intend to keep her by my side as often as I can, and when I cannot, I will entrust her care to one of my brothers. She will never have to fight for her life by herself. And once we are in the heavily guarded borders of Lothlórien, which I myself am responsible for securing, she will be well away from danger.

But still, it is important for her to learn…just in case. At any rate, it will hopefully help her feel better about the second pass through the mountains. I know she still suffers from some anxiety due to her attack.

I repeat my movement from before, slower this time. She sees my arms coming and extends her leg, pressing her shoe against my shin.

I drop my arms. “What was that?”

“A kick.”

“You barely tapped me.”

She huffs, crossing her arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I roll my eyes. “You could not hurt me.”

Her mouth drops open. “Rude!”

“It’s a fact.” I narrow my eyes, trying to determine if she’s taken real offense. I think not — there’s a teasing lift to the edges of her lips. So, I continue. “I’ve been a soldier for milennia, one tiny kick from a human woman is not going to send me to the ground in pain.”

Her gaze hardens. She shifts her weight. I crouch in time to wrap my hand around her ankle, stopping her attempt to kick me. I look up at her, unimpressed. An ellon with a day of experience could have seen that coming from a hundred miles away.

She grumbles and bends her knee, shoving it in the direction of my chest as her hands come to press against my shoulders. Before she can make contact, I release her ankle and stand, gripping her elbow and whirling her around. She stumbles, disoriented from the unexpected movement, and I lock one arm across her stomach, the other around her shoulders.

She freezes.

The silence of the room rings in my ears.

“Good instincts,” I mutter, my chest nearly brushing against her back. I stand stiffly, incredibly conscious of that tiny sliver of space. If either of us took even the slightest step…“But I guessed your intention and now I have you in my arms.”

Her breath quickens.

Perhaps I’ve pushed her human stamina too far for one day.

I pull my arms away from her and step back, giving her space to turn around. She does so slowly, swallowing and blinking up at me, looking a little dazed. Guilt creeps into my stomach. She was nearly sick last night, I should have taken it easier today. It is probably time for her to rest.

I clasp my hands behind my back. “I will show you how to avoid that position the next time we meet.”

She brushes a stray strand of hair out of her face. It’s in that peculiar style again — a bun, she called it, and I note with surprise that she still uses the hair tie I gave her on the road here. “Okay, sounds good. I uh, have a lesson tomorrow night with Baranor and Alex.”

I nod. “I can come the day after?”

“Good, yeah, that works.” She avoids my gaze. “Thanks.”

I furrow my eyebrows, examining her closer. She doesn’t look ill like she did yesterday. “Are you feeling alright? Did the headache return?”

“Oh, no.” She smiles and waves away my concern. “I think I’m just hungry and tired — I woke up too early.”

Good, she’s not sick, then. I nod. “Understandable. Do you want to go down to dinner?”

“Uh, I think I’ll have it sent up, actually. I want to study before my lesson tomorrow.”

Ah. I take a step in the direction of the door. “I will leave you to it, then. Enjoy your night.”

“You too,” she calls back. “And thanks again.” A much more natural smile graces her lips then, drawing my attention once again to that curious little freckle. My mind begins to drift, remembering the feeling of her in my arms, closer than she’s ever been before. The desire to hold her again makes itself known.

I practically bolt from the room.

A/n RIP Haldir’s sanity, honestly. Thanks for reading!! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my absolute DAY! 

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[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Ch 3

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2 here

Can also be read on ao3 (:

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery

As always, he had not been himself in the night. He had been an old man, holding a rather nice-smelling bag, walking through the forest towards… something. Something he cared about.

His thoughts were not quite his own, but not the man's either; more a drowsy sort of mish-mash of voices, a bit like falling asleep in the middle of a bustling city. However, none of it really mattered, as he very much felt, smelled, and lived in the forest, above the crunchy leaves and around the warm scent. So hard to place. It was familiar, and yet, the exact detail of it had faded out.

He could hear his own voice, humming. It did not sound like his voice, not really, but it felt like his own, and that was enough for it to be his own. The vibrations travelled through his chest as he burst out in melodic sounds. He was humming a workers’ song, one that someone in his family had sung. Again, the details were blurry, like there was a block in his brain.

The forest was calm, basking in a sunny glow. Autumn leaves decked the ground, and the trees looked familiar. There was a comfort in this place, a home in the scent of mud and moss, and one that he cherished happily.

The trees, though originally quiet to his senses, rustled softly in a pleasant way. The wind must’ve been extra strong, he must’ve just not noticed it through the thick shield of stems.

The trees rustled once more, and felt a beat against the soles of his feet. It was slight, barely noticeable, but it got him to tilt his stiff, aged, neck downwards, if even just for a second.

It was then that it truly happened.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the trees curving, but he didn’t have any time to process as he was slammed down to the ground by a vine sprouting from the ground. A crack wrecked through his body, not unlike the sound a carrot makes when snapping, and he, in what simultaneously was and wasn’t his voice, howled in pain. His leg, already weak to begin with, felt as though it had been ripped in two, and he could clearly see red blood leaking from where the knee was bent at an unnatural angle. Fire coursed through his nerves, burning from his leg to his spine. The pain was so mind-numbing that he didn’t notice the much pointier vine heading right for him until it was too late.

As though it was sentient, a throned vine plunged at him, and punctured right into his stomach. It sliced all the way through him, as though his body was not but soft butter, before pulling out in an equally swift motion and landing him limp on the ground.

There was no pain, even as thorns began to wrap around and puncture every millimeter of skin, only numbness. Numbness from pain that could not be described in the English language. Numbness that no one alive had ever felt. Numbness that acted as a relenting defeat against his continuous fight for any hope of life.

And as he lay there, hands bloodstained, stomach gaping, and so incredibly empty, he feared. Feared for his wife, feared for his unachieved goals, feared for what was coming next. Even this fear, however, held a tragic sort of air to it, as it was dulled down by unrelenting numbness.

The numbness faded, along with all thoughts, as white, hot, pain came crashing down like a hammer. He let out one last pitiful, agony filled screech - for a scream was much too human to cover the sound - muffled by the thorns that had stuck themselves into his lips, before everything went black in what was truly the kindest mercy. ————————————————

Bruin awoke with a gasp, clutching his stomach. His eyes darted around his barren room, pulse racing at an olympic level under his skin. With a weak breath - still clutching his stomach with an iron grip - he closed his eyes, and repeated his mantra; You’re Bruin Becker, you’re not them, you’re safe.

The phrase played over and over again in his mind as his vision slowly morphed from a blur of panic, to the usual, groggy morning one. Taking a more stable breath, he slowly let go of his stomach. He couldn’t resist scanning his hands for blood, though he knew there was none.

Once he was sure his hands were clean, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and watched the world come to life. The white desk and closet popped from the midnight blue walls, the sheets on his bed clear as glass. He glanced at his face in the mirror, and was not surprised at what he saw; deep, dark bags under his slender eyes, porcupine-like hair, and a thin sheet of sweat that lined his forehead.

He collapsed back into his bed with a tired sigh, wanting nothing more than to ignore the clock that was taunting him with the ridiculous hour he had awoken. He would probably do that. Go back to blissful sleep, that is. He doubted he even had gotten an ounce of it because of his stupid… nightmares? Visions? Whatever they were.

He closed his eyes, relaxing back into his bed, mind so far gone and forgetting one quintessentially, very, important thing. A thing he was oh-so-kindly reminded of by what could have only been described as the sound of every single plate in the house shattering at once.

With an almost inhuman speed, Bruin threw the cover from his bed, and darted to the room next door. He adjusted his hair along the way in a frantic motion, pulse having quickened yet again at the commotion. He braked as he reached the kitchen doorway, looking at the source of the sound.

On the grey tiles sat a dazed Grant, covered head to toe in flour, shards of ceramic plates scattered around him like a bomb had just gone off. Grant looked sheepishly at Bruin, blue eyes just as bagged as his own. “Uhh… good morning?”

Bruin couldn’t help the look of absolute disappointment that rolled over his face. “How did you manage to - never mind. I don’t want to know,” he said, exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, if you must know,” Grant began, ignoring Bruin’s statement, “I was trying to make pancakes. Keyword there being trying.” He got up and tried dusting off the flour powdered on him like snow, but gave up almost immediately. “It was a shame really. I make lovely pancakes. It’s the only good thing about living with me, according to my dearest exes.”

“I’m surprised they listed any good things about living with you,” Bruin mumbled, before joining Grant to pick up the last pieces of the plates.

Though he would never admit it, Grant had been a blessing in disguise. When he first rented the little cottage in Lunewell, he had accepted that his co-worker would be an annoying, messy, music-box obsessed pest in the house that he would hopefully have to deal with as little as humanly possible.

Yet, almost like a mold, he had to admit that Grant had grown on him. Sure, he still couldn’t stand the messiness, and he swore that every time he turned a corner he saw another damn music-box, but those were things he had learned to forgive over the years.

“What possessed you to make pancakes?” Bruin questioned as they threw the last pieces in the trash.

Grant quieted, biting his lip.“They’re great comfort food,” he said slowly, as if testing out the words.

Bruin tensed, suddenly hyper aware of the rumbling in his stomach. “Oh,” he said quietly, after minutes of silence, “did you have a bad night’s sleep?” The question was pointless, but Bruin felt the need to ask it anyway. If only to take away from the barking that had begun playing in his ears.

“Yeah,” Grant responded, eyeing him, “I was up working on fixing an antique box, planning to go to bed, but I think someone was begging for their life outside, which wasn’t a very nice sound to fall asleep too.”

It was an invitation, one which he pondered for a while, before finally giving his response; “I wouldn't imagine so, no.”

He looked away as Grant's ocean blue eyes filled with pity, something that hurt him as much as any gun wound. “Hey, I… uh,” Grant began, no longer looking at him, “don’t feel obligated to answer this, but, are they getting worse?”

“You should probably go and get changed. I’ll make some breakfast for us. We still have a while before work.”

Grant, bless his heart, didn’t push. Instead, he simply nodded, vanishing the sad look from his eyes. He was halfway out the door, when he turned around with a snap; “that’s what I was forgetting to tell you!” he said, “Zarifa called earlier, she wants us to come in early.”

“Really? That’s unusual.”

“My thoughts exactly. I didn’t ever find out why though, she remained all vague. Sounded a bit panicked, if I’m honest.”

Bruin nodded. “We’ll head out after you and I get changed then. I’m not really in the mood for breakfast anyway.”

“Aye aye, Bruiny,” Grant said with a mock salute, before slipping out the door and presumably into his bedroom. Bruin did the same, taking one last glance around the rustic kitchen before walking towards his own room with a newfound haste. Zarifa had always been more than lenient with the times they showed and left work, especially once she realised both Grant and Bruin had abysmal sleep quality and patterns, so something like this was not only highly unusual, but equally concerning.

He just hoped nothing too terrible had happened. ——————————————

The walk to the Office was a beautiful one, especially this time of year. They were both bundled in hats and scarves that Grant had insisted on, as golden yellows and flaming hues passed and fell around them. For all the flack they could both give Lunewell - a lack of internet service, isolation from almost everything, and navigational systems that were seemingly built by a sadist - neither could deny that living there on mornings like this was truly a magical experience.

Or would be, were it not for the unfortunate scenario.

“Oh I hope she’s alright,” Grant panted out, slightly out of breath from the speedwalking that bordered on jogging. Working in antiques was unfortunately not a field that kept one in great physical condition, and in moments like this it truly showed.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Bruin reassured, “thinking logically, we know nothing serious has happened,” probably, “so it’s most likely something mundane, slightly ominous at best.”

Grant looked unsure at that, but didn’t say anything. Under the glasses, Bruin could practically see the well-oiled cogs turning in his head, eyes glaze as though lost in the mechanical world. It was his typical zoning out look, which was for once highly appreciated, as Bruin himself was in no mood to talk.

They walked up the path, letting the old, wooden store come into view. It seemed no different than yesterday, albeit much darker, except for, alarmingly enough, a room in the upstairs flat. They shared a questioning look, panic visible on both their faces, before speeding up and half-sprinting to the door.

With a lead ball in his stomach, Bruin realised that the door was not only unlocked, but stood slightly ajar. He shoved it further open, with an urgency but still lightly, as not to break any antiques.

Even the golden rays of autumn sun couldn’t hide the ruins of the shop. The furniture was at a slight angle, as though a lash had come whipping at the legs, the fragile glass and ceramics that had been close to shattering finally lay dead and dismembered on the floor, and most concerningly, there was an unidentifiable black liquid smelling vaguely of ozone.

“Zarifa?” Grant began calling, stepping over the mess with all the grace of a drunk octopus, “Zari? Boss? Are you in there?” Bruin followed his shouting companion, straightening the furniture as he went. They made it to the counter, still no sight of her, though that was changed as they heard a thunderclap of a sound emitting from the backroom.

They were in the employees’ lounge within seconds of the sound, greeted by the sight of an unusually casually dressed Zarifa surrounded by long walls of antiques, stacked in an organised manner. “Oh good,” she said, upon seeing them, giving them a warm smile that reached her tired eyes, “you made it.”

Bruin wasn’t so much looking at her, as staring at the large pile of antiques behind her. Some of them he recognised, like the ‘Girl in Field’ painting, or that odd statue of an old man made of clay, 200 years old, but painted in a cornflower blue pigment that could be no more than 100, though there were also surprisingly a lot of pieces he had no recollection of seeing. Zarifa, noticing his staring, looked at him apologetically; “Sorry I had to dismantle your system. I tried to keep the organisation, and I promise I’ll help sort it afterwards.”

“It’s fine. I’ll sort it myself,” he assured, not quite sure he truly trusted anyone to touch what he had sorted. Grant was a disaster on legs, and for as much as Zarifa was good at keeping schedule, she lacked the sheer efficient sorting instinct he had had since childhood. “Why is it all up here? Was there water in the basement again?”

Zarifa shook her head, before pulling a slightly splintered, old, wooden box with a golden, dust-painted leaf-engraving on top from behind one of the piles. Bruin’s eyes widened as he remembered where it had previously been, involuntarily glancing upstairs, and then back down to Zarifa. She hadn’t really… had she? No one had ever been in Valours flat, hell, no one even had the key to it.

She opened the lid cautiously, the box creaking as ancient and rusted hinges pulled back. She pulled out aged, folded paper, and slowly laid it down in Bruins hands. Though he would of course properly examine it later, he could tell it was far older than anything he was comfortable holding with his bare, gloveless hands. “It’s more sturdy than it looks,” comforted Zarifa, upon seeing his panicky stature, “go ahead, open it up.”

With a force comparable to a feather, he opened it in precise, calculated movements. He winced as he saw the handwriting, the fine, thin squiggles dating the paper to 300 years old at least, letting go of the note to the point it was barely still in his hands. He felt Grant peeking over his shoulder, and down onto the note curiously, mumbling the words as he read down the torn page.

It wasn’t a very long read, but it added tenfold to the confusion. “What seal?” Grant eventually asked, looking up at Zarifa, “this is the page blonde-pink-girl wanted, right? Why would anyone want this?”

Zaria sighed, looking at the paper with a darkness in her eyes. She looked contemplative, opening her mouth a few times to begin a sentence, before shaking her head and going back to thought. Finally, after tracing the golden part of the box a few rounds, silence echoing the room, she spoke; “We’ve all had encounters with Them before, right?”

Even with that single word, everyone in the room instantly Knew what she was talking about. It was Them that had drawn the entire group to the shop, Them that had left that hollowness that lived in all their eyes, Them that left all of them flinching at sounds and throwing hurried glances over shoulders, and most importantly, Them that created the bond they all shared.

Zarifa signed; “Take a seat, boys. This might require a bit of an explanation.”

—————- After a long, long conversation, involving the raiding of Valour’s alcohol stash for some well earned drinking, along with expensive chocolates for an alcohol-abstaining Bruin, all had finally been explained. There was a silence in the air, tinged in cheap wine and dread, as they all looked intently at the ornate box. “So,” Grant said, clasping his hands ripping away the silence like a band-aid, “we’re dealing with a big orb, monster thingy, which intentions are unknown, who kidnapped our intruder who was reading text that made vines sprout around her and smoke fill her eyes.”

“Yeah, that sums up what I experienced this morning nicely.”

Grant blinked, Bruin hurrying his mouth which had been firmly hidden deeper in his palm. “Fucking hell, I need another drink,” Grant exclaimed with a groan, reaching his hand out with his designated office mug towards Bruin.

“You guys are all out,” Bruin said with a tired voice, “besides, I don’t think alcohol is the wisest right now. I think we should try to figure out what actually happened.”

“Good idea,” Zarifa said with a nod, “we can begin with the note. Funnily enough, it’s the easiest thing here to deconstruct.” She took the box and gave it one last glance over, before rotating it away from herself and giving Grant and Bruin the opportunity to see it; “Obviously the seal is referring to the monster. I think it’s just a matter of gathering the ingredients, and whatever happened, will be reversed.”

Bruin, more than prepared, had already pulled out his black notebook and found an empty page. He looked once again at the section of the note containing the ingredients:

A key is forged by fragments of Touched sanity eating a sight of one that Sees, dipped in water oh-so divine. Once the key has begun, the fragments must sew themselves between the fabric, letting all webbed light shine on them. As they are blessed by the minute, and after the final step of-

And out of the nonsense, quickly jotted down the list of ideas that had been proposed by a slightly tipsy Grant, and an unusually frantic Zarifa;

Fragmented Touched sanity (Magic mind? Pieces of brain?) Sight of one that Sees (Some creature’s eyes obviously, maybe cow eye cult? (Most likely, Grant’s paranoia over cow eye cult, and not actually cow eye cult)) Water divine (Holy water?) Webbed light (Interconnected grids of light? Light systems?)

Jotting them down like that, was sadly, not very revealing. Partly because all their minds were still reeling, and what they had brainstormed was mostly a series of disjointed thoughts rather than a narrative, and partly because there was still so much hidden at the bottom of the riddle ocean. Bruin could still hardly find himself believing Zarifa’s situation, and had it not been for the black liquid stains he saw himself, the cryptic note, and the wobbly tone of her words as she recounted the events, he probably would have dismissed her as being driven a bit mad by paranoia.

Even now, fully aware of the fact that it was real, he was incredibly tempted to just storm out the shop, notebook in hand. Though he encountered the unearthly almost every time he was in deep slumber, he had never actually had a fully conscious encounter. And those… nightmares, visions - whatever they could be called - had left him gluing the pieces of his mind with only the instinct of survival. A real encounter would break him.

And yet, he couldn’t run. He had nowhere to go. Thorns Antique wasn’t so much a place he had chosen to stay, as a shelter he had desperately thrown himself into. Physically, yes of course he could travel or move. Marcus had been asking him if they could move in together for months, and would be more than elated to take him in. And he was sure he could put that business degree to good use.

But, though he was physically free as a dove, his mental wings were clipped. What was he supposed to do when he inevitably woke up one night in Marcus’s bed, screaming about the knife that he was convinced was lodged in his brain? How would he explain the countless of cryptic, weird, objects littered between pages upon pages of ripped-out death notices? Markus would see him as insane, and any future job he would have wouldn’t tolerate his hazy, obsessive, jumpy, and sleep-deprived state.

Though he did not personally know what their stories really were, he suspected Zarifa and Grant were stranded on the same boat of forbidden knowledge. Zarifa had no interest in history, having a passion for literature instead, and a people-pleasing nature and work ethic that could get her far, and Grant, though a bit of a clumsy idiot, was also incredibly academically bright, and a true cityguy at heart. They were an odd group, but a strongly connected one.

Or, at least somewhat connected.

“I propose we figure out what to do now,” Bruin muttered, after reading the bullet points a couple of times, “I don’t think there’s a standard protocol for situations such as these.”

Zarifa hummed in agreement, leaning against the table with a pensive look, sipping on some more wine. “I think we should prioritise figuring out what the riddle is actually saying,” she said, “and I think most of the answers lay here. There must be some connections between all this supernatural weirdness, and I’m pretty sure it lies in the antiques.”

Bruin and Grant nodded, both pulling the wildly uncomfortable chairs close to the table in a loud, squeaking drag. “As for the stuff that we can’t find the answer to,” Zarifa continued, once everyone was seated, “we can always ask for that.” She turned to Grant; “You’ve called Valour, right?”

Grant blinked, the words taking a few seconds to register, before grimacing sheepishly. “I’ll go do that afterwards, promise.” Bruin sighed, but Zarifa simply nodded. She’d always been a lot more forgiving of his scatterbrain than Bruin.

“I’ll do the same with Lottie. Assuming she’s, well, alive. She probably won’t answer, but it's worth a shot.”

“Thought Lottie didn’t give us her number?” Grant said, Bruin mirroring his confusion. Zarifa stiffened, smile dropping by a minuscule amount.

“She didn’t, but I know how to get in contact with her,” she stated, in her best assertive tone. Before Bruin could ask what she meant by that, she powered on, bulldozing in a purposeful manner. “What about you, Bruin?”

Bruin racked his mind for a good answer, recalling what needed to be done, and all the archival systems they had buried in the husk of a computer. “Every item has a corresponding ID, and a short descriptor. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at both the system and the antiques . However, we’re all out of gloves, and our magnifying glass has been broken for two months, so I’ll head to the shop first.”

While this was completely true, Bruin did leave out the little detail that it was also beyond time to see Marcus again. Through a mix of nightly hauntings, and antique mishaps, the days had somehow slipped by without them having a proper chat. He didn’t so much mind the lack of interaction, as the guilt that came with it.

“Thank you,” Zarifa said with a smile, “and, if it isn’t too much of a bother, please keep an eye out for any… unusual sights.” He nodded, her shoulders slumping down visibly, even under the thick cream turtleneck. Grant then promptly slipped out of the room to give Valour a ring with his smashed phone, and Zarifa headed out the front door and into the shop to tidy what was left of the mess, leaving him all alone.

He buried his hands into his neatly combed hair, tension deflating like a balloon as he exhaled heavily. His head was being squeezed by a thick rubber band, though whether it was the usual sleep deprivation or stress was anyone’s guess, and his eyes were droopy and heavy, as if magnets were attempting to pull them closed.

Nevertheless, he got up, pulling his winter coat and messenger bag off the chair. He left the scarf and hat where they lay, feeling they were a bit over the top considering it was only October. Slipping the black notebook into the black and purple bag, he headed out the door, and towards the outside world, heading in a general life direction he was not fully comfortable with.

[op-peccatori]

Hopefully, Yours (part 1) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice 

Pairing: Victor/Fem!Reader 

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 8823

Summary: A fight between co-stars leads to you taking their place, along with the man you’ve been carrying a rather fervid torch for. A happy accident—except it’s a dating show and you have to pretend your feelings aren’t real. | Part 2

Warnings/Tags: language, fluff, oblivious behaviour, dating show, social media, Victor might be a little OOC because I’ve written him differently, some making out in the next part hence the rating, no smut though, my sense of humour

A/n: as always, I’m here to clown around. I tried something a lil new (for me) in this one 👉👈 something I picked up quite recently from works I adored, so I hope you like it! It got longer than I intended so I had to split it into 2 parts ;.; Victor said: keep writing, hoe. 

ALSO!!! Yours by Ella Henderson is. THE Victor/MC song for me. I felt it in my bones when I listened to it again after all these years. brb crying

It’s the incessant buzzing of your phone that lures you out of the warm cocoon of your blanket.

You don’t really want to come out of your haven. Not after the week you’ve had, and because you know what awaits you. But as Anna had told you, there’s no way you can avoid this. They had finished editing the episode on Thursday, and Jason had already texted you last night to let you know it would be ready to be uploaded at 7:00 pm today.

Reaching listlessly for your phone, you squint at the bright screen through bleary eyes; it’s 9:00 pm already, and you’ve managed to sleep most of your Sunday away. It’s been a whole week since you filmed the episode, and while you were able to keep your thoughts at bay through it, it’s finally caught up to you.

After all, this is the episode you’re going to be in.

Pulling your laptop towards you, you open the tab that has the streaming site open. Your heart begins its anxious thump against its cage, a beat all too familiar to you by now. As the video begins playing, the memories of that day rise up to the forefront of your mind, refusing to be outdone by this meticulously edited version.

It started with a plan. A very well-thought-out plan.

“He called me a bitch. How can you still expect me to shoot with this jerk?”

Things were not going according to the very well-thought-out plan.

From your place next to Homer, the camera guy, you watched with mounting apprehension as Hollow resisted the AD’s attempts to placate her. But she did seem calmer, the scalding rage of her glare simmering down as he continued to reason with her.

And then her partner for the episode walked back onto the set.

“She said my songs are predictable! You want me to work with a hater?” Kai protested loudly, and Hollow turned back to him in a fury. The AD looked back at you in dismay, the rest of the staff watching with varying levels of exasperation.

“This is supposed to be a cheesy, ultra-romantic show,” Kiki whispered from her place at your side.

“This is what the reality is. All that sappy crap is for the camera,” Willow snorted, shaking her head in disenchanted disappointment.

There may be more than a kernel of truth in that. Hopefully, Yours was your company’s latest project; the second season, the first one having been produced by a different group. It’s a romantic web-series that featured different couples going on dates around town. The couples featured ranged from non-celebrities to people who are household names. So far, there hadn’t been too many issues with the participants—so you really should have expected this.

“Not always!” you cut in, fiddling nervously with your planner. “Some of the couples have gone on to date for real. Raymond and Liliana got married!” A lovely couple from an episode that aired last year. They’d been in the news recently too.

“They’re getting divorced,” Homer piped up in response. You hoped the look on your face let him know how unhelpful that was and turned back to the clashing couple. The AD looked harrowed and harassed as things turn increasingly hostile.

“Willow, do we have a backup couple?” you asked after a long moment of watching them spit insults. “Or just one person to replace either of them. What about Carlson?”

“He won’t be in town until tomorrow.”

‘Can I leave town?’ You wondered in a fit of desperate, wishful thinking.

“And we’ve got everyone here, with everything set up. Can we really waste time?” Kiki wondered out loud.

“No, we can’t,” answered a strained voice from behind you. All four of you turn to see Anna striding towards you, her hassled expression sending a frisson of worry through your stomach. “___, we’ve got guests.”

“Guests?” you repeated numbly. “What guests?” From the look on her face, it couldn’t be good news.

Anna held your gaze for a second, looking vaguely apologetic, before stepping to the side, allowing you to get a look at who Jason, the director, had rushed off to greet. You felt the ground shift beneath you, throat drying rapidly and the surrounding noise dimming as you focused on the new arrivals—your friend, your boss if you insist on the technicalities, and the star of most of your daydreams. LFG’s very own CEO, Victor, and his loyal secretary, Goldman.

In other words, people you hadn’t expected to see today.

“Why?” you whimpered, mostly panicked, but distantly amused by how enthusiastically he’s being greeted. It gave you a few moments to get it together, a familiar buzz coming to life underneath your skin.

This is terrible. Surely, this is karmic retribution for some misdeed committed by you. 

“Boss, get it together,” Kiki hissed in an echo of your thoughts, and you realized you had half-fallen back into her and Willow’s arms, their hands steady on your shoulders.

“This is really bad timing. Like, really bad,” Willow pointed out unnecessarily as you straightened up, running a quick hand through your hair.

“Goldman said they just dropped in to see how it’s coming along. I don’t really understand why, this is not at all Victor’s cup of tea, but he’d been hesitant about the show, so...” With a sympathetic smile, Anna placed a hand on your elbow, squeezing lightly. The comfort it brought is chased away almost immediately by a furious screech.

“That is it. I’m done!”

Turning just in time to watch Hollow stalk off the set, you tried to restart your thought process. You just needed to solve this.

“How do we solve this?” Kiki asked in a low voice, and Willow shook her head helplessly. 

With no answer for her, you could only watch as Jason led Victor and Goldman towards the set. You knew the exact moment he saw you; there was no smile, but a slow blink. It was still early in the afternoon, and his patrician features were alight with a soft glow in the golden sunlight, the curve of his lip relaxed and his clever gaze taking in you and everything happening around you in seconds. You’re not sure what he saw in your face but it made the corners of his mouth pull downwards.

Your stomach plummeted, seized by a sudden urge to flee.

But with his long strides, he reached you before you could take a step back. Kiki and Willow retreated silently, greeting him like newly registered soldiers coming face to face with their general and leaving you at his mercy. You would have felt miffed, but the way the sunlight softened his features was a little distracting. His lips moved, and you’re certain he said something, but couldn’t quite hear him over the sound of your heart drumming in your ears.

Homer coughed loudly, popping the bubble.

“Good morning, Victor!” Certain your lack of actual delight was obvious, you tried to inject as much enthusiasm into your voice as you could while your project went up in flames behind you. Not that you weren’t happy to see him, as the sudden thrill twisting through insisted on reminding you, but the prospect of disappointing him was one you would rather not face.

There was no visible reaction from Victor, but Homer looked a bit disturbed by the attempt. Goldman just looked like he pitied you, while Jason looked oddly contemplative. This was probably his first time seeing you this…dazzled.

“Good morning,” Victor replied evenly. His eyes, a constant, focused storm and his silken hair falling artfully over his forehead form a picture so lovely, almost beyond words. It’s never stopped you from waxing poetic about them, or his long list of admirable personality traits, but he had a way of knowing when you’re not paying attention. “Looks like I picked a bad time to check in.” 

You couldn’t quite pin down the inflexion in his tone, but your immediate guess was that he was either severely disappointed or was low-key mocking you.

With how quickly things derailed, it’s understandable. 

“Haha,” you laughed—an unfortunate coping mechanism that seems to flare up most often in his presence. Also, because Victor looked unfairly gorgeous, as always and you were a fool with a worryingly erratic pulse. “Just a few bumps. Nothing we can’t fix.”

Behind you, Kai declared his intent to leave as well. There’s a contract, so they would have to look into this, but that would take time. At that moment, Victor was eyeing the singer leaving the set and your nervous smile with his brows steadily climbing higher.

“Right. Anything I can do to help?” he offered, and the shame that elicited is so fierce you felt like you’d shrunk. This was supposed to be a casual visit, for him to see how the filming was going and instead you made him feel the need to step in and clean up the mess.

“No,” you said, firm, immediate, vehement. He frowned down at you. “We’ll come up with something. Why don’t you two take a seat, we’ll get you some drinks and Anna can go over the ratings and numbers with you.”

Victor seemed to hesitate, still frowning at you, but relented when you mustered up a small but convincing smile for him. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything,” he insisted, because he’s nice like that, before following Goldman and Anna into the small room you’ve converted into an office. You have a small but closed set for the first meeting of the couples, before the crew moves to whatever location has been picked out for the date.

“He’s nicer than he looks,” Homer observed as the two of you watched him leave.

“He’s lovely,” you said miserably. Who would have thought there’d be a day when you said that about Victor? He was still an evil capitalist, but he’s a kind man. 

Homer didn’t get the chance to reply as Jason rushed up to you.

“Okay, so we’re gonna have to sit those two down for a talk, but we don’t have time for that today. We need substitutes,” Jason said, not nearly as panicked as you would expect from a director who had no one to direct. It was admirable, this ability to keep his head even when he hits what looks like a dead end.

“I’ll make some calls.” Reaching into your pocket, your mind ram through your options as your hand closed around your phone.

“I want you to do it,” Jason declared. 

It took you a few seconds to realize you hadn’t misheard. He looked back at you steadily, already resolute in his decision. You looked around, expecting protests, but the staff members only looked eager. 

“…I don’t like this joke,” you said, slowly.

“Good thing it wasn’t one!” Jason returned cheerfully. “Before you turn it down, let me say—please? And don’t go off with the ‘I’m nobody!’ thing. People know who you are.”

“Um.” You really, really didn’t know what to say to him.

“My brother thinks you’re hot,” Homer offered, and Jason beamed at him.

“Okay, we’ll do this. You’re the producer of one of the oldest and most popular shows. You’ve gained more media presence over the last two years. You’re also friends with Kiro and Professor Lucien, so people have been quite curious about you for a while! This is just a fun little thing. Please?” Jason pleaded.

In the spirit of fairness, you took a minute to think about it. It would solve half the problem. And today’s location was a local fair, where the couple got to try out anything they want to, with all the expenses covered by the company. The very thought of stepping in front of the camera left your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t deny the bud of excitement that seemed to have taken root.

In the end, your stomach made the choice for you.

“If you think it’ll be fine, then sure,” you acceded, thoughts filled with stir-fried noodles and holding hands with a faceless person. “But what about the other person?”

“Hmm,” Jason looked in the direction of the office, reminding you that you don’t have all day to decide.

“I could call Gavin and ask if he’s free,” you suggested. People adore him. “Or Lucien?”

Jason nodded as if truly considering it, his gaze sharp on you. “Good choices. What about Victor?”

“Yeah, no. That is a bad idea,” you said at once, without giving it a moment’s thought. This was a dating show, where people go on cute dates and act adorable on camera. The very thought of Victor doing that at all, let alone with you…was something you couldn’t think of because it was ridiculous. And bad for your poor heart.

“It is an excellent idea,” Jason disagreed. You hated to be the bearer of bad news, but this was necessary. You’ve known Victor for a while now, and felt responsible for Jason’s well-being that would inevitably be threatened if he embarks on this particular path.

“He’d never agree to it,” you told him solemnly. The man barely agrees to do interviews; a show like this? Out of the question. “You know who he is, right? He doesn’t have time for this.”

“Why don’t you leave that to me, and go get ready. I’ll go get your man,” Jason said, loud and bright, shooing you in the direction of the dressing rooms. You stood there for another minute, dazed and afraid. What if Victor thought it was your idea?

The horror.

The terror.

“I’m still texting Lucien!” you called after him, voice pitched high in your alarm. Before you could follow Jason to make sure Victor knows you would never suggest this, an arm slid around your shoulder.

“Darling,” Arnold, the head stylist, cooed at you. “I heard the good news.”

“How?” It had been two minutes. People shouldn’t be spreading this without the director’s confirmation.

“Forget the hows. This is your time to shine. Come, we’re going to make that CEO drool,” he proclaimed, shepherding you towards the dressing rooms. “And I can finally do something about this hair!”

“He’s not going to agree.” You were absolutely certain of that, even as your mind continued to conjure cutesy images of you sharing cotton candy with the reticent man. 

Taking a seat at the vanity, you reached for your phone over the cotton pads, watching Arnold’s reflection in the large mirror as he flitted about the small room, picking out different outfits. You hadn’t gotten a chance to check it for a while, and scrolled through your texts swiftly, pausing on a few in particular.

‎

Victor [9:00]: Hello. I’ve got some time off today.

Victor [9:02]: Is it alright if we drop by the set? What time is your lunch break?

Victor [9:20]: You must be busy. I spoke to Anna. I’ll see you later.

Victor [9:25]: Also, good morning.

‎

Oh.

He had actually let you know he’d be dropping in. Taciturn and domineering he may be, but Victor’s quiet consideration often left you glowing with warmth. In comparison, your own clumsiness often left you embarrassed. In this instance, it made you feel doubly determined to do this right.

‎

Y/N [12: 05]: Hi, sorry I missed these. Don’t worry, I’ll get us back on track.

‎

Closing Victor’s chat, you took a moment to consider your options before making your choice.

‎

Y/N [12:07]: Lucien! Are you free?

Lucien [12:15]: Hello. Just wrapped up a lecture. I thought you were going to be shooting today?

Y/N [12:16]: I am. Actually, I had a favour to ask.

‎

You stared down at the screen of your phone, shoulders relaxing as one of the assistants fussed with your hair. Should you wait for Jason before asking him? You knew what the outcome will be, regardless of what you wanted. You’ve always known, always kept your thoughts safe behind a barrier, never letting them spill out in Victor’s presence.

You thought back to his disappointment, and something fragile in your chest tightened.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you prayed to all the powers above that this works out.

‎

Victor [12:18]: Dummy. I’m not worried.

‎

There was a knock at the door as you opened the chat, thrown off but pleased by Victor’s confidence.

“Guys, can I come in?”

It was Jason.

With trembling fingers curling tight, you sat up straighter as he was let in. Your pulse quickens, your emotions jumbling together until your can’t tell them apart. You kept your expectations low. You knew what the answer would be. It couldn’t hurt if you expected it.

You just hoped it wouldn’t change anything. It wasn’t your idea.

“He agreed!” Jason announced with a flourish, and your heart halted its despondent march. “His secretary’s picking up his outfit, they said it won’t take too long. We’ll do his hair and mak—uh, are you okay?”

You swallowed your heart back down. “He said yes.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, stretching out his answer, nodding as Arnold thrust an outfit at him. 

“And he…knows it’s with…me?” you asked carefully.

Jason’s brows climbed a notch higher. “Yes, of course.” His eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t quite read.

“Right, right. That’s great! Fantastic. Wonderful,” you said admittedly weakly, turning your gaze back to your reflection. The colour seemed to have drained from your skin, and you ignored the concerned glance exchanged by Jason and Arnold.

“___, hey,” Jason began gently, coming up to stand behind your chair. “Are you okay with this?”

You studied his worried expression, thoughts turning inward. You shifted aside the panic, the disbelief, the prickling nerves, and shushed the sparks of excitement.

A date with Victor.

It sounded wonderful. But the problem was never about you not wanting it. It was that you’ve wanted it for so long and so badly. Could you really have this?

“It’s okay to say no. It’s just…I don’t think it’ll be as awful as you think,” Jason said. His brow furrowed as the lines of your face smoothed out.

Oh.

“It’s for the camera,” you remembered, and Jason hummed thoughtfully. Regardless of what he may think of you, Victor wouldn’t let it show on the screen. You knew he was aware of what the show entails. So, perhaps, you could have this. It was for work. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.”

Your breath evened out from its shallow state, and you smiled up at Jason, who still looked concerned.

“It’ll be okay.” Your phone buzzed again, and you gathered yourself once more.

‎

Lucien [12: 23]: What can I do for you?

Victor [12:24]: And I look forward to working with you.

‎

It wouldn’t be real.

Telling yourself it wouldn’t be real was easy.

Sitting next to Victor, your high stools positioned close together as you tried to keep your thoughts away from dangerous paths, was not easy. But the light notes of his scent, sandalwood and myrrh if your nose hadn’t led you astray, threatened to lull you into a state of near-intoxication.

Jason had wanted to film the ‘first meeting’ and, for the sake of authenticity, decided to have Victor wait in front of the camera while you got to be the one to walk in. Which meant it was straight from the dressing room to the set. While you were thankful you wouldn’t be filmed drooling on camera, it still meant you wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him until after, or in between takes.

You were a lot more grateful for the arrangement when you did walk to the set, because the sight of Victor—clad in a slim-fit black shirt, paired with a dark grey jacket and black pants that stretched deliciously over his muscled thighs—stopped you dead in your tracks, your thoughts wiped blissfully clean.

The look on his face, bright under the studio lights, had been unreadable, but it didn’t look like his usual unimpressed poker face, so you decided to take it as not quite a win, but not a loss either. Then the small upturn of the corners of his lips, however, threatened to overload your system, prompting you to avert your gaze slightly as you walked to him, for fear of losing yourself.

Your hi had been shyer than intended, but his hello had been the gentlest you had ever heard it.

And then he handed you a bouquet of red, fragrant roses and you felt yourself grow weak.

It was a short take, where you both introduced yourselves, and discussed where you’d be going for the date.

“Do you like fairs?” he’d asked, gaze intent as if your answer was of the utmost importance.

“I love them,” you’d answered, meaning it completely, and he’d looked glad.

Even through the wild beating of your heart, you had managed to feel impressed. He was doing wonderfully already. Who knew Victor had these acting skills? Hopefully, he thought the same of you. You weren’t acting, though, and this, you were quickly realizing, could be a wonderful way to lift the lid off the pot just a little, and let your real feelings shine through.

You would be filming the individual, interview type scenes last, after the date.

With the first meeting done, with Jason going over the take to make sure he had everything he needed, you would be moving to the location soon. But first-

You looked around quickly, covering your mic and making sure nobody was paying too much attention to you, before turning to Victor—only to nearly jump in fright when you met his eyes. How he’d known you wanted to talk, you’d never know. His own eyes had widened when you’d turned around all of a sudden, the tips of his ears reddening slightly. He had probably been startled by your reaction.

“Hi,” you whispered, grinning up at him, and his lips twitched as he covered his mic.

“You’re doing well,” Victor told you, giving you a firm nod, and you couldn’t quite keep from beaming at him.

“Thanks, you too. I never knew you were hiding such a skilled actor in there!” You really meant it, but your words gave him pause, mouth opening and closing as he considered his response. Strange, as modesty was something he didn’t often bother with. Not to say he’s arrogant, just that he knew his strengths.

“…thank you,” he finally said. “You too. I didn’t know you could…act.”

Because you weren’t acting. The blushing, the shy giggling, the warmth buzzing through you, they were painfully real.

You shrugged, smiling slightly, and he looked away.

“Just…thank you, Victor,” you murmured. “I know this isn’t really your thing. But I promise I’ll do my best to make it enjoyable.”

The light, airy sound that escaped his mouth could almost be a laugh. He did shoot you a small smirk, facing you once more. “Well, you’re not wrong. But it can’t be too bad. I’ve heard they’ve got good street food.”

“Good street food,” you repeated blankly. Wasn’t he taking this acting thing too far? This was bordering on alarming, coming from the man who used to look down on you for eating instant noodles.

“Yes.” He looks at you as if daring you to argue, and, well, who are you to argue with an actor’s method? 

His smile faded slightly as yours widened, eyes fixating on yours, your voice pitching higher in your excitement. “I know, yeah, great food. Literally the only reason I agreed to do this!”

Victor’s face shutters at that, his lips pressing tightly together. “Hm.” He turned back to face the camera, leaving you confused, before realisation dawned.

“Hey, don’t worry! I won’t be too much of a glutton, we’ll be on camera, after all,” you told him, as reassuringly as possible because you and good food were a dangerous combo.

He arched a sharp brow at you. “We’ll see about that. I may spend most of my time in kitchen, but Mr Mills has much to tell me about some of your reactions.”

It was only through the sheer power of your offence that you were able to scowl at him even with the heat flaring up in your cheeks. “Well, there’s no way the food there will be as good as the one in Souvenir, so we have nothing to worry about.”

You resisted the urge to cross your arms, keeping your hands neatly folded in your lap as you turned away from him. But when he said nothing for a whole minute, you couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek, only to be left with your jaw slack.

Victor was still facing forward, but the corners of his mouth seemed to be curling up despite the effort he was clearly putting into keeping them neutral, his tiny smile still managing to spill through the seams. It enraptured you, a willing captive to the sight of him so pleased, and you wondered if you could make it through this with your heart intact.

But then, you told yourself through your daze, any chef would be happy to receive such praise for their food.

[video]

hopefully, yours, episode 3, part 1: Introductions (Victor and Y/n)

450,569 views  •  Feb 8th, 2020

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JTV ✓

1.19M subscribers 

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51,509 comments

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Jason P ✓ 

pinned comment

This is a special one guys ♡

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needwater 45 minutes ego

AM I HALLUCINATING OR IS VICTOR LI ACTUALLY ON A DATING SHOW?

            view 50 replies

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somsom 23 minutes ago

omg it’s y/n! We rarely get to see her on TV. She’s so cute!!!!

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orangeismycolour 16 minutes ago

!!!! Victor and Y/n!!! Omg ever since I saw them attend the Loveland gala together last year, I knew there was something there!! 

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tooktiktook 8 minutes ago

um. isn’t this kind of an odd combo?

    cheribb 5 minutes ago

    @tooktiktok I thought so too but they look pretty cute together. I mean…he totally blushed when he saw her! And his eyes went so soft!

      tooktiktok 4 minutes ago

      @cheribb Well, she seems sweet but I think he was just being nice.

By the time you were shuffled into a van and driven to the site of the fair, your nerves had mostly settled.

Of course, that may have had something to do with the pudding cup Victor had handed you once you were in your seats. Goldman had brought over a paper bag, with Victor plucking two cups from it like a magician with a hat. With that said, while it’s a trick you’ve seen many a time, it never fails to bring a sparkle to your eye.

With Arnold’s permission, you were more than happy to dig right in. Your makeup would have to be retouched once you got there even if you didn’t eat.

It was easy to relax in the steady familiarity of Victor’s presence. A dangerous notion, your unwavering faith in Victor, that dictated everything would be okay if he was there because he would either make it so, or you, with confidence half-drawn from him, would make sure of it yourself.

It was only once you were halfway through the treat, humming and wiggling in your joy, that you realized Victor hadn’t started on his. Rather, his eyes were fixed firmly on you, intent in observing your devouring of the pudding.

The next bite went down a little heavier as you turned to him.

“Is something wrong?” Your enthusiasm surely couldn’t have come as a surprise.

He hesitated, seemingly on the verge of saying something, before clearing his throat and looking out he the window at the slow-moving traffic.

“No. Just…eat slowly,” he muttered, refusing to look at you. You squint at him, at the pink creeping up the back of his neck, sucking on the spoon thoughtfully. “There’s no need to rush.”

“Sorry. I got a little too excited.” Your laugh is a little hollow, and you muffle it with another mouthful of the soft, sweet dessert, missing his quick glance back at you.

He sighed, sudden and a little ragged.

“No, I meant that you should take your time and savour it,” he told you, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “I can make it for you anytime, so there will be many more chances in the future.”

The next spoonful remained frozen by your mouth as you struggled to process his words. Warm fingers came to rest against the back of your hand, guiding it, and the spoon, to your lips. Your skin tingled, but what was more damning was the way he held your gaze as your lips parted, the metal spoon warm against your tongue as you tasted the sweet delicacy.

It felt all the more sweeter, however, because of the little smile dancing across Victor’s lips.

You were rescued from attempting to respond to that by the van slowing to a stop, with Jason and Homer climbing in before they got moving again. Homer would be the one following you around the fair, as they only needed to get a few takes of you indulging in various activities.

“We absolutely need one with the ferris wheel, of course. A little cliched, but still damn cute. Maybe we can fix a camera in the cabin…” Jason trailed off, turning to Homer for his input. “If you think it’ll be better without you there.”

‘How would it be better without Homer there?’ you wanted to protest. ‘I’ll screw it up if left to my own devices! Professional environment aside, that’s a little too romantic!’

Something prickled at the back of your neck, and you realized Victor seemed to be trying to get your attention, albeit in a very silent way you probably wouldn’t have caught on to if you hadn’t spent so much time studying him.

He said nothing even when you met his gaze, but a reassuring warmth calmed you all the same. I’ll be there, he seemed to say. Trust me.

You were worried about the romantic atmosphere getting to your head, but surely Victor, the ultimate voice of reason, wouldn’t let you get carried away?

“Okay, we won’t crowd you guys too much, but remember to avoid turning away from the camera!”

That had been the last thing Jason said to you both before he retreated to his place behind Homer, who was ready with the camera propped over his shoulder. Your mics were affixed to your clothes, and people were already beginning to shoot curious looks your way. It wasn’t an uncommon sight; many vloggers and people working for food channels could often be found in places like these, flitting about with their cameras out as they partook in the activities available.

While being around cameras was nothing new, it was a little strange to be on the other side of them. Nervousness weighing on your chest, you reminded yourself over and over: be natural, don’t act like a lovesick fool, don’t stare at Victor for too long. Turning to the man himself as Homer adjusted the camera settings, hoping to draw inspiration from his steadfast composure, you could only stare in confusion at the intent way in which he was staring at the entrance to the fair.

Following the trajectory of his gaze, you squinted, hoping to see what had caught his attention. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, with people milling about, the welcoming sign high above their heads bright and welcoming.

“Victor?”

“Hm?”

“Is everything okay?” you asked hesitantly, and he nodded, almost distracted.

“Are we ready?” he asked Homer, who gave him a thumbs up.

Jason grinned at you, winking in what he seemed to think was a discreet manner. “Have fun, you two.”

You couldn’t quite pretend there were no cameras, not with Homer keeping up with you as you began to walk through the entrance arch. Looking at Victor was easier, just to block out the awareness of your companions, of course.

Catching your nervous glances, he inclined his head towards you and made an abortive movement, hand rising and falling midway. His jaw clenched, and then he offered you his arm, elbow bent. 

As your hand curled around his arm, you focused on your vibrant surroundings. A task made more difficult when, after a short pause, you felt him tuck his elbow into his side, the broad span of his shoulders relaxing when you tightened your grip.

“I’ve been meaning to come here for years, but never really got the chance to,” you told Victor, your voice still edged with nervousness. But Victor nodded at you again, the usual stern line of his mouth quirking up, and your mind stuttered, committing itself to memorizing the precious curve of his mouth.

“In that case I’m glad we got to come here together,” he told you, and it took a good deal of effort not to gape at him. “It’s a first for both of us.”

You nodded, stunned by this unforeseen acting prowess. Seemed like you’ve discovered another one of his many talents.

“Hopefully, it’s the first of many,” he added, a smug lilt to his voice, and this time, you did gape.

“Y-yeah,” you answered, face heating up as you turned away for the sake of your dignity. “Hopefully.”

bandanaman @headaccs

are we all seeing this?? he’s such a gentleman!! I was not expecting this man to be smooth. #HopefullyYours

mintmadness @mintsallover

@headaccs HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? He doesn’t even need words, one look and I would be on my knees. #HopefullyYours #VictorLi

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@mintsallover calm yo thirsty ass down lmao

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raspberrydream @berryberry

“the first of many” omg what does he mean????  #HopefullyYours

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freshasnow @crystalmoon

Yeah, I’m not really feeling this. I thought we were going to get Kai and Hollow this week? #HopefullyYours

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teatime ✓ @spillit

For those of you asking, yes, we knew Victor Li and Y/n were going to be on Hopefully, Yours. Don’t worry darlings, we’ll have some quality tea for you soon!  #HopefullyYours

Spotting the first of the food vendors, you both headed over to it, peering at the fresh dumplings. The vendor straightened up at the sight of the camera, a benign smile spreading across his face when you asked him for permission to film, nodding and plating plump, steaming dumplings with the utmost grace.

Gordon, as he introduced himself, was more than happy to talk about his family business, their two restaurants in Loveland, while Homer took close-ups of the dumpling that Victor broke apart for a better look.

“My daughter comes here every year with me, insisting she can handle things by herself, but honestly, I just enjoy coming here,” he chortled, before fixing the two of you with a knowing look. “It’s a completely different atmosphere from the restaurant! And it’s always nice to see sweet young couples such as yourselves. Reminds me of my own fair dates with my wife…”

You couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Victor, who seemed content to chew on his snack. He caught your eyes, before his flickered over your head towards Homer and Jason. Inexplicably, his ears began to tint a deep crimson, as he swallowed with some effort and stepped closer to you.

It began to make sense when he lifted the other half of the dumpling to your lips, Gordon gasping an oh my! in the background, and even as your heart began to race, your eyes widening, you felt…bad. Jason had obviously asked him to do this, and you felt terrible about him having to embarrass himself like this. But he did it, and so you took a small bite of the dumpling, the juicy filling suddenly tasteless on your tongue.

And then there was a soft sensation on your chin, your eyes lifting to see Victor dabbing at your skin with a napkin, the little motion taking all his concentration until he stepped back with a satisfied glint in his eyes, which seemed to linger around your mouth.

When you were unable to do anything more than flush deeply and try to stammer out a thank you, Jason ended the shot.

The glint in Victor’s eyes didn’t fade, and something within you quivered.

raspberrydream @berryberry

he looks like he wants to eat HER  #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

@berryberry I CAN’T BREATHE. I thought he was going to kiss her LOL. And she looked so nervous and then he just wiped her chin THIS IS TOO SOFT I CANT #HopefullyYours 

mintmadness @mintsallover

god I wish that were me #HopefullyYours

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only4food @bananabread

Okay I HAVE TO go to this place. I NEED TO EAT EVERYTHING. Who’s in??

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midnightmachine @musiclover

Gordon knows what’s up. We stan a hard-working man. #HopefullyYours

Things continued in much the same direction. With no signs of reluctance, Victor rolled up his sleeves and dived into the bustle of the fair. And with his hand curled around your wrist, you couldn’t bring yourself to doubt him. You’ve learned to read the signs of his displeasure, subtle and obvious, and they were nowhere to be found. He looked relaxed, trying out mini doughnuts, accompanying you to any shops you want to browse, frowning when you looked longingly at the ring toss.

“Let’s go,” he said, guiding you over to the booth. Well, you were supposed to try out the games too, but you hadn’t thought Victor would agree to play them. It seemed a little too childish for him.

“I haven’t come here in years either,” he told you when you looked at him curiously, the two of you standing in line with Homer right next to you. “I love my job, but I admit it takes up most of my time. I rarely have time to indulge like this.” He paused, as if wanting to say more, but his eyes flicked towards Homer and he ended it there.

While a part of you was startled in by his words, another softened at his truthful admission.

Victor seemed to have thought of something else, giving you a meaningful look. “But, of course, I always make time for the people in my life.”

You blinked, a little taken aback by sudden turn in direction.

“Even if they want to come to places like these, I don’t mind.” Victor seemed to be hinting heavily at something, and you smiled at that, almost excessively fond. Because it’s true that Victor makes time for the people in his life, especially his family. And even for you—he’s there for you, no matter how small the matter might be; huffing and puffing and going out of his way to help you. 

Falling for someone like that, someone who effuses such stoic confidence and noble compassion in equal measure, it was all too easy.

“Then we’ll make sure to come again,” you told him, a wide grin blooming across your face at the thought. It was unlikely that it would actually happen, but it was nice to think about. You stepped up to the cashier, greeting him politely.

You finally got your turns after fifteen minutes, with Homer and Jason taking a quick snack break while you waited. You’d run a quick eye over the prizes available, quickly drawn to two pusheen cat plushies, a soft grey and a dark ebony. You didn’t think he’d judge you on camera, but would it really be okay to admit that’s what you want? The hair pin would be a more sophisticated pick, something more to his tastes. 

Silently despairing over your proclivity for soft cute things, you turned to Victor for his choice.

Only to realize he seemed to have taken his jacket off while you were preoccupied and handed it over to Jason, his thin black t-shirt fitting him like a glove—and your words died a swift death at the back of your throat, shrivelling in the sudden dryness of your mouth. Silhouetted against the light of the late afternoon sun, his features seemed sharper, his gaze keener as he twirled the ring in his hands carefully.

As Homer began to roll the camera, and Victor prepared to toss the ring, you panicked with the realization that he didn’t ask you which prize you wanted like Jason had asked him to.

The ring landed around a bottle with a loud clink, and you hoped the surprise you felt wasn’t clear in your loud cheer. With the look he gave you, you knew he caught it even if others wouldn’t.

And then he handed you the dark pusheen plushy, which you took with trembling fingers and a sheepish smile. “Oh, thank you.” It was exquisitely soft to the touch. “This is the one I wanted.”

“Hm.”

“It looks like you.”

“What-” His head snapped toward you as you laughed, clutching the toy to your chest. Whatever outraged retort he’d been about to spit out was held back as he saw you hugging it contentedly, your eyes twinkling at him. “…I suppose.”

You handed him the toy, rolling your shoulders as you were given the ring. “Which one do you want?”

“I’m fine with anything,” he said, eyes locked on the grey pusheen plushy, the other half of the pair. So it was with a laugh, helpless in the face of his clear yet unspoken demand, that you tossed the ring. You got it on the second try, handing the toy to Victor with a triumphant grin, who took it primly and tucked it into his side.

“Thank you.”

“Isn’t this too childish by your standards?” you teased, unable to help it, but he only smirked down at you, stealing your breath with devastating ease.

“It is. But childish is…nice, sometimes,” he admitted carefully.

Your mind helpfully supplied you with all the instances of him calling you childish. “Oh?”

He shrugged, elegant, one shoulder lifting as he looked back down at the toy, before looking back up at you through dark, half-lidded eyes. “It’s grown on me.”

Kiro ✓ @kiromusic

Wow! This seems like so much fun, I kinda wish I got to go there too! :D @miracley/n invite me next time!!  #HopefullyYours 

Savin @agents

@kiromusic You just want to eat junk. And...well, I guess we can make an exception for today. 

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bandanaman @headaccs

Before I proceed to scream over the clip, I just wanted to let y’all know I did some digging and apparently, they are friends! They’ve been spotted together in public many times, including the Loveland Gala last year. You know what this means. #HopefullyYours

bandanaman @headaccs

THE PUSHEEN TOYS. They won each other toys!! Y/n’s right, that does look like him with the dark fur lmao. BUT. Look at Victor’s heart eyes!! And she looked so happy omg T_T

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs NO WONDER. It seems like they already like each other but it seemed too soon!! They’re so cute omg please date!! #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

@berryberry With how they look at each other? I smell pining ;) I’ve compiled a list of all their public appearances. He even took her to Souvenir! How are they not dating????

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs DM ME!!!!

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@headaccs I feel like that’s a bit of a reach. They certainly seem comfortable with each other, but that could easily just be friendship, which is nice too. I feel like we should allow people to be friends instead of just shipping them.

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mintmadness @mintsallover

@hotsauce they’re on a dating show, though.

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@mintsallover yeah but plenty of other ‘couples’ were just friends or went on to be good friends. I just think these two are comfortable with each other, which is probably a good thing because Victor doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who can have fun with just anyone, you know?

You ended up having a lot more fun than you thought you would. Victor was always great company, but you could tell he’d tried his best to relax for the show and you didn’t know how to thank him for it. The warm gratitude bubbled up at the base of your throat, your heart sinking deeper into the ocean of affection you already held for him.

He’s so kind. His aloof demeanour, his nagging, his precise instructions and advice were things you’ve come to appreciate. But beyond those lies a heart so caring, so considerate, it made you yearn so deeply, to find yourself a place in it. But Victor had come to treat you as a friend and you could never ruin that because of your own feelings. It was precious, his friendship, and you wanted to treat it as such.

The line you’d drawn with so much care seemed to be straining, however, ever since you found out you would be riding the ferris wheel together, without Homer.

“The people in charge told us if we could just wait until closing time, they could keep things going until we’re done shooting!” Jason had told you as he briefed everyone. A bunch of the crew had left after packing up, as this would be the last take for the day. “That way Homer can fix the lighting and equipment in the cabin and won’t need to join you two! Give you some privacy, yeah?”

‘For what,’ you’d screamed internally, nodding along with a smile on the outside.

 Looking to Victor for his opinion had been futile, because he seemed to have withdrawn into his own head, looking up at the ferris wheel absently. You were supposed to shoot the individual parts, but with how late it had gotten, Jason had asked the two of you to drop by the studio the next day. Only, you had a free slot in the morning while Victor would only be able to make it sometime during the late afternoon.

So you wouldn’t get to see what Victor said about you. That was perfectly fine. Things had gone well, and Victor wasn’t the sort to badmouth someone anyway.

It was supposed to be his day off. And he gave it up to participate in a show that was, for all intents and purposes, pointless for him. You felt terrible, heart aching at the thought that once again you had made him waste his time.

How on earth did Jason even get him to agree to this?

“You’re thinking something ridiculous,” came a low voice, and Victor seemed to have come back from his mental journey.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, the guilt getting to you.

“For what?” He seemed genuinely baffled, and it made you feel worse.

“For this entire day. You just came for a visit and now it’s after 8 pm and your day off is gone and you rarely get free time…” your shameful rambling tapered off as the furrow between his brows appeared to grow deeper and deeper.

His response was interrupted by a staff member, who came to let you know the ride was ready for you two. Walking together in complete silence, you wondered what he was about to say.

“Do you regret it?”

You arrived at the ride, and Victor had stopped in front of the open door. “What?”

“Do you regret it?” he repeated patiently, holding his hand out to you. “This entire day. Our date.”

Our date.

It was silly, how him calling it a date, with no cameras in sight, seemed to affect you so deeply. It was ridiculous but it was so real, how your heart fluttered and hope unfurled in the garden where you’ve buried your affection.

“Because I’m not sorry,” he added when you failed to do anything other than flush horribly. There was a question in his gaze, one you didn’t know how to answer, so with a deep breath, you focused on the one he’d asked out loud.

“No,” you said softly, your hand coming to rest over his as he helped you into the cabin. “I don’t regret it.”

How could you, when he was everything you wanted?

You settled on the plastic bench, watching Homer fiddle with the settings and light, making sure the camera’s fixed in place, basking in the heat emanating from Victor.

“Alright, that should work. You guys ready?” he asked.

“Yeah!”

“Yes.”

Homer stepped back to let Jason poke his head through the door. “We’re all set guys. Just call us if there are any problems. Be yourselves, don’t worry about the take. And remember, make sure to make it as romantic as possible!”

As the door closed behind him, with the camera rolling, silence rose to take the place of the sounds now cut off, the rest of the world falling away as the ride began and you began to ascend.

Outside the window, the stars shone in a twinkling blanket across the night sky, and Victor’s arm pressed into yours. Meeting his eyes was difficult, astoundingly so after the entire day you spent together.

This close, it would be so easy to let the words tumble from your lips. You didn’t know what your eyes could give away right now, and you were just as afraid of the softness in his gaze.

It looked too real.

“I’m glad we finally got some peace,” he muttered, and just like that a bright laugh broke out through your fear.

“This was not your kind of place at all, was it?” you said, snickering at the look he threw your way, because it’s so easy to make him huff like that.

“It was…lively,” he said, glaring at you as you stifle your smile behind your hand. “Exactly the kind of place you enjoy.”

“That’s true.”

“Then that’s that.” He shifted a little, trying to face you, his knee knocking into yours. “As long as you had fun, we’ll come again.”

Despite your warnings, your heart skipped a beat.

You tried to laugh it off, changing the subject to your childhoods, swapping lighter stories and carefully avoiding the heartbreaks. Your hands moved somewhere in between, in the dim lights, and your fingers had found each other’s. Make it romantic, Jason had said. That was the only reason. You talked about work, about Miracle Finder, about his public projects, how your busy lives don’t give you the chance to find love.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Victor cut in, still looking at you in that quietly dangerous away, his gaze a heated cloak over your skin.

You stilled. “You wouldn’t?” There was a tremor in your voice, one you hoped went unnoticed.

“I think, regardless of how busy we are, however reluctant…love finds us when it has to,” he said, his voice deep, unwavering, and you forgot how to breathe. Somehow, despite doing your best to avoid it, you had wound up on the proverbial cliff’s edge.  

And it was time to take a leap.

“Victor...have you ever been in love?” you asked, part of you ready for his outrage, for him to brush it off with a roll of his eyes, and the other curling up in fear at the thought of the answer he might really give you.

He hummed, tightening his grip on your hand when you tried to tug it back, searching your face. His thumb swept over your knuckles, rubbing gently, and you wondered if he was preparing you for heartbreak.

“Yes. I have.”

Kiki @kikiki

@smilingwillow WHAT THE FUCK

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Anna @miracletv

@kikiki Language.

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Kiki @kikiki

‎@miracletv did you see the episode?? im going to collapse WHERE IS BOSS @miracley/n

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raspberrydream @berryberry

DID HE JUST???? OH MY GOD @headaccs DID YOU SEE THIS? ARE YOU OKAY? #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

THIS MAD LAD ACTUALLY DID IT. @berryberry I will never recover from this #HopefullyYours

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@headaccs @berryberry He just said he’s been in love before. He didn’t say he’s in love with her lol

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@hotsauce what will it take for you to finally see the light

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mintmadness @mintsallover

I could listen to this man talk all day. Y/n, you’re one lucky girl <3 #HopefullyYours

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cocoloco @chocolatedelite

I’m late to the party but lmao at everyone freaking out. Uhhh honestly I’m not sure. These things are usually scripted. They could just be faking it. #HopefullyYours

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@chocolatedelite Thank you!!!!

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victorshoe @mrsli

My heart is broken but their cuteness has mended it. I’ll give them my blessings. #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

oh thank god they just uploaded the individual bits!!! THANK YOU @jtv

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bandanaman @headaccs 

...wait 

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raspberrydream @berryberry

‎‎omfg

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bandanaman @headaccs

????? IS THAT IT??? COME BACK @jtv that can't be it!! 

Thank you for reading! 

MC/You: it’s a fake date. chill. 

Victor: Goldman I need NINE roses and an outfit that makes me look like a sex god I HAVE A DATE

[oloreaa]

Vencuyanir Ch. 6 - The Departure

Summary: Elana runs out of time to protect Bean as they depart Arvala-7

Words: 6.2k

Warnings: References to canon-typical violence, hints of unresolved trauma, discussion of grief, worry about the safety/future of own children, anxiety/mental breakdown

Notes: Hello there :) big thanks to both @mndalorians and @teaofpeach for looking over the first and second draft respectively, I love you both so much and thank you for all your help!! 

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After a short period where Elana and Bean delved into their bond, simply feeling the other's presence after nothing but silence for so long, Bean started to become fussy. He wanted to move around, to make up for the days of lying still in the pram, and started to become a little bright bundle of energy that Elana sat down on the ground. She watched him like a hawk as he took off, stumbling and heading towards some rocks, picking them up, throwing them, running some. Repeat. 

Squeaking as some mudjumpers started to appear, he began to chase after them, giggling happily. He played for several hours, always under the watchful gaze of his caretaker, catching up on movement he had missed the last few days, brimming with energy.

Elana leant against a rock and simply rested, feeling completely at peace for the first time since the Mandalorian appeared in their lives.

Speak of the devil.

"He's all right?" the Mandalorian suddenly asked and she flinched, not having seen him coming. Automatically tensing up, her heart started to race, fear paralysing her limbs, and dug her nails into her palm, the sting sharp. She turned her head, and saw that his gaze was fixed on the child, his shoulders relaxed.

"Seems that way," she chose to reply carefully, barely hiding the tremble in her voice, "He worked up quite an appetite."

"Won't he choke on the mudjumper?"

"He has done it often enough. Also, I fed him a few hours ago, he is probably only playing with them."

The Mandalorian scoffed, shaking his head slightly. There was a silence between them, and in that moment, between the sun setting, casting long shadows that contrasted with the beautiful sky and the rugged mountain line, it was almost comfortable. It was a pity, Elana thought. The Mandalorian seemed like a decent person half the time. 

Decent enough for a bounty hunter, at least.

"We're going to Nevarro, right?" Elana asked, almost absentmindedly. He turned his helmet towards her, and gave a sharp nod without saying anything. "You'll get your reward, and they'll get Bean," she continued, not really looking at anything, "Do you know what will happen to me?"

It was a genuine question. Would she go with Bean? Would they even let her stay? Would she be stranded on Nevarro? Would the Mandalorian keep her? Elana felt a shiver run down her back at the last thought, and she barely resisted the urge to scoot away from him.

"I don't know," he said haltingly, "You're not the bounty."

She did not know how to respond to that, so she settled on watching Bean, exhaling slowly. He did the same, and again Elana got the feeling that he could actually be rather nice to be around if he was not a bounty hunter. But what did it matter? Her thoughts were running at hyper speed levels, and every possible scenario played out in her head. He could help them escape. That was unlikely though, since he had gone through all that trouble to secure them. The Mandalorian cleared his throat after a while, and straightened, taking a step away from her.

"The Crest will be finished soon," he said, "We will depart tomorrow."

"All right," she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice. The sun was disappearing behind the rough mountain ranges, and dusk started to settle in.

"I'm glad Bean woke up," he then added in a low voice as he started to walk away, "I'm sorry about the Mudhorn."

Elana stared after him as he made his way to Kuiil, something like hope starting to bloom in her chest.

Bean. 

He used Bean's name. 

Not quarry, not it, not the baby.

Bean.

Maybe, just maybe... the Mandalorian was starting to become attached to them.

Elana picked Bean up, who did a great job at protesting, wanting to chase some more mudjumpers, and tilted him onto her chest. "We'll go to them, all right?" Elana murmured to him, bopping Bean once, a giggle escaping him at the movement, "It's gonna be really dark soon."

The sun was setting on Arvala-7, the scorching heat dissipating, and the unexpectedly cold breeze made goosebumps appear on her skin. Suppressing a shiver and the urge to rub at her arms, Elana straightened her posture even more, pushing her shoulders back as she sat down near Kuiil's heater, where a pot of stew was currently being warmed up on a portable stove.

The Ugnaught gave her and Bean a smile, as he slowly stirred, reaching for a small shaker and adding a few dried herbs to it. Looking up into the night sky, she soaked in the view, knowing that it was probably the last night she would be on Arvala-7. The galaxy above them was becoming more and more visible, so clear that it seemed as if the atmosphere around the desert planet did not even exist. With no clouds on the horizon and no light pollution from the inhabitants there was nothing that inhibited the view of the star-speckled sky.

It was weird, Elana thought. To think that she would leave the planet she had been trapped on for so many months. But each time she had thought it would be different. She always thought that she could maybe save enough of the meagre wage the Niktos gave her. That she would be able to convince someone to help her and Bean get off the planet. Or an elaborate escape plan, something that included taming a wild blurrg and heading to the first settlement she found, like those old Empire-approved holomovies she and her friends used to go to cinemas to watch, celebrating another week of school finished.

But it was nothing like that. Her departure from Arvala-7 would be unceremonious and undignified, and the fact that she could not know how long Bean would still be with her left a bitter taste in her mouth. Elana held the baby a bit closer at that thought, a shiver running down her back.

Should she be counting the days she still had with him? 

Should she be hugging him at every chance, feeling the comforting weight of the baby in her arms, relishing in the way he snuggled up to her, the tickling fuzz on his head, his soft ears? Bean's sweet noises when he was happy, the way his eyes would light up, a smile on his chubby face? Elana felt tears starting to rise as she thought about how she might very soon not be able to hear Bean wheezing softly and snoring at night, lying peacefully on his back, tiny hand wrapped around the soft blanket he adored. Blinking fast, and tilting her head upwards, she pretended to be watching the stars as Kuiil hummed and stirred the stew.

If she had to be honest, she was not in the mood for any company that night. She had not been ever since the Mandalorian appeared in their lives but in that moment, especially that night, Elana wanted nothing more than to be able to lock herself into a closed room, Bean safe in his pram and just give herself time to grieve for what was about to come.

Even if she was starting to feel the freezing cold of the night, she did not want to move closer to the heater, did not want to feel obligated to say anything in company. Bean made a small distressed noise, and looked up at her. His dark eyes were wide and he started to point at the heater.

The mental impression of warmth pressed against her, and a fuzzy picture of him and her near the device was clumsily put into her mind. Elana frowned and told him no quietly. 

I don't want to talk to them, she sent as an explanation, I'm unhappy with them, I don't want to be here.

Bean's ears drooped, and he frowned right back. An image slammed into her mind, of her from his point of view, hunched into herself, shivering. Elana stared at him, eyes wide. He wants me to be warm, she realised, and could not help the touched smile that flitted across her face.

"All right", she murmured, an arm snaking under the little bottom of the child, holding him securely, and scooted closer. 

Settling down near the others, Elana ignored how the helmet of the Mandalorian turned towards her, the beskar reflecting the light. Kuiil was gazing at her kindly, and smiled. "Do you want something to eat?" Kuiil asked.

She accepted quietly with a nod, and smiled back. A small bowl with the stew was given to her, a spoon already sticking in it, and Elana blew on it carefully before tasting it.

It was fine enough, so she blew some more and fed it to Bean. He chomped down on the spoon with a loud click of his teeth, making her chuckle at that. Sharing the meal between them, it did not take long until the stew was finished.

The Mandalorian was fiddling with his vambrace, seemingly fixing some of the wiring in the low light, probably waiting for them to be done so he could eat himself. Maybe her nagging had gone through his thick skull. Elana still does not know why she cared so much, but out here? Other than Kuill? He was their enemy and safest ally at the same time, and the logistics made her head hurt the longer she thought about it. Elana wondered why he did not just go into the almost finished ship, but figured that it was purely his business and it was not as if it was important to her.

Bean babbled happily to himself, his little claws scratching at her arms in a gentle manner, and she pressed a kiss onto the top of his head, soaking up the warmth the little child has to offer, feeling pure love across the bond with a soft sigh. The cold was starting to become uncomfortable at this point, but she felt too self-conscious to try to scoot even closer to the device.

Bean started to squeak at her, almost indignantly, before he stilled. Turning his head towards her, eyes wide, he gave an almost comical shiver. Elana squinted down at him, the corner of her mouth curving up.

He shivered again, holding eye contact, eyes big and watery. "Are you for real?" Elana asked, highly suspicious, a smile creeping on her face.

Bean basically started to vibrate, ears flopping up and down while shivering as dramatically as possible. She could not help the quiet laughter that escaped her. "All right, sweetpea," she told him, giggling while stroking his cheek affectionately, "You're a good actor, I know."

His eyes started to shine, and a low "aaah" escaped him, clearly happy that his plan is working. Elana scooted closer to the fire, still smiling, not missing how the two others have their heads turned towards her, clearly having been watching them both.

"The child is cunning for his young age," the Ugnaught said, voice level, kind eyes twinkling at her.

"I think he is cold," she replied, her smile almost playful, and nudged the little one, who gave a coo.

The Ugnaught nodded, and looked at the green child. "You are a smart one," he told Bean, "Able to recognize what others need." Bean cooed and tilted his head at Kuiil, ears held up high, before snuggling into Elana's chest again.

You're the sweetest, best behaving, most wonderful baby ever, Elana thought at Bean, scratching his back in a circular motion, and it was not long before the combination of having a full belly and being held by her lulled him to sleep. Even though there were not many words exchanged, the atmosphere was almost comfortable, no tension in the air.

"I will return to my home now," Kuiil said after a while, and stood up with a grunt, "I have spoken." Raising a hand in a wave, he gathered what he needed, and mounted the blurrg that had been tied to a rock formation. As he patted the side of the blurrg several times, he called out: "I bid you all goodnight."

The Mandalorian nodded, and she did the same as well. "Do you want to eat the rest?" Elana asked after a while, pointing at the leftover stew. 

"Later.”

Elana raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll go into the Crest," he said, almost defensively.

"Do it before the stew turns cold," Elana told him, adjusting Bean on her lap, his limbs akimbo while he cooed in his sleep.

The Mandalorian just sighed, before helping himself to the food. With a full bowl in his hand, he turned, gave her a nod which she chose to interpret as thankfulness, and started to walk towards the Razor Crest.

Gathering one of the blankets and the sleeping roll that Kuiil had left for them, Elana made herself comfortable on the ground, the motion practised after a few nights out there. There was no one out here other than blurrgs and lizards, and they had stayed away the last few nights, so she figured that it would not change. Putting Bean into his pram, maneuvering her roll close to him, she lied down and stared at the lamp in the middle of the camping site.

Elana did not know how much time passed before the Mandalorian's steps sounded again, but she closed her eyes and pretended that she was asleep. She heard him getting closer to them, and he stopped at Bean's pram. After a while, he pressed the button, and the pod slid shut.

Not knowing what to think of it, it took a while until Elana could fall asleep.

  The next morning, they readied everything for departure. 

With an approving nod, Kuiil declared the Razor Crest safe for deep space and hyperspeed. The Mandalorian gave a relieved sigh at those words, and it was only a reminder of how time was running out, how it would not be long until he would hand them over to his client.

The bounty hunter cuffed Elana to the pram for the first time in days when he and Kuiil went into the ship for a final inspection before takeoff. Fuming on the ramp of the Razor Crest, worry and fear churning in her stomach, she stared hard at the horizon, trying to take in the way Arvala-7 looked like. It was unlikely that she would ever return again, and even if she did not always enjoy life here, she would not have met Bean without landing on this planet. Bean was the most important thing for Elana right now, and she would do everything for him, anything, trying to keep him safe. 

He was still snoring, the golden light of the sunrise illuminating his face gently, and she hoped that he would not wake up until they are in space, wanting to avoid him being fussy during takeoff, since it could irritate the Mandalorian. Elana would not take any chances.

"I can't thank you enough," she heard him say to Kuiil, "Please allow me to give you a portion of the reward."

Crinkling her nose at those words, she scoffed lightly, nails digging into her palms.

"I cannot accept," Kuiil said, and it did not surprise her. He had helped them for free the entire time, wanting nothing more than to bring peace to his valley. His next words only worsened the sour taste in her mouth. "You are my guest, and I am therefore in your service."

The Mandalorian was quiet for a while, before speaking up again. "I could use a crew member of your ability. And I can pay handsomely," he offered.

"I am honoured. But I have worked a lifetime to finally be free of servitude."

Blinking away furious tears, she stared hard at the ground. If Kuiil can understand the worth of a life free of it, why was he... simply giving Bean up like that? Surrendering an innocent child, just like that?

"I understand," the Mandalorian said, "Then... all I can offer is my thanks."

"And I offer mine."

The Ugnaught was quiet for a few moments, and she felt his gaze on her back, but she refused to turn around. Elana simply straightened, taking a look at the sleeping Bean in his pram.

"Thank you for bringing peace to my valley." It almost sounded as if he was talking to the Mandalorian and her at the same time, and if she pondered on his tone, she thought that she could find a hint of regret in his words. But what did it matter?

Heavy steps sounded as Kuiil descended the ramp, and she stood up the best she could, facing him. "And good luck with the Child," the Ugnaught called from on top of his blurrg, "May it survive and bring you a handsome reward."

The Mandalorian nodded at him, and Kuiil raided a hand in goodbye, old, wise eyes on her, meeting her gaze.

"I have spoken."

Elana clenched her jaw, frown on her face as the ramp raised, cutting off her view from the planet.

"Get up," the Mandalorian said, took off her binders, and pointed towards the ladder. Elana winced at the air that brushed the sensitive ring around her wrists, the skin feeling raw. She climbed, head tucked in low with the new environment, not wanting to bang her body against something, and when Elana arrived in what looked like the cockpit, she quietly inched to the side, letting the Mandalorian step into it as well.

He walked past her, used his vambrace to gently nudge the pram to the right of him, onto a co-pilot's seat. As Elana looked around, there was a symmetrical seat on the left side as well. Sitting down into it, hands in her lap, she watched the Mandalorian as he started to prepare the Razor Crest for takeoff.

Ignoring the whirr of the engine as the ship raised into the sky, and ascended in the atmosphere, she tried to calm her pounding heart and the sinking feeling in her chest. When the ship arrived into orbit of the planet, the warm glow of it slowly fading into the cold and infinite space, Bean woke up. Pushing himself up, and cooing loudly, both adults turned to look at him.

"Morning, Bean," she whispered, and gave him a shaky smile. His eyes went huge as he took in the viewport speckled with stars.

The Mandalorian shifted in his seat, pulled at a lever, and they entered hyperspace. Elana stared at the tunnel of swirling lights, heart beating fast in her chest. It had been so long since she had last seen this...

Bean made a loud squeak, eyes bright as he took in the new sight. Pointing excitedly at the lights, she felt a Pretty! coming from him. 

The Mandalorian turned around, took a look at the babbling baby, and gave something like a huff of amusement. Bean squealed happily, and made grabby hands towards the blue swirling tunnel, little body wriggling as his ears were raised high. Smiling at the sight, Elana subtly took a deep breath, feeling the claw around her heart easing slightly. Only slightly, though.

  They stayed in the cockpit for a few hours, not a word passing between them, the only noises coming from Bean.

Elana wondered whether the Mandalorian would play music, or put on a podcast, or watch a holomovie, anything that she herself would have probably done, but he just stared into the hyperspace tunnel, not moving an inch, with no indicator that he would do anything else.

Maybe he's meditating. Elana tried to find an explanation for why someone would choose to pass the time in hyperspace like that. Or he is sleeping, resting his eyes, whatever.

Because there was no way the Mandalorian simply stared into space for hours at an end without doing anything.

... right?

At some point, the Mandalorian started to fiddle with the sleep cycle on the console of the ship.

"You and the baby can go down for rations," he said. Flinching at the first words that were spoken in hours, she had to calm her fast beating heart. He’s just saying something normal. Not threatening, Elana told herself, and offered a quiet "okay" in response.

Looking over to Bean, she saw that he was chewing on his blanket, and she stood up and gently took it out of his mouth. "Come on," she told him, "We're gonna eat."

Scooping him up, ignoring the slight pang her wrists gave, the skin red and raw after many days of constantly wearing the cuffs, Elana turned to the Mandalorian. "Do you want something as well?"

He was quiet, before saying: "I'll be fine."

Elana blinked in confusion, but walked towards the closed door of the cockpit. It suddenly opened with a hiss, making her jump. When she turned her head to shoot a glare at the Mandalorian, his helmet was still in the same position, the blue light of hyperspace reflecting off it.

He did that on purpose, that bastard, she thought viciously, hiding a grimace.

Setting Bean down, before climbing halfway into the hull, Elana propped her upper body against the ladder so she could grab the baby, nestling him against her shoulder. 

With a slight struggle, she got both of them down safely, and looked around the hull, her wrists burned fiercely. Spotting a cabinet on the side where there could be rations, she pressed the button next to the ladder.

When it opened to a drawer full of weapons, she could not help but sneer. He seemed to be a tough enough adversary without all those ridiculous guns he had organised so neatly inside the drawer.

What was it again? He's a Mandalorian, weapons are part of his religion. Elana scoffed quietly, and muttered "Nutjob" under her breath. Bean cooed curiously, reaching a hand out to the drawer. She balked at that. "Don't even think about it, honey," she scolded him, and quickly pressed the same button so the door would shut, "You're too young for this violent nonsense, you hear me?" 

Pressing another button after carefully inspecting it, it seemed to be the right one, filled with packaged ration bars organised in some compartments. With a raised brow, she took in the contents, and started mentally filing away the different types of bars he seemed to have. Apparently he cared enough to upkeep a variety of selection, and with a smile she saw with a smile that he had those that the encampment had as well, those that Bean loved.

She fished that bar out, and showed it to the baby, who made a happy noise as he recognised the packaging. Bean promptly pointed at in expectantly, waiting for her to open the bar for him.

Elana nuzzled the side of his head with a fond smile. "Yeah, honey, give me a moment," she said, before taking out two random ration bars, and closing the closet. 

Seeing an open cubicle, she sat Bean into it, and pointed at him sternly. "You stay here, I'll be back in a minute, okay?" Bean just looked up at her with big dark eyes, and gave her a gummy smile.

Opening the packet for him so he could chew on it, she left the little one in the cubicle, and pulled herself up into the upper level of the Razor Crest. Clenching the ration bar in her hand, she entered the cockpit, and put it onto the console. “Here,” she said quietly.

The Mandalorian's helmet snapped to her. "Thank you," he said hesitantly, "That's... very thoughtful of you."

Elana clenched her jaw and looked down, already regretting this. "You're welcome," she whispered, before turning, preparing to leave.

"Why are you like this?" the Mandalorian suddenly asked.

She did not turn around, her nails digging into her palms, it hurt, but she could not bring herself to unclench her fist.

"Why are you so…" kind? Was that what he wanted to say?

The Mandalorian never finished the sentence, but the question lingered in the air. She felt her ribcage pressing in, her breath escaping her, heart thrumming against her sternum, and did not know how to respond. The words bubbled up and pressed against her throat, almost painful, and even as she swallowed, the pressure did not disappear, continued to hurt as she stared at him with burning eyes.

Because the universe has not been kind to me. 

Because even though she had lived a fairly privileged life, she had to see her planet's destruction on a newscast. Because she had lost everyone she ever knew in a blink of an eye, stranded on a foreign planet where no one showed her kindness when she needed it.

She wanted to say everything and some more.

Because no matter what, kindness costs nothing and is worth everything. Because even though you're our captor, you are decent enough for not hurting Bean, for not doing worse to me.

"I don't know," was the only thing she could manage, staring into the blank visor, feeling everything and nothing at the same time, body numb. She took a step back, then another, before fleeing the cockpit, feeling her eyes burn fiercely as his gaze lingered on her, almost intense enough to scorch. 

Dropping down into the hull again, choking down her heavy breaths from the confrontation, hands shaking and limbs trembling, she was greeted with the sight of Bean standing in front of the open weapon drawer. A ration bar was in his hand as he chewed slowly.

"Bean!" Elana admonished, hands on her hips as she watched him turn around slowly, ears flattening against his head as he realised that he had been caught.

He gave a coo at her, his dark eyes wide as if trying to appeal at her maternal instincts with acting cute. And damn it, it is working.

"You're in big trouble if I see you doing that again, you understand?" Elana told him sternly, trying to get her emotions under control, "It's dangerous! Those are not toys, those can hurt you if you touch the wrong parts."

His lower lip wobbled, and he looked up at her, eyes heartbroken. She scooped him up, and stepped closer to the drawer. Pointing to the various things mounted in there, she explained. "Those are blasters, they'll shoot a laser bolt out of the parts there, you see? It hurts a lot when you're shot with it, so stay away from them, okay?"

Bean blinked up at her again, and then ate the last bite of the ration bar, gurgling. Elana sighed, before closing the drawer. Taking a look around the hull, she sighed again. "Now, where are we supposed to sleep? You don't suppose on the floor, right?" Elana asked Bean, who did not give an answer. Not that she expected him to. 

She started to carefully explore the ship to avoid thinking of the bounty hunter, holding Bean tightly so he would not even get the idea of going off on his own again. Elana took note of the different crates, the nets hanging above holding various tools. The location of the standard issue medicine cabinet that was well stocked, and the carbonite freezers in the back.

Elana stared at them, feeling her heart drop. 

She had only heard horror stories about them, how the frozen person would still be completely aware of their surroundings the whole time they were in. How it would hurt to get frozen and that they would be sick for a long time after they were released from the device. Was it that there was a sixty percent probability of survival? Or was it lower? How did the Mandalorian even get his hands on these?

Suddenly she realised how lucky she had been to not be slabbed by the bounty hunter, how he had tolerated every time she had snapped back. Did he only slab dangerous quarries or did he refrain from doing it to her because he would have to look after Bean without help?

Elana did not know the answer to that, but one thing she was certain of. She was running out of time with which she could escape. Bean gurgled at her, and she could do nothing but sigh. What a mess. What an absolute, horrible mess.

Turning away from the carbonite freezer, she settled down onto the floor of the hull, ignoring the biting cold of the metal. >"You're not going anywhere near there, all right?" Elana told Bean in a stern voice, "It's dangerous, okay? In fact, everything on this ship is very, very dangerous."

She pointed a finger at him, and Bean lowered his ears, mouth down turned.

"No."

He whined loudly, and raised his hands up at her. Elana sighed, and pulled him onto her lap, holding him close.

"Oh, honey," she whispered, and pressed a kiss onto his forehead, "What have we gotten ourselves in?"

He seemed to understand the weight of the question, and did nothing but coo and nuzzle her skin, ears hanging low.

How do we get away now?

It was long until she was able to settle down, from pacing along the hull of the ship, trying to work out some of her nervous energy. She was quietly panicking until Bean had fallen asleep on her shoulder and is currently snoring quietly while his warm breath puffed against where his little face was. Then, she had carefully lowered herself onto the ground, back leaning against the hull, giving Bean the opportunity to snooze some without her pacing like a nervous Mid Rim chicken. As his breaths deepened, she started to quietly hum a song, letting the melody soothe both her and the baby.

He snuggled into her chest even more, and she carefully traced a finger over his cheek, looking down at him with the utmost devotion. There is nothing she would not do for Bean. Her scalp hurt, so she reached up, taking care not to disturb the baby, and started to methodically loosen her braids, sighed in relief as the tension lessened, massaging the ache away.

The little lump on her chest gave out a little coo and sighed contentedly, nose twitching slightly. She stroked the soft ear, tracing the shell of it with her fingers, and started the song from the beginning again. She was close to falling asleep herself, she noticed, but was so tired that she actually did not care. 

She will deal with it tomorrow.

Elana jerked up, wide awake once more, the panic swelling up again. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow Bean will be delivered to the client. She exhaled shakily, feeling her heart beat fast.

She propped herself up a bit, looking up and saw the Mandalorian watching her. She did not know how long he had been standing there, but she definitely had not heard him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Elana's eyes wide, and his visor trained on her. Who knew what kind of face he had underneath the helmet. Who knew if he was sneering at her or mocking her.

Bean let out a yawn that cracked his face wide open, and then pressed his face into her shirt, little legs scooting up froggy style, straddling her stomach. She automatically moved her arm under his little bum, supporting the child, and looked down at the green baby.

His face was squished into her, head turned slightly upwards, button nose twitching. He started to snore softly, and Elana felt her heart break.

That was what the Empire wanted to destroy, that little, wonderful, precious creature, her child. They would take his innocence away, and she would probably never see him again. For the rest of his life, he would be experimented on, he would never have a childhood, he would never have friends, he would only know the hands of uncaring scientists that would toss him away as soon as they finished their examinations.

Hate welled up in her, white hot anger, pure despair and helplessness swirling inside her as her eyes started to burn. 

The Empire would take her child away and give him a horrible life. They would take Bean away and there was nothing she could do. The only thing that could happen is that the Mandalorian changes his mind, but that was unlikely. If he did not want to turn them in, he would have left them on Arvala-7. Elana felt wetness on her cheeks, her vision of Bean blurring more and more. Careful so her tears would not drop on the sleeping child, she tilted her head back and stared hard at the ceiling. 

"Could you move the pram to me, please?" Elana could not recognize her voice, hoarse and meek. 

The Mandalorian just nodded in her peripheral vision, pushed a button on his vambrace, and the pram floated to her, nearly at ground level. Setting the sleeping Bean into it, she was glad he did not wake up when she shifted him.

As soon as the lid of the pram closed with a slight hiss, she clenched her eyes shut and inhaled deeply, making no noise other than slightly hitched breaths. She did not shift in her seat, did not move or change position. Elana just could not stop crying. The tears rolled down her cheeks without her consent, and she did not bother to wipe them away, her limbs not cooperating anyways.

Elana couldn't fight against the Empire. She was not able to when they destroyed her planet. She would not be able to save her baby as well. She could not fight against a Mandalorian. 

I hate you, she thought at him, jaw clenched tight.

She saw how the Mandalorian's helmet tilted in her direction, observing her. Her vision blurred some more, new tears welling up.

I hate you, Elana thought again, heart aching, choking on a sob that caught in her throat. I hate you so much.

The Mandalorian just kept watching her, not moving an inch. She finally looked back, tears obscuring her vision but she gave him the fiercest glare she could manage. Pushing herself up from the ground, away from the pram, she knew that she looked exactly into his eyes.

Elana stepped closer to the Mandalorian, and he straightened. Leaning into the Mandalorian's personal space, getting into his face, she wanted nothing more than just stab him in the neck. Never before had she felt such hatred towards anyone. 

He is the one who will give my child to the Empire.

"Go to hell," Elana heard herself say, her voice barely above a whisper, breaking on the last word. Before he could say anything, she pushed past him, and disappeared into the tiny fresher, slamming the door shut. Back leaning against the door, she slid down to the ground, biting her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood.

Never before had she felt such loathing. She hated him. And that was apparently all that was needed for her to completely break down. Burying her face into her hands, she sobbed, shoulders shaking under the strain of keeping quiet.

It did not matter to her anymore. The notion that she had to maintain the stoic facade in front of the Mandalorian had gone up in smoke, she did not care at all if he found her pathetic. Let him mock her for all she cared, let him laugh himself stupid at the sight of her tears, reduced to rubble under his silent judgement.

She felt like a complete fraud, everything she did before to protect Bean? It was worth nothing, because he would give them up anyway. She could have tried to kill him before they left Arvala-7, but she did not. Never mind what would have happened, she could have killed him, stabbed him in his sleep while they were repairing the Razor Crest. She and Bean could have stayed at Kuiil's place until they would have to leave again, seeking shelter somewhere else. If she had done that, Bean would not face capture tomorrow. If.

Elana cried until she was trembling, every single one of her limbs shaking uncontrollably. She cried until there were no tears left, and then some more, until exhaustion took over her and she fell asleep on the floor, against the door of the fresher, heart aching too much for her to handle. 

If. Oh, only if.

……………

Thank you for reading!!

[starkeristheendgame]

Hi! Can i give you a prompt? If yes... what are your thoughts on starker with mob boss!peter? I don't remember reading anything like that... thank you!

We love MB!Peter in this house. This is, safe to say, an AU wherein Tony works for MB!Peter as his bodyguard and not-so-secret lover. On that note, if anyone has any MB!Peter recs or rec lists for Anon, please don’t hesitate to share them!

TW: Implied off-screen death of non-major person | Weapons references | Demeaning talk/Mild humiliation | BDSM references | Soft violence

The man that strode into the hall for an audience with Peter cast his gaze over the both of them assessingly, then fixed it on Tony.

That was Peter’s favourite part. How they all glossed over him so easily, how they took one look at the duo and immediately disregarded him.

Who wouldn’t? A rumpled little twink with cherry-bitten lips and a shirt half-open, sprawled between the thighs of an older man in a Giovanni suit with grey at his temples and a gun at his hip. The choice seemed obvious - The man who looked like he owned the term Mafia Don. It hadn’t been deliberate the first few times. Peter had pouted and laughed when they’d addressed Tony instead of him. Now, it was something of a test. Who was smart enough to look past face-value and ‘obvious choices’?

Not this man, clearly. He threw Tony a steep bow and a simpering smile, hands twitching between dangling limp at his sides and forming nervous fists. “Its an honour to be given your time," he began, licking his lips. Tony kept soundless and stoic, carding his fingers gently through the brown curls that tickled the inside of his palm.

“I... May I... Perhaps the matter may best be discussed without your... Companion,” he tried, placatingly lilting it like a question near the end, and Tony had the skim the edge of his tongue with his teeth so as not to smile. Between his legs, Peter’s head lifted like he’d been woken from a slumber.

Two long, slender fingers traced their way along his jaw, stroking the prickle of his stubble before they dipped between his lips, sliding over his teeth and pressing teasingly on his tongue before hooking down. Peter used it to pull him forwards, and he took the hint, rising so that Peter could sprawl in his rightful place, sucking his fingers clean of Tony’s drool with his pretty lips pursed.

“Are you scared of dogs, Mr. Ross?” Peter asked softly, cheek atop Tony’s knee. The man looked almost affronted at being spoken to by what he surely presumed was some cheap whore, but he shook his head, mouth tight.

“Neither am I,” Peter murmured, twisting in Tony’s space to crawl atop him like some sultry lap-cat, one hand reaching up to cup Tony’s jaw as he leaned over him, soft-honey eyes gazing into his own with unbearable tenderness.

“What is it folks say when they have their precious hounds attack? Sic ‘em?” Peter asked, faux-casual and sweet. Tony knew better, though, and turned swiftly on his heel, striding down the courtly dais towards the man. Fear had began to leech into the confusion etched on his face, and he scrambled backwards as Tony reached for him.

“Loyal things, dogs,” Peter mused, as Tony’s hands closed around the man’s throat, cutting off his alarmed cry. “Obedient,” Peter hummed, propping his cheek up on the backs of his knuckles as he watched. No sooner had Tony gotten a good grip, teeth bared on a snarl like his namesake, Peter called out an idle “Heel,” and Tony, as ever, obeyed.

“I don’t take kindly to being betrayed, Mr. Ross,” Peter announced as Tony knelt before the throne-like seat, head ducked in compliance. Peter’s slender fingers found their way into his hair, tugging the strands gently. “Thankfully the officer you ran squawking to was one of mine. Hence your appearance here today. But... I’m afraid, I must make an example of you, you see." He sounded pitying as he said it, rueful.

“Y-- You-- Mr. Parker, Sir. I can assure you I don’t-” The man stammered to defend himself, scrabbling for any scrap of a lie that might save his hide, but Peter had already raised his fingers to his lips, whistling a sharp, pert note. Tony did not need to look to follow the sound of the doors and footsteps, of Mr. Ross being dragged away to his fate. The next Tony would see of him would be assisting in disposing of whatever remained of him.

“Trust is worth more than any currency,” Peter murmured, looking down at him fondly as he carded his fingers through the raven locks in his grip. Tony raised his gaze, levelling Peter with he hoped conveyed you can trust me. Always.

“My sweet Hound. Loyaler and prettier than any beast I could find in a kennel,” Peter praised him, a twisted pull on his hair bringing a soft whine to the hollow of his throat. It made Peter smile, lips curved in a manner just for him. When Peter was feeling meaner it was Dog. A slobbering beast that served only for his entertainment. Tony didn’t mind; he’d mount Peter every night for the rest of his life no matter what term of endearment called him to his master.

“I will always be loyal to you,” he murmured, tipping his head into the hand that drifted down to cradle his cheek. The smile and head tilt Peter gave in response showed the boy knew that. Had always known that, from the moment he’d first wrapped his legs around Tony’s head.

It felt snug against his throat, a reassuring weight as Peter laughed and shifted on his seat, splaying his thighs to drag Tony between them by the claim against his skin. He tipped his head and willingly opened his mouth for Peter to lick into, kissing him senseless, searing hot and sloppy in the otherwise quiet room. By the time Peter licked across his teeth then withdrew, lips swollen and dark, Tony was light-headed and hard against the pressed slacks that hugged his thighs.

“What would I ever do without you, hm? My Hound,” Peter answered fondly, hand roaming from his jaw down to his chest, slipping inside the crisp suit to find the inner pocket near his breast, fingers closing around supple, dark leather to draw it out. The collar was ornate, a perfect blend of decorative metal and soft, black hide.

“You fuck better than any stud,” Peter assured him as he unbuttoned Tony’s shirt collar to make room, and slipped the leather around his throat.

Peter reached between them and groped him shamelessly, fingers curling around the rise of his cock as he kneaded gently, feeling its girth and hardness. Tony exhaled sharply into the space between them and rut forwards against his hand with a growl, one hand snaking up to twist in Peter’s brown curls, gripping tight. Peter’s lashes fluttered and he pressed his thumb against the tip of Tony’s cock through his trousers, one canine bared in a warm, smirked grin.

“Tell me what you want, Dog,” Peter breathed at him, and Tony’s body warmed with the demeaning name, huffing out a breath as he shifted, one hand in Peter’s hair and the other closing around his throat, with just enough pressure for the weight of his fingers to be felt in the hollow of that pretty, slender neck.

“I want to feel you sink down over my cock,” he growled at the boy-king, gaze dropping to his mouth, teeth bared on an exhale. Peter’s hand left his cock and came back to his collar, tugging him closer.

“Oh, my Hound. You want to rut against your bitch, hm? Want to breed your claim?” Peter teased him, and it was all Tony could do to give one curt, sharp nod.

The boy released him and flopped back into his seat, sprawled and splayed like a whore on a bed. He gestured to himself almost lazily.

“Go on then, Dog. Mount and breed."