#also i cannot BELIEVE the first season ended without answering my most pressing question:

[kazz-brekker]

hannibal: alas, my good friend will graham has lost his mind and killed several people, including my adoptive daughter abigail. how upsetting! i am deeply saddened by these tragic events that i could do nothing to prevent!

me: you lying bitch (honorific, affectionate)

[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt.  You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours.  But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to.  You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did.  Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints.  Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does.  Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it.  But truthfully, you didn’t want to.  You were worried about him—still are, actually.  But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  He’s been through way worse, and you know it.  You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers.  He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening.  Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure.  All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation.  After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield.  It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips.  The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards.  To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster.  “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you.  “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code.  My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound.  “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment.  “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it?  You blink.  No, it doesn’t.  You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name.  You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever.  “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not.  “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show.  Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here.  Something could’ve happened.  Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it.  Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina.  Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot.  “They’re fodder.  Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.”  He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass.  “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions.  Tied specifically to Guild contracts.”  Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare.  “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties.  Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him.  “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace.  “Not sure I’d care too much if you did.  It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed.  Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company.  He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied.  Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence.  Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy.  It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this.  Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve.  Karga is a nice guy, right?  He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando.  And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too.  How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder?  You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?”  You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?”  He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice.  Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly.  You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way.  You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity.  “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it.  “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you.  If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice.  If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it.  You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal.  “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head.  “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out.  “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold.  It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to.  It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando.  You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave.  You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides.  He said he wants to help you?  This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?”  He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head.  The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?”  You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours.  “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously.  “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances.  You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment.  “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away.  He helped you out, you’re halfway through this.  Now comes the exchange.  Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you.  “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far.  Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late?  He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face.  “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table.  There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task.  “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…”  Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it.  This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here.  He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it.  “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you.  “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay.  Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much.  Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again.  Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.”  You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you.  “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay.  Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly… 

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it.  Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck.  It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward.  You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?”  You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs.  “Of course you don’t.  Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit.  This is not at all how you expected any of this would go.  You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request.  There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary.  Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum.  “You said you’re here on his behalf.  You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits.  It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table.  You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here.  It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!”  He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.  Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t.  You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you.  You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach.  He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him?  Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried.  Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before.  Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp.  The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him.  “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend.  The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air.  Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now.  You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.  It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe.  “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer.  It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet.  Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense.  You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him.  You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!”  A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab.  Right in fucking front of him.  “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t.  You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out.  Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now.  You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it.  Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried.  You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual.  You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing.  Was there a confrontation, you wonder?  Is he okay?  He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though.  As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you.  Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view.  The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace.  He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?”  He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down.  “Are you alright?  Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say.  How are you going to tell him?  He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say?  You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh…  I-I’m sorry, I just…”  But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him.  “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?”  He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him.  “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

[agusvedder]

How season 11 outlined the romantic endgames.

I understand fear of disappointment, I understand, believe me. But this season (along with all the Dabb and Carver era) pointed out perfectly and outlined the romantic endgames for our boys, and the obstacles.

Endgames? Found family, Sam with Eileen, Dean with Cas. Freedom. Peace. 

Obstacles? Their own inhability of moving on, of changing, of acknowledging traumas and pain, and healing. Chuck.

As I pointed out on a different post about Season’s 13 THE ROAD SO FAR, they decided to use “Nothing else matters” to start the whole season. In the moment Hetfield sings “Forever trust in who we are” we see Sam hugging Eileen and Dean hugging Cas. 

Ring any bells?

I think that speaks for itself. At that specific moment of the show Eileen was dead, and Cas too. 

Why would they ‘show us Eileen in season 13′s opening if they didn’t plan on bringing her back later? Same with Cas?

(Eileen was gone until the last minute of episode 19, that Jack bring her, and everybody, back...)

FOREVER TRUST IN WHO WE ARE.

Forever is just the future word for ALWAYS. 

They were ALWAYS real. Always. 

(btw, I will NEVER stop talking about that road so far cause I love Metallica and ir brings me to tears)

On a season where the most important thing is what’s real and what’s not they decided to canonize both couples. Bring Eileen back from the dead, finally use Cas’s empty plot to show us that his happiness is loving Dean inconditionally. 

An amazing example of how Season 11 outlined the endgames is one of my favorites: “Into The Mystic”. They introduced Eileen on an episode where Castiel was possessed by Lucifer, pretending to be Cas to talk to Dean. 

Too many bells, halp.-

(HEHEHE! pain is my middle name) 

In that episode we meet Sam Winchester’s perfect woman, badass, smart,  planning to go to law school, lost her parents when she was a baby too, and she’s a MOL legacy. 

(Dude, first episode with her! THOSE HEART EYES!)

But this . . . this. 

Ring another bell?

“What the hell are you talking about, man?”

(That’s what I thought you’d say, you dumb fucking Dean)

At the end of the episode, Dean was left with a burning desire of following his heart and the pressing matter that he’s pining for someone (who’s not Amara, like he said in that same episode, he’s not in love with her), and we see Sam saving a pamphlet of the retirement home, showing us he still sees that light at the end of the tunnel. 

It’s made clear Dean was frustrated by the whole Amara situation but also seeing Cas not giving a fuck about it, not feeling the slight sign of jealousy, saying his bond with Amara is a good thing that can help them draw her out aka using him as bait.

In the end of this very same episode Sam apologizes to Dean for not searching for him when he was in purgatory (4 years later!!) and Dean shrugs him off cause that’s not really important for him anymore. What’s important for both of them is what happened during purgatory. Dean searched for Cas inceasently, praying to him every night, refusing to leave without him, and willing to die to get him out of there. In that very same moment, Sam gave up hunting to stay with the woman he loved (and a dog!!). He literally gave up, he wanted retirement. The same thing Mildred talked about with Dean in Into The Mystic. Just like Dean wanted it on season 13′s finale. 

To be honest, we can clearly see how Sam was certain of what he wanted for his future way before Dean did. That’s why he stayed with Amelia in season 8, that’s why he asked his brother 7 episodes before meeting Eileen if he ever thought about settling down with “someone who gets the life”. why he tried to give his number to “Piper” on that same episode. He’s been ready for settling down with someone for years now. And now he has his finally ever after with Eileen cause Chuck’s finally out the board.

Dean on the other side is so repressed with his feelings and wants that well, he cannot allow himself to let the sun shine on his face, and finally “Being”... finally “Say It”. 

What convinces me that Cas is coming back for a last episode, is that he’s the first step for Dean to accept what he wants for his future, he’s the only one who’s left for Dean to take the decision of being finally happy. He’s a constant in Dean’s life, and Dean loves Cas just as much as Cas loves Dean. He cannot function without Cas. He’s been forever saved and changed thanks to him. 

Also because he fucking deserve to end up with the man he loves so fully.

Dean’s arc is still open, Cas’s too. Sam’s not. He already have what he wanted, he can finally retire and be with the woman he love.

---

The whole plot of season 11 is connected directly to season 15. Amara, Cas’s depression and the look for his own faith/sense of purpose, Dean’s romantic conflict with Cas (He literally’s been screaming “Cas” the whole fucking season), Sam in look for what’s real and not, thinking he was talking to God when he was being manipulated by Lucifer (The gun wound that connected him to God, the visions, The Devil In The Details, a very very important episode for Sammy’s overall story), Rowena’s redeption arc, Chuck revealing he’s God. Don’t Call Me Shurley. Billie and the Empty being introduced into the storyline! 

I invite you guys to watch Dabb’s era again, it’s a plethora of unanswered questions (who finally found it’s answers this season), search for the sense of self, purpose, beating depression, redemption arcs for the villains, forgiveness. Family. Family. FAMILY. FA M I L Y .

[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 8/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage fic. This chapter was once again split in half (if not more) because apparently I just want this fic to never end (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3, chapter 5 tumblr | AO3, chapter 6 tumblr | AO3, chapter 7 tumblr | AO3)

The start of the season may be marked by the annual Thénardier Ball, but everyone knows that the peak of the season is the annual de Courfeyrac Ball. It almost certainly helps that the de Courfeyrac family has enough money to make sure each ball they throw is better than the last, especially as the Dowager Countess becomes increasingly desperate to get the Earl settled.

Of course, this part of the season is normally marked with betrothals and the speedy weddings intended to hide the scandals that have not seen their light in this paper, or any other. But with the season’s most prominent bachelor having already gotten married and subsequently having disappeared, it does make one wonder if there is anything left that could possibly top it. 

Well, there is certainly one event that could: the return of the Marquess of Enjolras with his bride. If there is one event that the Marquess does not miss in the season, it is the de Courfeyrac Ball, in large part because the Earl is one of his oldest friends, and in larger part because, as we understand it, the Earl can get quite put out should one of his friends not attend.

Does this mean that the Marquess might finally deign to return to the city? Only time will answer that question, but if there’s one thing we would bet on, it’s to keep a careful eye on the de Courfeyrac Ball. One never knows who might show up. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 12 MAY 1831

Enjolras had loved his cottage since the moment he purchased it, relishing in the freedom he found there: freedom from responsibilities and expectations, freedom from the endless parties and balls, and freedom especially from his mother.

At least, he had thought he had loved it before.

But it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

Waking up that next morning next to Grantaire took the place of the previous evening as the best moment of Enjolras’s life, and it was surpassed fivefold before they even reached their noon luncheon. Every moment was a revelation, from waking up with Grantaire’s arm still wrapped firmly around his waist, to breaking their fast together in relative silence (neither man awake enough yet for much conversation), to spending their morning together, much as they always had.

That was the truest revelation, at least to Enjolras: how much of their day passed just as it always had, how easily everything fit together – how easily it always had. Certainly now there were perhaps more frequent lingering glances, or touches that lasted longer than before, and, of course, the day was interspersed with kisses that made Enjolras’s heart beat double time, but they were still them, and that more than anything else made Enjolras believe that this could really work – that it was perhaps meant to work, and had always been.

That night, when it came time for bed, Enjolras did not hesitate. “Your bed or mine?” he asked, his voice pitched low.

Grantaire leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Wherever you’ll consent to try me,” he murmured, offering Enjolras his hand, which Enjolras took eagerly.

Of course, they did not do anything that second night of sleeping in the same bed, nor the third night, nor any other. Grantaire, for his part, seemed content to let Enjolras go at his own pace. He was not subtle about the fact that he would gladly do more, his desire for Enjolras obvious in the way he looked at him, the way he touched him, the way he kissed him. But he made no untoward advances, and aside from that bath they shared, their time together was spent entirely clothed.

In truth, Enjolras was not entirely sure why he hesitated to take that final step, to consummate their relationship. He wanted Grantaire, far more than he would ever admit aloud, but something about the timing just did not seem right.

At least not yet.

Still, on their third morning waking up in bed together, he supposed he should offer some sort of explanation. Or, barring that, an apology of some ilk.

Or, because he truly was exceptionally stupid, an incredibly ill-conceived joke.

“You could just take me, I suppose,” he murmured as Grantaire skimmed his fingers lightly up Enjolras’s side, neither man willing yet to emerge from the warmth of the bed. “Legally, I mean, since we are technically married. The law would be on your side.”

Grantaire’s fingers stilled. “First and foremost,” he said, his voice rough from sleep, “I truly cannot believe that you would choose to make a marital rape joke right now, and at my own expense.” Enjolras flushed but Grantaire did not let him interrupt. “Secondly, I very highly doubt our marriage, such as it is, is legally binding and affords me the rights of a husband.”

“I apologize,” Enjolras said. “I did not mean—” He broke off. “No, that was exactly what I meant, and I apologize for even thinking it, let alone voicing it.” Grantaire nodded, just once, but his fingers resumed tracing their path up Enjolras’s side, which he took as a good sign. “That said, what makes you think our marriage is not legally binding? Because you did not sign your own name on the marriage certificate?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “No, because we are two men,” he said, as if Enjolras was a bit dim (which Enjolras supposed he deserved). “The signature is perfectly valid.”

Enjolras sat upright, running a hand through his sleep-tousled curls. “It’s actually a bit of a legal gray area regarding the validity of a marriage between two men,” he said. “But how is the signature valid? Didn’t you sign your sister’s name?” He froze in panic that this one small act may have exposed their ruse. “Please tell me you signed your sister’s name.”

Grantaire reached out, lacing his fingers with Enjolras’s and tugging his hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, a soothing gesture. “I signed it A. Grantaire,” he assured him. “If we are to be exposed, it will not be because our papers are not in order.”

“But then how can you claim the signature is valid?” Enjolras asked, frowning, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you to tell me that we have known each other for over a decade and you have no idea what my given name is, let alone what letter it starts with?”

Realization hit Enjolras like a brick, and he flushed again. “I just assumed it started with an R, since that’s how you sign everything,” he mumbled.

Grantaire laughed lightly. “You’re an idiot,” he informed Enjolras, who scowled.

“Maybe, but you needn’t sound so delighted by it.”

“Oh, but I really must,” Grantaire said. “In any case, my first name also begins with an ‘A’, making my signature perfectly valid, the legality of our union aside.”

He turned to get out of bed, but Enjolras caught his arm, wrapping his fingers around Grantaire’s wrist. “Then if I may be so bold as to inquire, what is your given name?”

Grantaire made a face. “Antoine.”

“Antoine,” Enjolras repeated, the name feeling foreign on his tongue, before offering, “It suits you.”

Grantaire snorted. “It does not,” he said flatly. “Why do you think I choose to go by my surname or the pun therein? The only one who ever calls me by my given name is my father, and thankfully I’ve not heard his voice in close to a decade. Of course,” he added, “it suits me better than yours suits you, unless you wish for me to start calling you—”

“Do not even jest about that,” Enjolras interrupted. “You know I hate my given name.”

“Almost as much as I hate you even jokingly thinking that I would ever do anything to you without your consent.”

Enjolras winced. “I already apologized for that,” he said, before adding, in a conciliatory way, “Besides, I like it when you call me Enjolras.”

Grantaire smirked as he leaned in to kiss Enjolras. “More than when I call you ‘my lord’?” he asked, his lips just brushing against Enjolras’s.

Enjolras planted a firm hand on Grantaire’s chest, giving him a look. “Much more,” he said sternly, before kissing him.

Grantaire kissed him back for a long moment before pulling away, just far enough to cradle Enjolras’s face in both his hands. “Just so that we’re clear, in regards to the joke you made earlier, I would never hurt you,” he told Enjolras, brushing his thumb across his cheek. “Not purposefully, at least.”

“I know,” Enjolras said softly. “And I will never again insinuate otherwise.” He paused. “Though if I may, you were the one who joked previously about primae noctis.”

Grantaire exhaled in a sharp sigh. “Then can we at least both be agreed that from here on out, rape is a topic best not spoken of in jest?”

“I believe I can manage that.”

“Good.” Grantaire’s expression softened. “I love you.”

Enjolras turned his head to press a wordless kiss to the palm of Grantaire’s head.

He had also not yet returned those three words, but in that regard, he understood his hesitation fully: he knew Grantaire would put far more stock in those words than in any physical act, and he was determined not to say them until he knew, beyond any doubt, that he meant them.

Of course, he reflected, as Grantaire tilted his chin gently to kiss him once again, at this rate he was bound to break on one or both fronts sooner rather than later.

But not even their happy cocoon could keep out the work that Enjolras was meant to be doing, and he told Grantaire after breakfast, with not a small amount of regret, that he needed to actually take the morning to get some work done. There were a dozen odd pieces of legislation looking to pass through the House of Lords that Les Amis was seeking to oppose, and he needed to study up before returning for the rest of the season.

Grantaire did not seem put off. “Do you mind if I take a look at the third bedroom?” he asked instead.

Enjolras blinked, his mind already on the legislation. “The one being used for storage?”

“The other one.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand as he headed into the library. “Do what you wish with it,” he called over his shoulder, and when he sat down at his desk, the conversation was already forgotten.

At least, it was forgotten until his stomach gave a loud grumble and Enjolras glanced at the clock on the mantel, surprised to see it was well past midafternoon. He stood and stretched before calling, “Grantaire?”

When he received no answer, he frowned and went to seek him out. Before he could get far, there was a knock on the front door, and Enjolras hurried to answer. “Message for you, m’lord,” said a bright, cheerful young lad who was waiting. 

Enjolras’s brow furrowed, wondering who in the world would be sending him post here of all places. He paid the boy and sent him on his way, closing the door after him. The furrow in his brow only deepened as he scanned through the letter, and when he had finished, he hurried upstairs in search of Grantaire.

He was surprised to see light streaming into the hallway upstairs from the room at the end, and it took him a moment to realize he couldn’t remember the last time he saw the door to that room opened. “Grantaire?” he called again.

There was a slight clatter before Grantaire shouted back, “In here!”

Enjolras poked his head into the room. “You’ve been busy,” he remarked, taking in the newly gleaming surfaces and the old furniture that had been pushed into one corner, away from the windows. Most of the old furniture, at least: Grantaire perched on an old stool, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows as he adjusted the canvas on the easel in front of him.

A slightly guilty look flashed across his face. “I hope you don’t mind,” he started. “Only with this room facing west, I thought this might be a nice place to set up my easel.”

“Looks like you’ve done more than that,” Enjolras said mildly, and Grantaire certainly had. His paints and brushes were laid out neatly, with not one but three different easels, all facing in slightly different directions, assumedly to capture different lights in the room.

Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before blurting, “I should have asked first, I know it’s not really my place—”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras assured him, and he more than meant it. Not just because he did not much care about the room, having not used it the entire time he’d lived there. But also because it was Grantaire’s place, in so many more ways than one. Grantaire fit in so perfectly to his little life of solitude that he never wanted to leave

But leave they had to, and all thanks to the ill-timed letter he had just received. “I’ve had a letter from Courfeyrac, he told Grantaire, stepping closer to him. “It’s his family ball on Saturday. And you know as well as I do that if we do not return in time to attend, Courfeyrac will murder us both in our beds.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Or, given his penchant for arson, light our houses on fire.” Enjolras laughed and Grantaire managed a small smile. “Of course, you knew we would have to return to the city eventually.”

Enjolras made a face. “Eventually, certainly, but not so soon.”

“The excuse of a honeymoon can only last for so long, even following real weddings,” Grantaire reminded him before standing. “And speaking of soon, it looks like my use of this room shall have to wait, as I should take my leave.”

“Leave?” Enjolras repeated, a little blankly. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow at him as he rolled his shirtsleeves down.. “It would surely rouse suspicion if you and I were to return to the city at the same time from seemingly opposite directions,” he pointed out. “So I shall return to my house tonight, and meet up with you in the city tomorrow.”

It was a perfectly reasonable plan, but Enjolras couldn’t seem to bring himself to say as such. “What if I could convince you to stay?” he asked, pitching his voice low and taking another step toward Grantaire, hoping his meaning would be clear without him having to say a word.

Judging by the way Grantaire’s eyes darkened, he caught on quick enough. “You could certainly convince me to delay,” he murmured, capturing Enjolras and pulling him close to kiss him before telling him, “but we have come too far for me to spoil this now, even with what you are offering.” The lavacious way he swept his gaze up and down Enjolras’s body told him that Grantaire absolutely understood just what he had been offering. “Besides, there will be time for that later, when our presence – or lack thereof – is no longer the subject of a gossip column, and we return here and stay for as long as we want.” He kissed Enjolras once again, a long, heady kiss. “And trust me, it will be worth the wait.”

“In more ways than one,” Enjolras murmured, ducking his head to kiss Grantaire once more.

But as he somewhat aimlessly trailed Grantaire back to his bedroom to watch him pack his bag, he could not quite seem to raise his spirits. When Grantaire was ready, he paused at the front door, turning to face Enjolras, looking torn between amusement and exasperation. “Oh, do cheer up,” he said, catching Enjolras’s hand in his. “It is only for one night, after all. We’ve not been together for so long that you will miss me when we’re apart.”

“But I will,” Enjolras told him.

For one moment, Grantaire’s expression softened. Then he smirked, and leaned in to kiss Enjolras. “Good,” he said simply, picking up his bag and heading out to the waiting carriage. 

“Good?” Enjolras repeated, following him outside. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Grantaire just winked and squeezed his hand before climbing up into the carriage. “See you tomorrow!” he called out the window, waving once before the carriage took off down the road.

Enjolras watched until the carriage disappeared from sight before heading back inside and glancing around the now empty house. It seemed emptier now than it ever had in the years when it had only ever been him staying here, and he marveled for a moment that Grantaire really had achieved the impossible: for the first time ever, Enjolras was looking forward to getting back to the city.

----------

“What do you think, m’lord?” Enjolras’s butler, a genial man named Porter, asked. “The place could probably do with a fresh lick of paint, but with short notice, this was the best we could do.”

Enjolras nodded as he glanced around the brightly lit room that adjoined his own suite. “It will certainly suffice,” he told Porter, not having the heart to tell him that it would almost certainly never see any use. “How long have you been working on it?”

He doubted his hastily penned letter from the previous day would have given them enough notice to have the room as ready as it was. “We started as soon as we read it in Lady Whistledown—” Porter broke off, looking embarrassed. “Er, that is, when we got word of your nuptials.”

Enjolras just chuckled and shook his head. “How that woman gets her information…”

Porter cleared his throat. “In any case, m’lord, do you know when your bride might be joining us? Only if she intends on bringing any household staff, or hiring any, there’ll be adjustments that need be made.”

“I’m afraid she’s returned to her family house in the country,” Enjolras told him, the lie coming easily after he had practiced it his entire way back to the city. “She took ill on our trip up north. I doubt she’ll make it up for the remainder of the season.”

“Shall we hold off on completing the renovations of her suite until after you close the house, just in case?”

Enjolras sighed. “Whatever is easiest for you, Porter. I’m sure you have better things—”

The bell rang, and Porter glanced at Enjolras. “Are you expecting company, m’lord?”

“Not expecting,” Enjolras hedged, even as he could barely contain his grin. “But Grantaire did mention he might stop by – I believe he was anticipating arriving back today as well.”

Porter looked as though he had many questions that he wanted to ask, but thankfully, he was too well-trained to voice any of them. “Very good, m’lord,” he said instead. “I’ll have the kitchens put together a tray for tea. Do you want to receive him in the drawing room or the formal parlor?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. Porter asked this question no matter who he received, and never before had he instructed that anyone should be received in the formal parlor, easily one of the least utilized rooms in the entire manor. “The drawing room will be fine, Porter, he’s practically family now, after all.”

“Very well, m’lord.”

Porter left to answer the door and Enjolras glanced in the looking glass above the wash basin. He felt strangely nervous, though he was not quite sure why, and he straightened his cravat and considered doing something about his hair (a quickly abandoned thought) before finally heading downstairs to meet Grantaire.

Porter was just showing him into the drawing room when Enjolras arrived, a little out of breath, and Grantaire’s entire face lit up when he saw him. “Speak of the devil and he doth appear,” he said with a lazy grin.

“Are you calling me a devil now?” Enjolras asked, arching an eyebrow.

“It was between that, Apollo, or my lord, so…”

Grantaire trailed off, his eyes twinkling with unspoken laughter and Enjolras just shook his head before turning to Porter, who was setting the tea tray down. “Thank you, Porter, I’ll ring if we need anything.” He waited until the sound of Porter’s footsteps disappeared down the hall before crossing to Grantaire and kissing him. “God, I missed you.”

“And I, you,” Grantaire murmured, kissing him back, though his was a softer, gentler kiss. “Who would have thought how quickly I’d get used to having you in my bed, rather than my usual rotating cast of young, nubile lovers.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, though he was too elated by seeing Grantaire to take any real umbrage at his teasing comment. “Hilarious,” he said dryly, gesturing for Grantaire to sit next to him on the sofa. “And here I was thinking of offering to let you stay here.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows as he poured them both a cup of tea. “Here?” he repeated. “In your house?”

Enjolras met his raised eyebrows with one of his own. “As my wife’s brother, you’re welcome as a member of the family to stay whenever you wish,” he said as he accepted the cup of tea from Grantaire. “Totally proper, and no one would second-guess it.”

Grantaire didn’t look so convinced. “Well, certainly, but I would presume that would be more acceptable for when your wife is in town.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Maybe so. But I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

To his surprise, Grantaire sighed and set his tea cup down. “Enjolras—” he started, and Enjolras frowned.

“What?”

“These past few days were like something out of a dream,” Grantaire told him. “But I did not imagine that we would be able to continue it when we’re back in the city.”

Enjolras stared at him. “Does that mean you’re saying no to my invitation?”

Grantaire gave him a look. “It means that I want you to be sure about extending that invitation. There’s only a couple more months until the end of the season, and then we’ll have all autumn and winter to do as we please with none the wiser.”

Enjolras felt his heart sink. “I see,” he murmured, trying and failing not to think of all the ways that Grantaire would probably find to amuse himself in the interim, his comment about nubile lovers searing in Enjolras’s mind. He could hardly hold it against him if he did, of course – it wasn’t as if they were truly married, and besides—

“You’re an idiot,” Grantaire said, breaking him from his reverie.

“Excuse me?”

Grantaire grinned at him. “I can tell what you’re thinking, and you’re an idiot.” Enjolras scowled and Grantaire’s grin softened as he leaned forward to cover Enjolras’s hand with his own. “I’m doing this for you, you fool, not because I want to keep up my bachelor lifestyle or whatever you were imagining.”

Enjolras, of course, had been imagining exactly that, though he had no plans of telling Grantaire that. “I was just imagining that it was easier to love me when we were up north, and away from everyone,” he said instead, which was not untrue. “Perhaps now that we are confronted with the reality of what our lives would be like…”

“The only one second guessing because of reality is you,” Grantaire said bluntly. “Do you think I have somehow deluded myself into thinking I was going to actually be living as if we were truly married? If this is to work – and believe me, no one wishes to make it work more than I – we cannot rouse suspicion unnecessarily. If you are certain that I can stay here as your guest without anyone being suspicious of our true intent, then you know I will accept your invitation in a heartbeat.” He leaned back in his seat, his expression becoming more somber. “But I must be sure that you fully understand what you are offering – and that you fully mean your offer.”

“What are you saying?”

Grantaire shrugged, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “You are not the only one who may have been easier to love outside of the city and the season,” he muttered.

Enjolras did not hesitate, setting his tea cup down on the end table in a decisive motion before closing the space between them and kissing Grantaire once again. “Now who’s the idiot?” he asked, but his tone was as gentle as his touch. “Yes, I am certain that we can pull off cohabitating, at least on a semi-regular basis, without arousing suspicion, and more than that, I am absolutely certain that I want to at least try.” 

Grantaire nodded slowly. “In that case, I have been meaning to schedule a remodel of my entire first floor, which will make living there quite difficult…” Enjolras laughed and Grantaire smiled. “So since I will be taking you up on your offer, may I inquire as to where you wish for me to stay? Perhaps you wish to give me a tour that ends in a bedroom?”

His meaning could not be less clear and Enjolras smirked as he stood. “I do believe that can be arranged.”

He managed a tour of the first floor in record time, mostly pointing in vague directions as he ushered Grantaire to the stairs, since the only place he cared about being was in his bedroom or Grantaire’s. “My bedchamber,” he said, gesturing towards the room before leading Grantaire next door. “And adjoining it, here, is your sister’s.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow as he looked inside. “Surely you would not have me stay here,” he said in an undertone.

Enjolras laughed. “Of course not, not even I’m that stupid,” he said, leading Grantaire to the bedroom on the other side of the master suite. “But my...great-great-grandfather, I believe? Had about eleven mistresses over the course of this life, so he had this built.”

He swept aside a tapestry on the wall and pulled on the wall sconce, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as part of the wall swung inward, revealing a secret passage that connected the bedroom with the master suite. “This way, when everyone else has gone to bed…”

A slow grin crossed Grantaire’s face as they walked through the passage into Enjolras’s bedroom. “Oh, you have thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Enjolras told him, turning to rest his hands on Grantaire’s chest. “But I believe we’ve both had enough of thinking for the moment.”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened, and he grabbed Enjolras by the hips and pulled him flush. Unlike their gentle kisses earlier, this kiss was fierce, and heated, Grantaire licking into Enjolras’s mouth as if staking a claim there, and neither man seemed able to keep his hands to himself. “Perhaps we should take this to a bed,” Enjolras murmured, and Grantaire grinned.

“Your bed or mine?” he asked, but before Enjolras could respond, a knock sounded on the door.

Enjolras and Grantaire quickly sprung apart as the door opened and a housemaid came in. She startled when she saw them, dropping the pail she was carrying. “Oh! Begging your pardon, m’lord,” she said, bobbing a curtsy, her eyes wide. “Only I came to light the fire, but if you’d rather I returned later—”

“No, no need,” Enjolras said hastily, before adding, a little awkwardly, “I was just finishing giving Mr. Grantaire the tour.” Her wide eyes flew to Grantaire, who looked very much like he was trying not to laugh. Enjolras cleared his throat, and she looked back at him. “And when you’re done here, will you light the fireplace next door as well? Mr. Grantaire will be staying for a bit while renovations are completed in his house.”

She bobbed another quick curtsy. “‘Course m’lord,” she murmured, casting one final, questioning look at Grantaire before hurrying to light the fire.

Grantaire took Enjolras’s elbow and steered him out into the hallway. “Master of the House, I see,” he said with a snigger.

“Something like that,” Enjolras muttered. “Though I do wish we hadn’t been disturbed.”

“As do I,” Grantaire said, his eyes dark. Then he managed a slightly grim smile. “But it’s perhaps for the best. After all, I need to return to my place anyway to get some clothes and other things if I’m to be staying here.”

“And to perhaps schedule some renovation work?” Enjolras asked wryly.

Grantaire winked at him “You read my mind.” 

He turned to head down the stairs but Enjolras caught his hand. “And tonight?” he asked.

Granatire paused. “Tonight, as every night, I am all yours,” he murmured, his voice low. “And only yours.”

Enjolras glanced around and chanced taking a step closer to press a kiss to the corner of Grantaire’s mouth. “Something to look forward to.”

Grantaire laughed breathily before telling him, “Don’t forget, we also have the de Courfeyrac ball to look forward to tomorrow evening.”

Enjolras groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Who knows, now that you’re a married man, perhaps it will be somewhat enjoyable.” Enjolras gave him a look and Grantaire laughed. “Very well, then perhaps it will be at least somewhat tolerable.”

“Well,” Enjolras said gloomily, “I suppose there is but one way to find out.”

[shinydelirium]

Kiro’s R&S: Lonely (Season 2 Chapters, 2-5) Translation [CN]

***WARNING!!! THIS POST CONTAINS CONTENT THAT HAS NOT BEEN RELEASED YET ON EN SERVER!!! DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILED!!!***

This is a translation from Kiro’s R&S for Season 2, Chapters 2-5. Just to let everyone know, I do not know any Chinese but I have taken an interest in learning it because of this game. Therefore, I’m learning the language as I go. Everything has been done using Google Translate so do expect some errors and mistranslations. I’ve tried my best to make it flow well. Also, shout out to @link4eva for walking me through this process. I’m not gonna hide the fact that I hate technology and technology hates me so this is my first time posting something so monstrous, lol. Without further ado, please enjoy! 

***Some context before reading. The events of this R&S takes place towards the end of Season 1 when an impending comet is about to hit Earth. MC spends what little time she has left with the guys until she is summoned to some unknown place and gets set back in time.***

Even if the world fusion collapses, it cannot stop a firm heart.

[Chapter 1]

*Click, click*

The sound of the gear turning stopped again and behind the door that was slowly opened, a calm voice sounded.

“She has gone.”

Drifting light spots lingered in the endless darkness and the stairs slowly retreated to its origin. Everything seems to have not happened and it seems to be silently waiting for some tomorrow to come.  

“The future is far away, but it will come.”

Helios didn’t speak, but stood still, looking towards the end of the stairs.

“Are you scared?”

The person in the dark tempted again, and he smiled after listening.

“No matter how difficult it is, she will definitely find a way so that everyone can meet tomorrow. What is there to be afraid of?”

At the end of the speech, his voice became very soft, containing some fear hidden in his heart.

The girl’s face slowly appeared in front of Helios’ eyes. He suddenly remembered that in the world of Eternal Winter, she kept approaching bravely, gritted her teeth to face all the unknowns, remembering every moment she had illuminated. He always believed that she would be able to make the most correct choice and let the doomsday meet the future. It’s just...

There was a seemingly silent laugh from the darkness. Helios released the palm he had just unintentionally clenched, and turned to look at the scattered light spots, “I just want to know one thing.” His hand gently lifted. The light spot swayed at his fingertips, like stars hanging in the dark, losing their orbit. “That uncontrollable future is the future of this world?”

The distant voice seemed to sigh, “What do you think the world is like?”

Helios did not speak.

“The countless choices of mankind have gathered into all nets of the world. It is infinitely extended and leads to the future.” He paused. “But the future will end. This is countless civilizations relying on the destruction, over and over. The conclusion drawn again. Although it is moving forward slowly, it seems to return to a certain point of origin.”

“Destruction.” Helios raised his head and said this word in disbelief.

“This world should have stopped today, but a possibility has arisen.” While Helios was still speculating on the deep meaning behind this, the voice did not stop. “This possibility gives her the ability to choose the most correct one. The path leads the world to a distant place beyond truth and common sense.”

Helios frowned slightly and caught the core part of the words in an instant. “You mean, there will be even more incredible changes in the future?”

“This is not a question I can answer.”  

The sound of the gear turning sounded again, and the person’s voice seemed a little tired, and finally slowly disappeared in the darkness, like the last hint.

“This world has completed its choice, and it will not stay. It will continue to move forward to witness the arrival of tomorrow, no matter what posture or form this tomorrow is presented to humanity...It belongs to the tomorrow of this world, and you...” The voice faintly revealed the meaning of expectation and scrutiny, “Tomorrow you will naturally be the same as her, you will be the way you crossed from today to tomorrow.”

[Chapter 2]

From the dome of the hall, one can see the lights of comets approaching from the sky. The people around the round table appear to be extremely silent. They all looked at Helios who walked in, seeming to be waiting for his final answer.

“It’s too early to prepare for the end.” Helios walked to the front of the main seat, but did not sit down. He gently propped his hands on the round table, and there seemed to be sparks jumping in his eyes. “Everything went according to the original plan. In time, we have a lot to do.” When everyone dispersed, Helios stood alone in the hall, looking to the sky through the dome, and muttered, “It seems that the secret that I can’t tell you is still valuable.”

No one can be seen on the street where the end is coming, not to mention such remote alleys. At the end, there is only the rustle of stray cats eating garbage.

Kiro pressed the brim of his hat, turning around in the scattered alleys in a familiar way, until a faint yellow light slowly hit his eyes. A little “Mondlicht” was written on the side of the door, like the spell of an ancient magician. He glanced at the end of the sky one last time, took a deep breath, and opened the door with firm eyes.

“Welcome.”

The man standing behind the bar didn’t seem to be surprised by the visitor who appeared suddenly. He gracefully wiped the wine glasses and greeted Kiro with a smile. Kiro quietly looked around and sat at the bar expertly.

“The end is two hours away. Do you want something to drink?” The man smiled and shook the wine bottle in his hand.

“It’s almost the end and you’re still opening the shop?” Kiro put his hat on the bar, ignoring the man’s invitation.  

“My life creed is, I’d rather stand earning money and die than to lie down bored.” The man seemed to be indifferent to Kiro’s refusal, still mastering the bottle with skillful control.

“I’m not here to drink.”

“You have tried so many times, don’t you ever give up?”

Kiro’s eyes flashed with a hint of anger but only for a moment. He slowly smiled.

“I have no reason to give up.”  

The man neatly put down the cup in his hand and took a breath: “Well, since you’re so insistent, I won’t stop you. The name is Drey.” ***Don’t know if this will be the name used for this character in EN server but it’s what Google Translate gave me, so we’ll go with it***

He put the wine in front of Kiro, the bright red liquid filled the man’s eyes with a smile, but seemed a little ruthless and indifferent.  

“Thank you for the business and support.”

[Chapter 3]

Kiro found Drey a month ago. Seeing Drey again, he still couldn’t control the urge to retch inside. Kiro sat on the sofa, clenched his palms fiercely, and like a constant trance in his heart, forced himself to give priority to the task at hand. In a daze, he saw the girl standing under the soft light and shadow, her face radiating with warm light. She reached out to him and called his name. “You are the best Kiro in the world.”

The slight pain in the palm of his hand slowly pierced all consciousness along his fingertips. He barely raised his eyes and calmly looked at the man Drey, who was standing not far from him, the first assistant of the experiment.  

Many years have passed since that distant and dark memory. He was also much older. Drey threw himself down in front of Kiro in a panic, “Please, don’t kill me...!!!”  

Kiro looked coldly at the man who was kneeling in front of him, his whole body shaking. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have let you escape that time.”

Trembling, he took the box thrown by Kiro and saw the glinting “S” on it. He was so scared that he almost dropped it to the ground.  

“How did you get this? No, you don’t need to answer me...” Drey shook his head and firmly gripped the box in his hand. He realized that Kiro who was cooperating with him now is no longer the advanced experiment: number 3684. Drey looked down at the box in his hand, “What do want me to do? Could it be...!!!”

Kiro knew from a long time ago that Drey was the person who knew his body data the best during that experiment, and naturally had enough ability to be the first assistant. “This is impossible!”

“I’m not here to listen to your nonsense.” Kiro interrupted him coldly, “You just have to work for me, right Dr. Drey “the current boss?”

Drey rubbed the box in his hand, gritted his teeth and finally let out a sigh of relief, “...I see, can the operating table on floor B4 be used?”

Even in the colorful laboratory covered with floral wallpaper, Kiro still had a serious mental rebuke. It took him a lot of effort to force himself to lie down on the experimental table. Since then, he can’t remember how many times he vomited and how many tubes of medicine he took.  

Drey frowned, “I said it’s going to be difficult for you to become stronger.” He lowered his head. “Your experimental success is not universal. Considering the collective interference of many micro-factors, your body may not be able to withstand the second experiment. The experiment made your genes, under the catalysis of a special substance, form their own unique irregular structure, which is absolutely different from ordinary people.” He pursed his mouth and paused, his expression stricken, and looked at Kiro. “And we are not sure whether this reaction will continue, and all the side effects can’t be estimated. Why should you take such a big risk!?! You are fully capable now...”

“It’s okay, let’s just get there first today.” Kiro wiped the blood from his mouth, barely propped himself up and sat on the experimental table. The night fog filled him countless times, tying him into the abyss in the dark night. There are countless ferocious and scrutinizing gazes. He is standing in the bloody prison, but now, he is no longer afraid.  

“I said that you aren’t too tired to go home and eat dessert?” Since Kiro accidentally missed the dessert date, this person always used it to tease him from time to time. Kiro didn’t answer him. He walked around the store several times, slowing down his trembling footsteps, “Is it natural?” ***Don’t really understand what's going here in this scene, lol***

The boss nodded, “It’s okay. You guys finished so early today?”

“It’s because there is a special performance today.” Kiro put on his hat, blocking most of his face, “It’s very important.”

Kiro walked towards floor B4 step by step. When he arrived at the entrance of the laboratory, Drey was already there waiting for him. “We’ve tried numerous times and if you continue like this, your body may...”  

“It’s fine.” He unwaveringly interrupted Drey’s unfinished words. “There has been progress last time, hasn’t there? Let’s keep going.”

Kiro’s footsteps towards the laboratory were extremely firm. The whole world seemed to be only a piece of endless white, with the girl’s back at the end. He kept ordering himself to run towards her. This has always been the case. Although there is not much time to download this voice, he will never give up even if it is the end.  

[Chapter 4]

When Kiro opened his eyes again, he knew that he had won the bet. Even if he didn’t have the strength to lift a finger, he raised a satisfied and happy smile for the first time. He couldn’t remember how long he laid until he could finally and slowly prop up his arm to support himself. He sat on the operating table panting and wanted to pull out the infusion affixed to his arm in disgust.  

“it’s better not to pull that one out.”

Kiro raised his eyes in warning. The boss leaned against the door holding a hot cup of coffee along with a smile that has remained unchanged for years. Kiro blinked and tilted his head, “The time...”

“Don’t worry. It seems that the comet hasn’t hit yet.” The man stretched out his index finger and pulled Drey over who happened to be passing by and came back to check the situation. “Look at him.”

Kiro breathed a sigh of relief and covered his head with a bit of pain. Drey hurried over and said, “You’ve just woke up now, don’t be so anxious. You need to be observed again.”

Kiro snorted coldly. With a sound, the microcomputer he had been carrying around suddenly rang. He grabbed his head and pulled off the infusion from his body. He stood, limping hurriedly and almost fell to the ground due to the excessive movement.

“You can’t move right now!” Drey stopped him in a rush.

“Let go!” Kiro waved Drey’s hand away, reluctantly pressing it against the wall. He turned on the computer, tapping the keyboard intermittently with stiff fingers, looking at the screen with a heavy expression. “You guys leave.”

“You can’t use your abilities now!” Drey still insisted on explaining to Kiro, “We are not yet sure about their stability. Your current body is too weak. If you use your enhanced abilities immediately, you will...”

“Get out.” Kiro’s voice did not have a hint of warmth or room for argument.  

“But your body...!!!”

“Excuse me.” The man drinking coffee beside him smiled and shook the syringe that came out of nowhere. “You will not be charged for the gift.” Kiro stretched out his pinhole arm without hesitation, “Thank you.”

Kiro recovered some strength after the drug injection. He leaned in the corner of the laboratory and gently closed his eyes.  

“Ki...mmph!”

“.....If I said I might know a way, would you believe me?”

“It’s okay, you’re already amazing and you’re still my superhero!”

“Will you leave again this time too...?”

“I believe that no matter who you are, you will not change...”

“No matter what decision you make, I’ll support it.”

“All this time, you have always been illuminating me.”

He can always hear her voice. Kiro gently opened his eyes and saw himself in the mirror. He raised his mouth unconsciously, without a trace of hesitation. Since this world will not end, no matter what happens, it will become the future of tomorrow. He has to be prepared for this unknown future.  

The golden light in the pupils of his eyes danced in the mirror but at this time, it was like a gentle and powerful blessing, giving strength to those who can cross all obstacles to reach hope. Even if it may be temporarily silent in time because of the drastically changing world, one day it will become a milestone to guide the future, pointing to the end in its heart, and meeting the long-awaited person.

“I command you to always be the one and only brightly shining Kiro--to be brave and to keep getting stronger.”

“I command you to never forget her.”

“She is MC, your Miss Chips.”

“She is your most favorite person.”

The golden light diffused through the pupils into every nerve ending and blood, melting into the grand and brilliant white snow at the end of the world to form the final agreement. The world was slowly shrouded by the seemingly gentle but unbreakable water mist. It was born from the bright white light and permeated the earth, extending in countless directions. On the note-filled recording paper in the notebook, the notes on the staff seemed to be placed upside down, disappearing one by one on the paper. And all this is just a moment.  

End

[thecaffeinebookwarrior]

The Dos and Don’ts of Writing Smart Characters

Since I started this blog, one of the most common questions I’ve received has to do with the portrayal of intelligent characters.  This is also one of the most difficult to answer -- excluding questions about characters with specialized knowledge sets, which are fairly easy to answer with source compilations.  Most of the questions have to do with:  how do you portray a smart character believably?  How do you make the audience relate to them?  Can I still make them likable?  How do I avoid the pitfalls of popular media?

Well, I’m finally here to answer, utilizing examples from some of my favorite (and occasionally, not-so-favorite) media.  Let’s jump in to the dos and don’ts of smart characters!

1.  Do let the audience follow the character’s thought process. ��

As demonstrated by:  Tommy Shelby from Peaky Blinders

Albert Einstein allegedly once said, “If you can’t explain it to a five-year-old, you don’t truly understand it.”  And the sentiment rings true:  true genius doesn’t need to dazzle with big words and technobabble.  Instead, it makes the complex appear simple.

The same rings true for brilliant characters.  BBC’s Sherlock (more on that later) ceased to satisfy in its later seasons because it began to rely too heavily on visual glitz to avoid actually explaining its mysteries and how they were solved.  Similarly, the biggest complaints with block buster franchises -- Star Wars, The Avengers, Game of Thrones -- is that they became obsessed with “subverting expectations” cleverly instead of leading the audiences to their most logical and satisfying conclusions.

Meanwhile, the smartest and most satisfying media dazzles not by staying over the audience’s head, but by illustrating how simplistic the solutions can be.

Let’s start with my boy Tommy Shelby, the charismatic, swaggering protagonist of the charismatic, swaggering crime drama Peaky Blinders.  Using only his intelligence (and complete disregard for his own life/suicidal tendencies, but that’s not the point here), Tommy claws his way up from the near-bottom of the social ladder (an impoverished Romani in early 20th century Birmingham) to being a decorated war hero, to being the leader of a feared razor gang, to dominating the race track business, to becoming a business mogul, to becoming a member of parliament and trying to assassinate the leader of the fascist party. He’s also one of the paramount reasons why I’m bisexual.

So how can such a drastic social climb be conveyed believably?  Because Tommy -- as the viewpoint character -- is placed in seemingly inescapable situations, and then proceeds to demonstrate that the solutions to those situations have been there the whole time.  I recently watched a brilliant video on how this is done, which can be viewed here.

Early in season one, for example, he responds to aggressive new methods by the police by organizing a mass-burning of paintings of the king, and uses the press this garners to publicly shame the methods of the chief inspector who’s been antagonizing him.  In the next season, he talks his way into a deal by bluffing that he planted a grenade in his rival’s distillery.  My personal favorite is in season four, when he responds to being outgunned by a larger, American gang by contacting their rival -- none other than an Alphonse Capone.

All of Tommy’s victories are satisfying, because they don’t come out of nowhere -- we have access to the same information he does, each victory is carefully foreshadowed, and we are reminded at every turn that failure is a very real possibility (more on that later.)  So when he wins, we’re cheering with him.

Other examples:  Mark Watney from The Martian, who explains science in its most simplistic terms and with infectious enthusiasm.  He would make every character on The Big Bang Theory cry.  

Also, Miss Fisher from the AMAZING Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries.  The dazzling, 1920s, female Sherlock Holmes of your dreams.  I cannot recommend it enough.

To apply this to your own writing:  Remember you won’t dazzle anyone if you smack them in the face with a “brilliant” plot twist.  They want to take a journey with your character, not be left in the dust.  

Also, for everyone in my askbox concerned that they’re not smart enough to write intelligent characters, just remember how simple the problems confronting smart characters can be.  Put them in a difficult situation, and provide them with a means of getting out.  Then, just let them find it. 

2.  Don’t assume the audience is too stupid to keep up (or try to make them feel too stupid to keep up.)

As demonstrated by:  Sherlock Holmes from BBC’s Sherlock.

Say what you will:  there were reasons why everyone was so captivated by this show during its first two seasons.  It felt fresh.  People had yet to become frustrated with the inescapable thirst for Benedict Cumberbatch.  The writing was sharp, and the editing clever.  And it wove a tantalizing web of mysteries that demanded solution.  The problem was, there weren’t any.

The most frustrating for many was how Sherlock faked his death at the end of season two, after which devoted fans spent two years creating intricate theories on how he might have pulled this off.  The creators responded by mocking this dedication in the opening episode of season three, by showing a fan club spinning outlandish theories (one of which included Sherlock and Moriarty kissing.)  This might have been laughed off -- at the time, many seemed to consider it quite funny -- if the creators had bothered to offer their own explanation of how Sherlock survived.  They didn’t.  And so began a seemingly endless loop of huge cliffhangers that promised -- and consistently failed to deliver -- satisfying answers.

The most egregious examples occur in season four, which provided answers to questions no one asked, and withheld answers for things everyone wanted to know.  For example, did you know that the real reason Moriarty engaged Sherlock is because he was hypnotized by Sherlock’s secret evil sister?  The same one who killed Sherlock’s best friend, whom Sherlock convinced himself was a dog?  Yes, that was a real plot point, in the climax of the series.  It’s an effort to befuddle the audience with brilliant and unexpected writing, but instead pulled them out of a story they were already invested in and made them far more critical of its pre-existing faults. 

It’s pointed out in the brilliant (if bluntly named) Sherlock Is Garbage, And Here’s Why that Moffat can be a great writer, but is a consistently terrible show runner, because he’s more interested in dazzling the audience with cleverness than actually telling a satisfying story.  The video also points out that the show often implied Sherlock’s brilliance, without ever letting the audience follow along with his actions or thought-process in a way that DEMONSTRATED his brilliance.  

I highly recommend giving the aforementioned video a watch, because it is not only a great explanation of how Sherlock Holmes can be best utilized, but about how writing itself can be best utilized.

Other examples:  The Big Bang Theory.  As Wisecrack points out in their wonderful video on the subject, the punchline of every joke is “oh look, these characters are smart nerds!” which is repetitious at best and downright insulting at worst.

How to avoid this in your writing:  Treat the audience as your equal.  You’re not trying to bedazzle them, you’re trying to take them on a journey with you.  Let them be delighted when you are.  Don’t constantly try to mislead them or hold intelligence over their head, and they will love you for it.  Also, cheap tricks do not yield a satisfying story:  readers will know when you went into a narrative without a plan, and they won’t appreciate it.

3.  Do remember that smart people can be kind and optimistic!

As demonstrated by:  Shuri from Black Panther.

Yes, brilliant people can be unhappy and isolated by their intelligence, or rejected by society.  But remember that intelligence isn’t synonymous with a cantankerous attitude, or an excuse to be a pugnacious ass to those around you!  

Part of the reason why Shuri of 2018′s Black Panther was such a breath of fresh air was the fact that she subverted almost all preconceptions about how a genius looks, acts, and regards the world.  And it’s not just the fact that she isn’t a sullen, middle-aged white man that makes her stand out:  Shuri has an effervescent attitude, and genuinely loves contributing to her country and family.  She referred to sound-proof boots as “sneakers” (and then explained the pun when her brother didn’t get it.)  She’s fashionable.  She teases her older brother, and cries when he is apparently killed.  She’s up on meme culture.  This makes her unlike pretty much every other genius portrayed in the MCU.

Except maybe the Hulk.  He can dab now.

Shuri is also allowed to take pride in her genius, and can be a bit insufferable about it, which makes her more enjoyable and rounded.  But she is an excellent example of how genius can be explored and portrayed in fiction, and I will forever be embittered that she was underutilized in Infinity War and Endgame.

Why, for example, are all geniuses portrayed as arrogant misanthropes?  Albert Einstein battled depression, but he is also said to have enjoyed blowing bubbles and watching puppet shows.  He was kind to those who knew him.  Similarly, Alan Turing behaved little like his fictional counterpart, described as “shy but outgoing,” with a love of being outdoors.  Nikola Tesla fell in love with a pigeon.  Why do we have to portray these people so damn gravely?

Other examples:  Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds.  Also an excellent portrayal of an intelligent person on the autism spectrum, as he struggles to interface socially but cares profusely for his fellow human beings.  He is brilliant, and completely precious.

Also, Sherlock Holmes -- the original version, and all faithful adaptations thereof.  Anyone who thinks Sherlock is an austere, antisocial jerk isn’t familiar with the original canon.  He blushed when Watson complimented his intelligence, for God’s sake. 

Then there’s Elle Woods from Legally Blonde and Marge from Fargo.  Brilliant, upbeat, optimistic geniuses.

To apply this to your own writing:  If you have a smart character who hates everyone around them for no identifiable reason, ask yourself why this is necessary and what this adds to the plot.  Are they angry about injustice, towards themselves or others?  Are they frustrated with an inability to relate to people?  Do they want to protect themselves or their family at all costs, including politeness?  If not, question why your brilliant character can’t also be kind to those around them.

4.  Don’t make your character perfect at everything they do.

As demonstrated by:  Wesley Crusher from Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Ah, Wesley.  Some call him the original Mary Sue, and it’s one of the only times I’ve seen the term applied with some accuracy.  He is somehow the most gifted and least qualified person on The Enterprise.  He’s Hermione Granger without the charm, jumping in to answer questions before any of the trained officers in the room have the chance to, always in the right.  His only obstacle?  Why, the boorish adults he’s surrounded with simply don’t understand his brilliance!

As early as the series’ very second episode, Wesley -- inebriated by an alien illness -- forcibly takes over the ship from Captain Picard, only to later save it from a threat with a reverse tractor beam of his own design.  

Wesley was obviously inserted as a means of attracting younger viewers, but failed egregiously, because he was too annoyingly perfect for kids to relate too, and not cool enough for them to be invested in.  I binge-watched the various Star Trek series in my youth for Spock, Data, and my wife Seven of Nine, not to watch seasoned military and scientific officers get lectured by an adolescent.  Even Wil Wheaton, who had the misfortune of portraying this character, expressed a dislike for him.  

Precocious children are great, if you get them right.  But get them wrong, and they can easily become your most annoying character, marring the face of otherwise great media.  The most important thing you can do for a brilliant character is endow them with weaknesses and flaws -- even something as small as Shuri’s fondness for teasing her older brother made her enjoyable, as anyone with siblings could relate to their dynamic.  

But, what if you want a supernaturally talented character who not only fails to be a ray of sunshine, but is something of an arrogant, antisocial jerk?  Can they still work, especially if they also happen to be a child? 

Yes, under one extremely important condition:

5.  Do keep your characters out of their depth!

As demonstrated by:  Number Five from Umbrella Academy.

Okay, he’s not exactly a child.  He’s a fifty-eight-year-old trapped in a child’s body, who’s traveled back in time from a post-apocalyptic future to warn his siblings of an incoming Armageddon.  In other news, Umbrella Academy is a weird show.  Unlike the comics, however, the apes don’t engage in prostitution. 

 The effect, however, remains the same:  a preternaturally talented child who talks down to everyone around him, including his (apparently) older siblings.  So why does he work while Wesley fails so egregiously?

For one thing, it’s demonstrated early on that Five has the skills to back up his sanctimonious attitude, with the delightfully ultraviolent Istanbul (Not Constantinople) sequence.  It also helps that he lacks Wesley’s squeaky-clean moral code, to the point at which he can get drunk in public or kill without remorse.  

But:  the element most vital to his success as a character is the fact that he’s kept completely, and consistently, out of his depth.  He knows the world will end in eight days, but he doesn’t know how this will transpire or how to stop it.  Ultimately, he fails again to stop the apocalypse, and must travel back in time with his siblings for another chance.  

Most authors have the impulse to demonstrate a character’s brilliance by allowing them to succeed against insurmountable odds, but the Umbrella Academy writers show tremendous wisdom in allowing Five to fail.  This allows the audience to empathize with him, and countermands the effects of his arrogant attitude.

This advice isn’t just true for pint-sized prodigies.  Look back over this list, and take notes of how often the most successful characters are allowed to fail, to have flaws, and to ascend past their comfort zone.  

Other examples:  Virtually every successful example on this list.

Tommy Shelby, a character of limitless ambition, conducts a new, perilous climb outside of his social rank each season, which almost always puts him in positions of mortal danger.  He faces threats both external (rival gangs, evil priests, and rising fascists) and internal (hello PTSD, suicidal tendencies, and crippling addiction) but either way, we understand that his fast-paced climb is not for the weak-willed or faint-hearted.  

Mark Watney is a brilliant scientist who has been stranded in an utterly impossible situation for which absolutely no one could be adequately prepared (spoilers:  it’s on Mars.)  We are drawn in by his plight, and how he could possibly escape from it, and there we come to admire him for his courage, optimism, and humor.

Shuri, though not the main character of Black Panther, is allowed to show off both tremendous gifts and vulnerability, as she is powerless to stop the apparent death of her beloved older brother.  She watches Wakanda’s takeover both as an innovator and a young woman, and a large reason for her success is that she is allowed to be both.  

How to apply this to your writing:  When portraying intelligent characters, take stock of how often they fail, their level of control over their surroundings, their vulnerability, and their flaws.  We don’t want to read about flawless deities.  We want to read about characters who embody and personify our humanity.  So remember they need to fall down in order to pull themselves up.

Happy writing, everybody! 

[imagine-lcorp]

Use Somebody (One Shot)

Request

How about a post-season 4, where kara and lena have feelings for each other then to get back at kara for keeping her supergirl identity, lena rejects her and started dating reader but ends up really falling in love with the reader in the end. Reader gets at by Lena's ulterior motive. Angst with happy ending please. P.S. I really love your writings! :)

A/N: Okay guys, so furst of all I’m soo sooorry, I haven’t wirtten much, honestly October is like a pretty busy month for me but please know that I’m still around, trying to write and pretty much obssesing over Lena Luthor and Katie McGrath. Now, this little imagine was supposed to be angsty but it seems like my brain cannot function when writing angst so please forgive me because i think this is actually pretty bad but i did my best for you as always. Please let me know what you think, i hope you still like it and love y’all!!!!

Lena Luthor x  R//Word Count: 1,904

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It was right after Lena broke the picture in her desk that she decided she had had enough. Enough lies, enough pretending, enough betrayal. Enough of a broken heart. So, when Kara visited her that morning to ask about her, Lena didn't hold back.

The confrontation couldn't have been more nerve wrecking for both of them. Lena didn't want to know anything about her anymore outside of what was strictly necessary. If Supergirl or the DEO needed her, she would comply and that was it. A courteous agreement for the greater good and to preserve the peace among them. It no longer mattered the reasons why Kara had kept her secret from her or how much she had claimed to care and love Lena. At the end of it all, Supergirl and Kara now fused in the same person, were confined to a corner in Lena's mind where a box with all she had made Lena feel once was sealed and left to never be opened again.

It had hurt Lena so deeply that she could only think how much she wanted her to hurt too, make her feel the same she was feeling. Wounded, hopeless, tired. A punishment to fit the crime.

Then you entered her office and she didn't know if it had been the alcohol or the way you looked at her from her door, so innocent and full of concern just like she used to.

"Sorry to bother you but I heard what happened. I thought you could use a friend."

"Thank you, (Y/N)." She smiled sadly at you. "I could definitely use one right now."

And so she did.

It was no secret that you had a crush on Lena, even she was pretty much aware to some extent about it, but you never made a move or showed more interest than it was necessary. There had always been a speck of hope that your friendship with her could became something else but you kept your distance on those matters.

But then Lena invited you on a date and then another and another, and date after date you tried to prove yourself more than just a good friend and someone she could trust.

When the Superfriends found out about you, they seemed relatively happy about it. Or most of them anyway.

You started to notice soon after the way Lena acted towards Kara. However, she never mentioned why it was like this and you also never questioned her about it. Their relationship was still in good terms as far as anyone could see. Lena had made sure of that. So not a single time it occurred to you that something was wrong. Or at least that was you said to yourself over and over and over.

The bites of tension every time Lena and Kara were in the same room. The way Kara kept her eyes on Lena trying to catch her attention, the extra politeness they dedicated to each other when their encounters were inevitable, and how Lena tried to stay on the other side of the room if Kara happened to be there too. Silly glances and coincidences that were made obvious in the was she tried too to stay close to you or showing a little more of affection if there were people around. If Kara was around.

Over and over you had convinced yourself it was due to the novelty of your relationship. How bad you wanted to be near each other, how in love you were with each other.

As the days with you passed, Lena started noticing a few things by herself. How little by little the ache and the sadness that had plagued her dissipated to shed some light on the new feelings nesting inside her heart.

At first, it was strange to realize thinking about Kara didn't hurt as much when you were around. You were by her side and on her side and that was more than enough at the end of the day, having one person to trust and love.

It was the careful, thoughtful way you cared for others and made them feel heard, the many things you liked and tried to share with her, the sound of your laugh when you found something funny on your phone, and the little quirks she had learned about you that were so you she couldn't imagine you without them. The way you looked at the world. The way you looked at her. All of you that helped her forget.

If only you had remained blind to real reason why Lena had choose you to stay by her side, it would have been enough for you too.

It was a Friday night, out with your friends and Lena that you finally found out. Between drinks and laughs and jokes and bad songs on the karaoke, you left Lena's side for a moment and headed to the bathroom. You hadn't notice Kara and Alex had gone there too.

"... this whole thing with (Y/N) and Lena, I know it's getting on your nerves." You heard Alex's voice before entering the bathroom and at the mention of your name you stopped.

"On my nerves?" Kara scoffed in response. "No, that's not what-" The sound of glass breaking made you jump a little.

"Well, you broke your drink." Alex remarked.

"Oh god, Alex, what am I suppose to do." Kara sounded tired. "They look like they are made for each other."

"I wouldn't go that far. I mean, do they look cute together? Kinda. Will that last? No. Why?"She pointed each question and answer and you frowned."It's obvious Lena has feelings for you. Why do you think she started dating (Y/N) in the first the place?"

"Because she hates me and is in love with someone else?"

"Because she's hurt." This was definitely something you didn't want to listen, but your feet had seemed to be glued to the ground. "From what I can see, this is Lena's rebound and I'm sorry (Y/N) had to be the one caught in the middle." You didn't listen to anything else after that.

No one could understand why you had left the bar in such a rush and neither did Lena until she called after you.

"(Y/N), wait!" You stopped dead in your tracks in the middle of the street at the sound of her pleading voice. It wasn't something you ever thought hearing from her. "Would you tell me what's going on?"

"Sure, I'll tell you what's going on." It was a second before the anger came back and you turned to face her. "Only if you tell me first, why did you ask me out the first time?"

She was taken aback for a moment at your question but took a couple of steps slowly towards you as if not scare you. "Because I like you (Y/N), why else would I-?"

"Are you sure it wasn't because you wanted to get at Kara?"

Lena didn't move. She couldn't. Because she knew there was truth in your words. So she let the silence fill the space between you before she was able to respond. Her answer was confirmation enough for you.

"It's not what you think."

"Not what I think?" You scoffed. "And what do I think, Lena? That this whole time I was only a piece you could use in your little game?"

"(Y/N), please, let me explain."

"What for?" Your voice kept rising at every word. "So we can keep pretending you had some kind of real interest in me? So I can keep making a damn fool of myself since I was the only one in lov-!"

You stopped yourself from finishing the final word as you felt your chest crumble and your voice break.

You closed your eyes for a moment and let out a ragged breath before looking back. "Did you even really cared?"

"(Y/N), I..." Yes, she had wanted to say. "I'm sorry." She said instead.

You swallowed trying to keep your voice from cracking. "Yeah, me too."

Lena couldn't seem to move anymore as you turned back and left. She realized too late she should have gone after you but the fear of rejection had made her stay behind.

She started calling soon after that, leaving messages, voice-mails, knocking on your door whenever she guessed you could be at home, only to find no answer. There was no reason to have an answer from you when all she had done was give you the same lies, the same pretense, and the same betrayal she had received from the person she used to love. A fitting punishment.

There were many times, however, when you had wanted to answer those calls. You would hear and read her messages over and over just to listen to her voice again. Although every time you listened to her you felt your heart grew heaver and heavier at every word. Because you loved Lena and it was impossible to you to understand how she was capable of playing you the way she did. You had believed every single word that came out of her mouth, not seeing the calculated moves and actions behind them. Or rather, you hadn't wanted to see them.

"(Y/N)." She called through your door one last time after many days she had spent trying to get a word from you. "I know I'm the last person you want to see ever again, but I want you to know that...I'm sorry."

"I was so angry and hurt by someone that I believed using someone else was a good idea to hurt them too. So, when you entered my office that day, my mind was already plotting vengeance. But you were so good with me, so caring and kind, that I started to forget why I had done all of it in the first place."

"I'm sorry." She repeated. "I love you, (Y/N), and I hope you can forgive me someday."

Lena pressed her forehead on your door and left out a defeated sigh not expecting it to open. She waited for a moment, her last hope of getting an answer.

She didn't receive any.

She turned to leave, finally accepting the fact that her mistake had been too great for you to ever forgive her. If it had been her on the other side of the door, she wouldn't have opened it either, she thought.

But then she heard the knob turning and the little squeak your door did every time when opening and she stopped herself one step from your door. She turned again to see you looking at her with a frown she couldn't quite read. It may have been anger, tiredness, confusion, a mix of all of those even, but when you spoke your voice was filled with concern. The same way you had looked at her that morning from a long time ago.

"You seem like you could use a friend." You said.

"Yeah." She swallowed. "I could use one."

Behind your door you had heard, her words so true that even when you couldn't see her you knew, that for everything she had said and done before there must have been something true. So you swung the door open wide and let her in once more, and that was enough.

[silverfootstepswrites]

Incandescent [2/3]

title Incandescent (2/3)  summary Vengeance is the best pick-up line. pairing itasaku (of course)

Part 1 | Part 3

It was a well-known fact that King Fugaku had bastard children. At least two, in fact. One, he had taken in as his “nephew” and currently served as a baron not far from the capital. The other, for some reason, he had never acknowledged. Never even spoken to. It had been a source of great scandal in the Cian Kingdom when it had first come to light. But now, no one batted an eye.

Which Sakura thought was absurd.

“He made him and he won’t even speak to him?” Sakura complained. 

“It’s not as uncommon as you think, Sakura,” Kizashi answered.

“That’s right,” Mebuki piped up. “If anything, Papa is the strange one for not having mistresses.”

Sakura hid her smile behind her napkin as she watched her father sputter. 

As Sakura recalled that conversation from a few years ago, she started when a servant arrived to set down tea in front of them. The plates and silverware rattled together. Her eyes met Sakura’s. Sakura didn’t dare look at her guest. She just nodded at the girl to dismiss her. She couldn’t leave the room faster. The door closed with a click behind her.

Sakura sat alone with her esteemed guest. Emperor Itachi of the Bermellon Empire.

Bermellon was a powerhouse of military prowess and technology. It was much older than the kingdom of Cian, and its access to the ocean meant that merchants flocked to its ports. A plague several years ago, along with a civil war waged among the nobles had weakened the empire considerably. Rumors had spread of a new emperor who had seized the throne and brought stability to the lands. All that the rumors could agree on was that the emperor was a recluse who didn’t appear in public for any reason.

“You must be uncomfortable. I beg your pardon for the sudden visit,” the emperor said, lowering his head. 

Sakura pinched her thigh through her dress. It hurt. So this wasn’t some kind of strange dream.

“I.... Please don’t beg, Your Majesty,” was all she could think to say.

Itachi was silent as he took that in. And then a smile curled his lips. 

“Then instead of begging, let me ask you a question, My Lady. Is is true that you’ve been in a somewhat... vindictive mood lately?” he queried. Pointer finger on his cheek and thumb on his chin as he watched her.

Her curiosity overpowered the fear. She met his gaze. “Perhaps.”

His smile widened. “Excellent.”

Sakura didn’t know why. But she felt quite comfortable recounting the last several months to a foreign monarch. Which, in retrospect, was probably a very stupid thing to do. Maybe it was his silence. It was hard to find someone who just listened.

“That is... quite a slap in the face,” was all he concluded at the end of her story.

“What I resent most,” Sakura began. She seized a cookie from the platter in the middle of the tray, “Is that I have brains. Why would he believe that I was going to seduce the son of the Knight Commander when I’m already going to become Queen?” 

“That would be unnecessary,” Itachi said. 

“Exactly!” Sakura took a bite of the cookie. And then, settling back in her seat, she sighed.

“Well, there’s no use in getting angry. It’s what I get for underestimating the no-name niece of a baron,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. After a moment, her gaze flickered up to Itachi. 

“I’m not what you expected, am I?” Sakura guessed.

Itachi smiled a little. He wasn’t so daunting when he smiled like that. “Am I that transparent?”

“No. You have to get good at reading faces when you’re engaged to someone like Prince Sasuke,” Sakura replied. And then she tilted her head to one side as she thought as she added, “You remind me of him.”

His smile faded. “Which reminds me, we haven’t gotten to the reason for my sudden visit.”

She was aware that he had just changed the topic. But she gestured for him to proceed. She could always poke at that again later.

“Simply put, after the civil war, the farmlands and much of our infrastructure were destroyed. We’ve been able to make ends meet by importing crops from neighboring nations. Like yours. But the harsh tariffs your king has recently set against my country have hurt everyone. My people cannot afford to eat.”

“Wouldn’t this be the job of an ambassador to discuss this with His Majesty?” Sakura wondered.

“You’re correct. It would also be his job to discuss how Cian has engaged in skirmishes along our border and attempted to blame bandits,” Itachi added. 

“So my country is provoking you to see if you’re weak enough to attack?” she guessed. 

Itachi nodded. He took a sip of his tea. “That’s what I believe.”

Sakura folded her arms across her chest. “Then where do I factor into all of this?” she asked.

“Even outside of your kingdom’s borders, your family’s power is well-known. And then I happened to hear rumors of the House Haruno’s.... falling-out with the Crown. Naturally, I thought we could help each other. We put on a show, feign closeness. We can use that to our advantage to each get what we need.”

Sakura eyed him as she lifted her teacup to her lips to take a sip. She placed it back down on the saucer, soundlessly. “Do you plan to add Cian to your empire?”

Itachi didn’t flinch from her gaze. In fact, she almost wanted to flinch. Meeting with the Queen had been unnerving enough. This man was on a whole other level. “You’re quite blunt, aren’t you?” he observed. 

“Your question doesn’t cancel out my question, Your Majesty,” she pressed. Perhaps, a little foolishly. 

Itachi chuckled. “True. That was rude of me. But I also have many things I’d like to ask you.”

“Then we take turns. If you’d answer my question first, I’d be happy to answer one of yours,” she suggested.

“Very well. My answer is ‘no’. I don’t plan on conquering Cian.” And then he paused as he searched her gaze. “You’re not frightened?”

“Terrified.”

“Of this plan?”

“Yes. And of you. You’re very intimidating,” she answered. She didn’t see a need in lying about that. 

He chuckled, eyes flickering down to the teacup. “I wouldn’t be a good ruler if I wasn’t.” And then his eyes moved back up to her. “Your next question?”

“Is it alright for you to be away from Bermellon like this?” she inquired.

“No, actually. But this was a special exception. In the future, I’m afraid our correspondences will have to be through writing,” he told her. And then he tilted his head a little as he looked her over.

“Why do you ask?”

Sakura gestured around the room. “Because if you’re going to continue to visit, Your Majesty, we’re going to need to update these furnishings. My mother would have a fit if she knew you sat in the same room as out-of-season curtains,” she told him. 

Itachi’s eyes sparkled as he pressed his knuckles to his mouth. It took him several moments for him to speak again. In which Sakura felt at ease because she knew it was from him trying his best not to laugh. Which would have been very undignified for a fearsome emperor. 

“I look forward to working with you, Lady Sakura.”

“Likewise, Your Majesty.”

Itachi’s departure was discrete. He slipped out through the servant’s entrance, the hood of his cloak pulled up to cover his hair. As the carriage pulled up, Itachi turned back to look at her. Sakura lingered in the doorway.

“Do you have a pet name, My Lady?” Itachi inquired.

“Do I look like the sort of woman who would have a pet name, Your Majesty?” she retorted, forehead wrinkling at the very thought. Pet names were for little girls. Perhaps the only peer who could have gotten away with calling her by such a thing would have been the royal family. Just imagining Sasuke’s look of disgust if she asked him to call her by a pet name made goosebumps rise up and down her arms. 

“No. I suppose not. You’re quite endearing enough as is,” he mused mostly to himself as he turned to climb into the carriage. 

The servants pretended to have seen nothing, and all Sakura informed her mother when she arrived a week later was that she had been dreadfully bored without her.

“You changed the curtains. Thank you, love,” Mebuki observed as she sat in the parlor. She cast a confused look at the servant girl who stifled a giggle.

It began with a letter. A formal correspondence from the Emperor of Bermellon to Duke Haruno. 

“What does it say, Papa?” Sakura asked, leaning on him as she read over his shoulder. Kizashi handed it to her once he was done reading.

“The Bermellon Empire has had trouble feeding all its citizens after the civil war. The nobles were fond of razing farmlands as a battle strategy, apparently,” Kizashi informed her. He folded his hands under his chin as he waited for her to finish reading. 

Sakura wrinkled her nose. “Bermellon had an agreement with the Crown. They sold surplus crops to Bermellon. In exchange for what, Papa?”

“For not attacking us. For a while, Bermellon’s armies were a serious threat,” Kizashi replied.

“But not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” he agreed. “I’d heard rumors that King Fugaku was planning to lay down strict sanctions against Bermellon. I never thought Bermellon would come running to us for help, though.” Leaning back in his chair, Kizashi bit the end of his pipe. 

“Well, we grow the crops. It would make more sense for them to deal with us directly rather than go through the Crown,” Sakura commented. She stole a glance at her father, measuring his expression. He appeared to be lost in thought. 

“Why don’t we help them, Papa? It wouldn’t do for people to go hungry,” she suggested. 

Her father’s eyes flew to her. Sharpening.

“You know what kind of message that would send.”

“I know, Papa.”

Kizashi’s eyes narrowed even more. His mustache twitched. “What are you planning, dear daughter of mine?” he wondered. 

Sakura rested her chin in her palms. She beamed at him as she answered: “Wouldn’t it be so much more fun if it were a surprise, Papa?”

Kizashi penned a reply that afternoon. Sakura sitting at his side as they brainstormed how to word the response. Mebuki eyed them as she watched Sakura pour wax onto the envelope flap. Sakura blew on the wax to cool before she stamped it with the seal. 

“The royal family is moving to the Winter Palace. They should arrive in the next week or so,” Mebuki announced.

“Do you think they’ll try to make amends?” Kizashi queried.

“Of course. Although it seems like our daughter has other plans,” Mebuki noted. Sakura just smiled at her. Mebuki reached out and stroked Sakura’s hair. “Remember, darling. No treason.”

“Yes, Mama.”

As the weeks went on, letters went back and forth. Sakura started to pity the messengers who rode from the emperor’s palace on the coast to the Haruno family’s manor further inland. 

Under the guise of lightening her father’s workload, Sakura had taken on writing to the Emperor herself.

At first, the messages had been strictly business. Contracts and official documents that were signed and stamped to ensure a fair deal. There had been a few letters that had been a bit snippy as they negotiated about the money that would change hands. Sakura had to admit that the Emperor was a shrewd negotiator. The number they settled on wasn’t exactly unfair to her, but it was certainly less than she would have liked.

But as the number of letters grew, Sakura found that their correspondences sounded less and less like business. 

He didn’t exactly spill his soul onto the page, but she could make some guesses. His palace seemed like a quiet place. And he worried a lot. About his people. About himself. 

In one letter on a particularly dull day, Sakura mentioned off-hand that she missed the capital. Particularly the sound of the cuckoo birds that would wake  her in the morning.

She stood dumbfounded in her garden a few weeks later. Inside a silver cage sat two birds. Their feathers were grey, almost blue. Their bright yellow eyes stared at her as she approached. One of them opened its beak to let out a familiar “cuckoo” sound.

“Those are...” Sakura trailed off when one of her servants handed her a letter. The imperial seal stamped into the deep purple wax. 

A token of thanks for all that you’ve done, was all it said.

Of course, Sakura hosted a small tea party a few days later. And while she didn’t say anything about the birds, she did place the cage in the middle of the garden, where everyone could see.

“Those are lovely, Lady Sakura,” one of the ladies commented.

“They were a gift from His Majesty the Emperor of Bermellon,” answered Sakura. Pretending not to notice Ino almost choke on her tea.

It didn’t take long for rumors to spread from there. 

Sakura told her chattiest servants about the latest thing the Emperor had written to her or sent to her. And in turn, those servants spread the gossip to her friends and family. Who in turn informed their friends. 

By the peak of the winter, the royal court buzzed with speculation like an angry beehive. Was the daughter of Duke Haruno engaged to the Emperor of an enemy nation? Was this a plot on the Crown’s part to gain Bermellon’s trust? Hadn’t Lady Sakura just been rejected by the Prince?

Sakura sat in the shade of the garden. It was a little cool, but the cloak around her shoulders kept her from feeling uncomfortable. The lavender the Emperor had sent to her several weeks ago had taken nicely to the soil. The stalks of silver-green leaves swayed back and forth, spreading the fragrance through the air. 

“What’s most scandalous, I think, is that it’s difficult to tell whether he’s courting you or not, I think,” Mebuki observed. She gestured around the garden. “Flowers, birds, teas from his lands. Normally he would be sending dresses and jewels if he were trying to woo you.”

“Oh nonsense, Mama. He’s just showing his appreciation for our trading partnership,” drawled Sakura. And they dissolved into laughter. 

The cooler weather passed and it was time for a new social season. 

Sakura took a deep breath. She rolled her shoulders to loosen up before she nodded at the steward. He opened up the doors. A servant girl entered bearing a large silver tray. Envelopes of every shape and size covered the surface. Some of the messages were doused in perfume, which Mebuki promptly plucked out and tossed in the discard pile. (”That’s tacky, my dear. Anyone of good standing uses their name, not their nose to get attention.”)

“Hm. Garden party. Garden party. Oh. Flower viewing. So different from a garden party,” Sakura read as she shuffled through the invitations.

“Which ones will you go to, Mama?” asked Sakura. 

Mebuki glanced through the names. “The sister of Earl Sabaku is throwing a stargazing party. She always has the most interesting ideas.” 

And then Mebuki picked up a few more envelopes. “Countess Inuzuka has continued to annoy me. But I might show my face at Marquise Nara’s tea party.”

“And Marquise Yamanaka?” Sakura prompted. 

Mebuki laughed. “That goes without saying.” But then Mebuki looked at her daughter’s face and her smile fell. “Oh. You’re... not planning on attending.... any of these,” she realized.

Sakura grinned. Pressing her hands together, she fluttered her eyelashes. 

“Actually, Mama, neither of us are attending. We have somewhere to be,” Sakura corrected her. 

Mebuki sighed. 

“....Let me go get your father.”

“Duchess Haruno, it’s so good to see you,” the Queen greeted Mebuki a couple weeks later. Mebuki curtsied deeply. 

“Thank you so much for meeting with me, Your Grace,” Mebuki replied. 

“Of course. We are always glad to see such a dear and trusted friend,” Mikoto answered her. And they were all titters and smiles. Which did nothing to mask the frigid atmosphere in the room as they sat together.

“Now, whatever is this urgent matter that concerns you, my dear duchess?”

“The Haruno family won’t be attending the spring banquet?” Fugaku barked. His voice echoed across the dining room. Mikoto wrung her hands, her food untouched. Sasuke stared at his plate, like he wasn’t a part of the conversation. A servant walked in with a water jug, eyed the expressions of the royal family, and silently backtracked out of the room.

“...Or the summer ball,” added Mikoto. 

Fugaku’s fork and knife clattered onto the plate. He threw his napkin on the table.

“This is unacceptable,” Fugaku said.

Sasuke stole a glance at his father and found himself on the receiving end of a glare.

“This is your doing, Sasuke.”

“How is the Haruno family’s insolence my responsibility?” Sasuke retorted. 

“Oh, Sasuke, don’t,” Mikoto sighed. But there was no point. 

“Not only did you dissolve an engagement, you publicly humiliated the daughter of the biggest threat to our kingdom. To make things worse, you abjure the girl you chose to replace her with after less than a year. What sort of message does that send to our people?” Fugaku spat. Sasuke bit his tongue as he looked away.

“For years, Sasuke, Duke Haruno has been called the second king of this nation. Should he choose to rebel, it would plunge this nation into a bitter conflict. One that I’m uncertain we would emerge victorious from,” the king then said in a softer voice. 

Slowly, Sasuke turned his face back toward his parents. Fugaku was still scowling. 

“I’ve been hearing unsettling strange rumors about the south right now. Fix this before it’s too late, Sasuke. Lady Sakura has always been enamored of you. Use that to your advantage,” the King demanded.

However, when Sasuke arrived at the Haruno mansion in the Capital the following day, it was empty. 

“The Duke has moved here for the season, Your Highness, but there has been no word from the Duchess,” the steward informed him. And then he added, “It’s very likely that they are still at the manor, You-”

Sasuke stalked off before the steward could finish speaking. He had his fastest messengers sent south to the Haruno lands. They returned several days later empty-handed. Neither women was there, and none of the servants could say where they had gone.

Interrogating Sakura’s usual friends was just as pointless. Lady Ino claimed that she was just as confused as to where her friend was, and then punctuated her words with some scowls and maybe even an eye roll. Lady Temari was less obvious about her disdain, but answered just as coldly. 

“How am I supposed to fix this if I can’t even find her?” Sasuke grumbled. 

“Well, you probably shouldn’t have messed things up from the start then,” Naruto said, patting him on the back. Which was the sort of privilege he had by being one of Sasuke’s only friends since childhood. And oblivious to Sasuke’s expression, Naruto went on. “I tried to warn you. My cousin’s crazy. And Lady Sakura would never do all those things Karin said. If I were you, I’d be really mad at myself for falling for any of that.”

“Naruto.”

“Hm?”

“Stop talking.”

“Alright, Your Highness.”

A few days later, a message arrived at the royal palace. It might not have caught anyone’s attention except for the deep purple wax that sealed the flap in place. 

As soon as Fugaku turned it over, his mouth tightened into a thin line. 

“What is it?” Mikoto asked. 

“Trouble,” was all Fugaku could say.

[ukulelewrites]

thank u, next

A/N: am i whipped for one (1) kangaroo leader???????? maybe lol but i’m on break rn for cranberry season and i whipped up this fic after listening to this song on repeat for a kajibillion hours. i’m thinking of making this a two part series? or should i keep the ending as is? or do y’all want more of this dynamic???? lmk what yall think!!! Also if anyone can tell what the song skz is singing hmu

Pairing: Stray Kids’ Chan x Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff/Pop Star!Reader x Rock Star!Chan/Exes AU

Word Count: 5.4k 

Thought I’d end up with Han / But he wasn’t a match,

Wrote some songs about Hyunjin / Now I listen and laugh,

These words flowed through the car stereo late at night as Chan found himself kissing some random girl he met at the nightclub. She kept her hands clutching tightly to his leather jacket, and he smirked as she let out another sigh.

Even almost got married / And for Chan I’m so thankful,

Wish I could say “thank you” to Felix / Cause he was an angel,

Chan froze once he heard his name coming from the stereo. “What’s wrong, babe?” the girl, who’s name had slipped his mind, asked.

He dropped his shocked expression and slipped back into his normal cocky facade. “Nothing, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he reassured her, leaning down to ghost his lips against hers, Now, where were we?”

One taught me love / One taught me regret

One taught me pain / Now, I just can’t forget

You had not expected such an explosive reaction to your newest single, but here you were, scrolling down your Twitter feed to the endless tweets gushing over “thank u, next.”

“Darling! You’ve done it once again!” your manager exclaimed as she burst into your dressing room, “I’m getting calls after calls asking you to come onto talk shows, radio shows, award shows, the whole shebang!”

“I’m glad to see you’re so excited about this, Melissa,” you teased, “I haven’t seen you this happy since you’ve met Chris Evans.”

“Now, as much as I love that man, I love you much more, my little songbird,” she sang as she booped your nose. “Did you hear what they’re calling this? ‘Pop Princess turned Pop Queen!’ God how I love the press! They’re eating this whole thing up!”

“I guess they didn’t expect me to release such an honest song,” you replied, still scrolling through your feed.

“Of course they didn’t! Who knew innocent ‘Somni’ would pull a Taylor Swift and drop a song about her exes? And name them too? No other artist has done that before!”

“I’m pretty sure I wrote that song about my self-growth, Melissa, not just to highlight I dated those guys.”

“Of course, darling. Now, why don’t we get you all dolled up for the red carpet? It’s your first public appearance as the ‘new’ you!” She let out a squeal before running out to grab your stylist and make-up artist.

You giggled at her newfound excitement and looked back down at your phone only to freeze at the headline glaring back you: CHAN CONQUESTS AGAIN? You swallowed down the uneasiness that crept upon you and placed your phone face down. “Get a grip, Y/N. You’re no longer ‘little Ms. Pop Princess,’” you said to yourself, training your eyes firmly on your reflection in the mirror, “and some boy isn’t going to make you revert to that.”

“Now, Somni, how does it feel to be all grown up now?” Amber asked. You laughed at her formality, considering the two of you were close friends, and pretended to ponder upon the answer.

“Honestly, I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you answered, giggling a bit at the eye roll she gives you and the disappointed looks you get from the audience members.

“I can’t believe you’re playing coy with me right now!” she jokingly complained, “I expect answers during my interviews, Y/N, answers!” The audience ooh’d when she used your real name.

“Sorry, Amber, I just don’t get your question! I’ve been a grown up since I turned 18, and that was a while ago.”

“Nuh uh! Somni was not grown up two years ago when she released ‘Wonderland.” Iconic album, but definitely the cookie cutter pop album we’d expected it to be. But this? ‘thank u, next’ completely defies what we expected coming from you! What caused the shift?”

You could practically feel the audience members leaning forward with bated breath. Ever since the song dropped a month ago, the internet had been ablazed with speculation over your music’s sudden shift.

“Well, I guess I was done writing a narrative where I was always the person getting saved,” you said, referring to the long list of love songs you had written in the past, “and I wanted to be the person that saved myself. ‘Monochrome’ is definitely going to show more of that self-love theme that I teased in ‘thank u, next,’ and I’m so happy that everyone has been so supportive of the change!” You gestured towards the audience members, earning a cheer from them, and even acknowledged the camera, knowing many of your fans were also watching at home.

“Amazing. I’m so proud of you for taking that next step in your career,” Amber gushed, earning an ‘awww’ from the audience, “Now, we can’t just ignore what everyone here actually wants to know about.”

You looked at her and quirked a brow. “And what is that?”

“The boys of course! You can’t just name drop them without spilling some tea, sis,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Stop,” you whined, “why would you even bring them up?” You exaggerated bashfulness by covering your face with your hands.

“C’mon, you name dropped a few big names in that song. Han? The biggest name in the up and coming rap scene right now! Hyunjin? He’s the highest paid male model in the world! Felix? Before his retreatment from the scene, he was the most well-known actor of his time!”

“Well, they helped build me into the person I am today. I didn’t think anything more of it,” you replied diplomatically.

“And we cannot leave out the biggest bombshell from that song: Chan, the lead guitarist of SKZ, which is, by the way to anyone watching who have been living under a rock for the past year, the biggest rock band on the scene right now! Who knew you were into the bad boy type, Somni? And you almost married the guy too!”

You let out an airy chuckle, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Yeah, we were young and in love. A risky combination if you ask me,” you joked, eliciting laughter from your audience.

“C’mon, Somni, you gotta give us something!” Amber pleaded.

“You know I don’t kiss and tell,” you jested, “especially not to the thousands of people who watch your show!” The audience whined at your statement, and you only flashed them an apologetic smile.

“But seriously, how did the bright-eyed, princess of the pop world end up almost married to the biggest playboy rock star on the scene right now?” Amber goaded.

“We were different at the time, Ambs. Life just happened to end up this way,” you replied cryptically. She tsked at your unwillingness to spill everything, but she retreated from the topic.

“Anyways, focusing back on you, I heard you’ll be performing at the American Music Awards, and you’re premiering your new single’s music video during it? That’s huge!”

“Yeah, ‘Without Me’ is getting a music video. Stan Twitter, this one’s for y’all!” you exclaimed, shooting finger guns towards the camera.

“And you’re album is dropping tonight right?”

“Exactly at midnight! I hope everyone can listen to it. I know it’s my favorite and most intimate album to date, and I hope everyone enjoys it to!”

“Well that looks like all the time we have with Somni tonight, folks. Check out her new album, ‘Monochrome,’ dropping tonight at midnight!”

You were back in your New York City penthouse, finally away from the hustle and bustle that came with album promotions. A small sigh escapes past your lips as you submerged yourself into the warm, bubbly bath water. You rested your head against the tub and looked up at the ceiling, finding yourself slipping away into your memories.

“What do you think about this chord, songbird?” Chan asked, strumming a jumbled mess of notes on his guitar. He got a scrunched up nose and a ball of sheet music thrown at his face as an answer. “Just teasing you,” he pouted, scooting over on the couch to look over your shoulder.

“I know you are, but I’m trying to focus right now,” you grumbled, pushing your glasses back up your nose and scrunching your eyebrows together. Your pencil was still flying across the page, putting down notes and rests and lyrics.

“Why don’t you take a break,” he asked sweetly, “focus on,” he leaned his head down to nip at the sensitive skin on your neck, “something else?” You stilled your hand for a split second, and Chan thought he had finally broken through, but you just shrugged him off and went straight back to work.

“This is my first album after debuting, Chan. I can’t just put it off. I need to come back with good music,” you sighed. He looked on worriedly as you ran your fingers through your hair once again and let out another huff of air.

“Songbird.” His hands found themselves on your waist, and he hoisted you onto his lap. You didn’t struggle and leaned back into his arms. “Sometimes you just,” he pressed feather-light kisses against your neck after each word, “need a little distraction,” once he found your sweet spot, you knew you were gone, “or some inspiration,” you let out a soft groan when he lightly bit down on your flesh, “like how well I’m going to-”

BRRRING! BBBRRRIING!

“Sorry, babe,” you mumbled, leaning down to scoop your phone off the floor. “Let me take this, and I promise you we’ll get back to where we left off.” Chan just waved you off, but you had missed how his eyes trailed after your retreating frame lovingly. If only you had seen that.

You knew you were over your past relationships. Each one ended, relatively resolved, and tucked away in your memory box. You and Han ended things after six months due to busy schedules. Hyunjin was dropped after 4 months when you realized you needed someone to fulfill a deeper, emotional need. Felix disappeared from the scene a year into your relationship, and you just assumed it was over when he stopped replying to your texts. And Chan — your eyebrows furrowed at the thought of him.

You could never really pinpoint where things went wrong with him. It was a flurry of you falling too fast for someone who never really reciprocated back and diving right in when he proposed to you 2 years into the relationship. A wry smile graced your lips when you recalled the realization that had dawned on you two months into the engagement. “He never said ‘I love you’ sober,” you mused as you continued to soak in the bath. You knew that he was tucked in a box just like the other boys, but a small voice in the back of your head continued to pull at the ribbon that kept his box shut.

“Somni, you are absolutely stunning tonight!” the interviewer gushed as she gestured towards your fitted maroon suit jacket and tight cream pants outfit.

“Why thank you so much!” you beamed.

“I must say, this is probably a huge night for you,” she said, “How does it feel to be one of the main focuses of the night?”

“Well, I don’t know about ‘main focuses,’ but I am so excited to perform tonight and reveal the music video for the new single, ‘Without You!’”

“Speaking of ‘Without You,’ it is easily my favorite song from ‘Monochrome!’”

“Stop! You’re just being polite,” you teased.

“No! I seriously love how raw you sounded in the song. I honestly felt the pain in your voice,” she said. “Plus, it was quite fun trying to figure out which of the exes this one was about.” She gave you an over exaggerated wink, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the situation.

“Well, I hope you don’t expect me to tell you who,” you retorted, “It was lovely talking to you!”

After you bid her goodbye, you continued walking down the red carpet, stopping every now and then to pose for the camera and wave towards your fans. You also stopped every now and then to talk to some other artists and congratulate them for their nominations. In the midst of your conversation with Jaime, a deafening cheer from the hoard of fangirls came crashing into your ears. You looked behind you and saw SKZ getting out of their limo and beginning to walk down the red carpet. It was a blatant understatement to say Chan looked good. Even after accepting your failed relationship as it is, you were still capable of addressing that the guy looked fine. You dared not to stare for too long, since there were cameras everywhere focused on you, but you took a mental snapshot of Chan with his, newly dyed, blond hair swept up to reveal his forehead, adorned with a leather jacket thrown over a, teasingly, tight white button up and torn black skinnies, and the trademark devil may care attitude that seemed to wash off of him in waves.  A flash of light followed by a click pulled you out of your trance, and you refocused your attention back on Jaime. “Where did we leave off?” you asked sweetly, planting back on your trademarked smile.

The stage lights were pulsing, and the roar of the crowd became almost deafening around you. It had been a long night of dancing, singing along to the performers on stage, and afflicting yourself to pain whenever you had to trek onto the stage in your heels to present or accept an award. The camera seemed to love you as it continued to film you and Jaime as the two of you bounced up and down, both of you ditching your heels at that point, to the artists on stage and lip-syncing like your lives depended on it. However, you noticed the camera lingering on you longer than usual, and you sent the cameraman a playful quirk of the eyebrow. That was when Jaime pointed towards the main stage.

“SKZ is about to perform,” she explained, keeping a hand on your arm comfortingly.

“Awesome! I heard they’re performing a never heard before single,” you said back, trying to keep your expression upbeat for the camera.

The brief break ended, and all cameras trained their focus onto the side stage where the host stood. “Revealing a brand new single for the first time, here are the heartthrobs of SKZ with ‘Moving Along!’” they exclaimed.

Chan began to strum a steady rhythm, and a lump formed in your throat when you noticed the songbird sticker still stuck to the bright, red body of his guitar. The song was definitely more chill compared to their older, “edgier” releases, but you liked the lazy feel of the bass, the driving force of the rhythmic guitar, and the lax attitude the guys took on as they sang into the mics.

Been thinking bout you lots lately / Have you been feeling empty beds just like me?

I’ve been thinking bout you lots, lately / Or are you moving along?

You couldn’t help but chant along to the chorus, ignoring the weird feeling you got from the lyrics.

Is it wrong if I ask you to come over? / Is it wrong if I told you that I love ya?

Even though I never do it when I’m sober / Is it wrong? So wrong

That lyric struck a chord in you, but you continued to plaster on your smile and dance along to the song, keeping up a show for the camera. “If I wrote a break-up song, I guess he can too,” you mused.

The neon lights flashed to the bass that vibrated throughout the entire nightclub. You found yourself retreated to one of the side booths, scrolling on your phone to look at all the feedback you got back for the “Without Me” music video. It was amusing to see the internet freak out over, but you couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the lack of commentary on the music video’s aesthetic, which you had painstakingly curated, instead the buzz seemed to be around who the music video alluded to. Was the song about Chan? Definitely. You wrote it shortly after your split with him, and it sat in your drafts for a good year before your management pulled it out, dusted it off, and polished it up to be the second single for “Monochrome.” Was the purpose of the song to demonize Chan? Hell no. It was just to help you heal, help you get over such a harsh fall from cloud 9. You disappeared from the music scene for a good year to recuperate because being with him was like a firework. It built up and heated up and kept you enthralled, but it ended so quickly and left messes behind. It just happened to be that you were the mess that was left behind.

“Where were you?” you asked, too tired to put any emotion in your words anymore.

Chan looked at your sitting frame on the couch in shock. Well, as much shock as a drunk man could muster. “What’re you doing still up?” he slurred.

“Where. Were. You?”

“Out with the guys. Celebrating the new album’s release, the usual.” Chan’s brows furrowed. The tone of your voice took a complete 180 from what he was used to. “What’s wrong, songbird?” He walked up to you to try and get some shred of the usual warmth you emitted, but he was abruptly stopped when you stood up and held up a hand in between the two of you.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.” You had no clue where your iciness came from, but it wasn’t hard to assume it accumulated over the past two months of your engagement. The past two months where you were planning the wedding alone in your apartment’s kitchen with the company of a glass of wine while Chan is out every night getting shit-faced with who knows who?

“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” he pleaded, trailing behind you to the shared bedroom. You replied with silence, keeping your pace steady and your face still. You knew if you spoke, your voice would’ve wavered. “Y/N?”

God, he sounded so broken and confused. It took your all not to spin around and wrap your arms around him like everything was okay. But it had been months of his lack of attention, affection (unless he was absolutely desperate), and affirmation. Your revelation had been when you were sitting on the living room floor, writing a song about him as a surprise present for him during the wedding. However, in your fit of brainstorming, it came to your realization he hasn’t told you he loved you since the engagement. He hasn’t sat down with you and helped with the planning. He hasn’t been home most nights to hold you in his arms at night. The sudden distant behaviour led you to thinking: maybe he didn’t want this at all. Maybe he didn’t want you at all.

You were in the bedroom now, and you grabbed the giant duffel bag you had packed earlier and spun around to leave as quickly as you could.

“You’re leaving me?” he asked, “Why are you leaving?” You pushed past him without a word, but he grabbed your arm and spun you around to face him. “Y/N, talk to me.”

“Let me go, Chan.” God, you were too tired to drag this out any longer.

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on!” Chan spat back.

“I’m leaving you! That’s what’s ‘going on!’ I’m finally doing what’s right for me and leaving your sorry ass behind!” you screamed.

“What the hell did I do?” He was getting angrier now. “I just got home, and you’re already being a pissy little bitch!”

Your glare hardened at his last word. “Really now? You’re calling me a ‘bitch?’ Maybe I have a reason to be one,” you got right up into his face, “considering you’ve been an awful fiance for the past two months! You haven’t helped with any of the planning! You have barely been home at all lately! And we haven’t had a proper conversation in ages! I’m so tired of being strung along and left out to dry!”

“Maybe if you weren’t nagging me all the damn time, I’d stay home! Don’t you know how annoying it gets when I get home from the studio and the first thing I hear is your fucking voice telling me to pick out a goddamn flower arrangement?” he seethed, “If I knew you were this annoying, I would’ve never proposed.”

You had kept your indignant stare trained on his face the entire time, but at that last sentence you tore your gaze away and pulled your arm out of his grasp. “Would’ve never proposed, huh?” you parroted humorlessly, trying to smother down the lump forming in your throat and the tears swelling in your eyes. “Yeah, I wish you never did too.” You turned away to hide the tears slowly streaming down your cheeks and just started walking away.

“Wait, Y/N, songbird, I didn’t mean that,” Chan said, following after you, “You know that I love you.”

You spun around quickly and sent him a spurned look. “Do I? When was the last time you told me you loved me? When was the last time you held me? When was the last time you helped me? You don’t love me. You probably,” you choked up, “never did.”

“No, Y/N, I swear, I swear to God, I love you. I promise you I’ll be better,” he begged.

“Can you tell me that tomorrow when you’re sober?” you asked wryly. Chan just looked at you pleadingly, practically begging you to stay. “I’m done being another body that keeps you warm at night. Goodbye, Chan.” And just like that, you were out of his life.

You blinked back the tears that crept up and began putting back on your “Somni” mask, smiling brightly and cheerfully at everyone. Jaime and some of your other artist friends were lost to the beat, dancing away the night in the middle of the room. You were a solid two steps away from joining them before halting when you made eye contact with Chan. He was still dressed in that ridiculously fitted white button-up, and his hair had become messier, with strands falling down to grace his face. He was dancing with some girl; his hands on her waist as she kept her back firmly pressed against his chest, but his eyes were trained on you. If it was past-you in present-you’s position, you would’ve probably ran out of the room trying not to let tears spring from your eyes. But this is present-you, the one who spent a year healing and coming out of the wreckage stronger. You gave him a brief smile before turning away and walking towards the exit. “I think I’m done for the night,” you thought to yourself, “That’s enough excitement for a day.”

Chan woke up again to a cold bed. He groggily turned onto his side and glared at the bright red numbers that told him he was, once again, late to a meeting with management. “Great,” he said, falling back onto his back, “I couldn’t get any last night. I ran into my ex. And now I’m fucking late to a meeting.” The day hasn’t even started yet, and it’s already the worst day of his life. He grumbled and groaned some more before getting out of bed and stumbling to the drawer to find a clean shirt and pair of jeans. “When the fuck were you so soft, Chan?” he asked himself while digging around for socks. He would’ve usually never be affected like shit like this, but ever since you released that song he hasn’t been able to think of anyone but you. Every single girl he tried to bring back to his place ended in absolutely nothing because you keep plaguing his mind. Every single radio station he goes to ends up playing your song. And now his band’s highest selling single is the song he wrote about you. It was like he could never escape, and he was so fucking tired of it.

“Glad you could join us, Chan,” his manager said sarcastically.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “long night.” His bandmates looked at him sympathetically; almost everyone could tell Somni’s latest album was affecting him more than he’d want to let on.

“Anyways, we’ve generated such a good buzz around the upcoming album with all this ‘ex-lovers’ gossip, the company thought it’d be good to accept an offer for a special interview on Amber’s talk show,” the manager started cautiously.

“What kind of interview?” Chan asked.

“With you and Somni.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Chan seethed. “We’re ancient history! The public wouldn’t have cared this much if she didn’t release that stupid song and name-drop me.”

“But they care now, and bottom line, everyone knows you wrote ‘Moving Along’ about her. Do this interview and you boys are projected to break the Top 10 of album sales for 2018.”

“So we’re exploiting me for album sales?” Chan sneered.

“You signed up for this life, rock star. Don’t tell me you’re backing down because of some girl? Thought the two of you were ancient history?”

Chan studied his manager hard before gruffly agreeing to the interview, “If it gets you off my case.”

“So this isn’t awkward at all right?” Amber asked midway through the interview. You politely waved off her worry even though you could practically cut the tension between you and Chan with a knife. “Awesome,” she exclaimed, “Now let’s get to the juicy stuff. How did the two of you meet? Considering both of you are so freaking famous, how did no one know about this relationship???”

“Simple,” Chan plastered on his “rock star” persona quickly, leaning into the leather couch and easily placing his arm behind your head, “We figured out how to avoid the press after all of our years in the spotlight. Plus, it wasn’t hard for me to approach her; she was this bright-eyed, newly debuted pop princess completely left alone at an after party bar. I figured I might as well grace her with my company and from there it’s history.”

If he can put on his persona, I can too.

“If I remember correctly, I told you to buzz off when you offered to buy me a drink,” you said with a quirked eyebrow. The audience ooh’d at that, completely drinking up your newfound HBIC attitude.

“Looks like our pop princess is gone,” Amber joked, riling up the audience a bit more.

“But then you took a complete 180 when you ran into me tipsy into the alleyway outside the club,” Chan retorted, a playful smirk gracing his features.

Before you could stop yourself, you softly smiled at the memory and agreed. Chan was 100% taken aback by your change in demeanor. The queen-esque Somni facade was replaced by the Y/N he remembered waking up to every morning. If he wasn’t on camera right now, he would’ve definitely melted.

The moment was interrupted by Amber. “Wait, what happened? Y’all can’t leave us hanging like that!”

The soft expression left your face as quickly as it came and you settled back into your camera-self. “You know I don’t kiss and tell, Ambs,” you teased, “And I hope Chan here knows better and doesn’t either!” The audience laughed at your jest.

“Fine, but you can’t spend this entire time not giving us anything!”

“I can’t believe you told them the kitten story!” Chan exclaimed as the two of you lounged in the break room.

“What? They wanted some sort of tea, so I gave them an adorable story about the time you tried to ‘save’ a ‘stray,’ and it turned out you catnapped our neighbour’s cat!” You broke out into giggles at the memory of it all. All the tension between the two of you eased away somehow throughout the interview, and here you were now, sitting on the break room couch waiting for your ride while sharing memories with your ex-fiance.

“Okay, how was I supposed to know Benjamin already had an owner? He didn’t have a collar on him!”

“You can’t call the kitten Benjamin, Chan. It’s name was Spot, and we ran into it every day when Mr. Jameson went outside to collect the mail with the kitten trailing behind him.”

“Fine! I admit I just wanted a pet,” he said with a pout. Laughter fills the air, and it seemed like the clock had been turned back, like it was you and Chan on your couch at 3am sharing stories with each other. A comfortable silence falls upon the two of you.

“Do you miss this sometimes?” he asked out of the blue. You were taken aback by how serious he sounded.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I miss this.” He said it so nonchalantly that you almost missed it.

“Why would you?” you teased, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Because I love you.”

You didn’t know how to process that confession. You didn’t know how to respond to that confession. Hell, you didn’t even know he had it in him to drop that confession. You awkwardly chuckled, trying to diffuse the sudden surge of emotions running in your mind, “C’mon, you never really loved me, Chan. It’s all the media stuff getting to your head.” You tried waving it off while also trying to ward off the sudden heat rising to your cheeks.

“No, Y/N, I do love you. I loved you then, and I was an asshat for never telling you. But I was an idiot then who had no idea what love was. I hopped from girl to girl every single night until I met you. I dropped on one knee so fast and you said yes, and that’s when I realized that I was in no way shape or form good enough for you, and instead of facing it and trying to become better for you, I ran away and drove away the best goddamn thing that has ever happened to me. And I’m so fucking sorry for what my drunkass self said to you that night because it never said what I really wanted to say, ‘Stay. I’m sorry. I love you. Forgive me.’’

The air was getting heavier and you found it getting difficult to breath.

“But I swear, Y/N, on my heart, on my guitar, on my band, I love you, and I’m so sorry for not being the man you deserved.”

And that was when the dam opened. You just started bawling. It was like every single ounce of pain and sadness you bottled up after that break up, every ounce you poured into your music so you could pretend to be strong and move on, came rushing out. In your tears, you didn’t notice when Chan wrapped his arms around you. Taken over by muscle memory, you burrowed your face into his chest and wrapped your arms around his torso. He ran his fingers through your hair and rubbed your back reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m sorry for always making you cry, but I’ll be here for you now. I swear.”

Even then, with him comforting you and speaking so genuinely to you, you didn’t know what to make of the situation. Should you shut this down now or risk crushing your heart again just to give him a second chance? Chan took notice of your sudden stillness.

“Y/N? You alright?” He pulled himself away from you to study your face. “Y/N?”

“Chan,” you whispered, “I-” With a surge of stupid impulse, you grabbed Chan by the shirt and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips harshly against his. Like many times before, Chan’s hands find themselves gripping onto your waist before pulling you onto his lap. All caution was thrown to the wind when your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging at the strand slightly whenever you found him pulling back. “Babe, give me more,” you mumbled, pressing yourself even closer to him.

“Wait, Y/N, maybe we should-”

“Please, Chan? Please?” you begged, peppering kissing down his neck, “Just this once?”

At the sound of your whine, Chan flips you onto the couch, so he’s hovering above you. “Who said anything about ‘once?’”

asjdfkl so yeah, thoughts on a part 2??????? I kinda wanted to flesh out more of their backstory and maybe see what happens next?? and kinda wanted to delve in further into the other exes but then i realized it would’ve been wayyyyyyy too much and i apologize for all the freakishly long fics i write OTL also lmk if you know what skz in this fic sings bc yall a real one if yall do !!!

[heyyyharry]

Be Here

(from the Flatmate!Harry Series)

…in which Y/N has to go home for two weeks and Harry misses her terribly.

Warning: nothing, there’s only fluff in this one haha. Also I just updated my flatmate masterlist. If you notice, I update every time I post a new part so you guys will know what the next part is gonna be. *wink wink*

“Do you really have to go?” Harry whines, pouting like a little boy on his flatmate’s bed while watching her pack for her trip back home, away from him for two long weeks.

“Yes, I do,” answers Y/N as she continues folding her clothes. “Violet needs me.”

Violet is Y/N’s best friend from high school. They’re very close, she’s like the sister Y/N wishes she had. That’s why when Y/N received the phone call from John, her other best friend (also Violet’s boyfriend) telling her Violet had just got into a car accident and was staying in a hospital, she knew she couldn’t hesitate, even if Violet was just slightly injured.

“But I need you.” Harry quickly realizes what he just said and has to come up with a good excuse for those accidental words, “without you I’m going to starve, I’m the assistant, not the chef.”

Y/N pauses to smile at her flatmate. “You cooked me soup once.”

“Yeah after four fucking hours in the kitchen!” Harry widens his eyes, raising both of his eyebrows. “And, you hated it.”

“I didn’t!”

“Well, did you love it?”

“Not really.”

“Then you hated it.”

“So order a pizza then!” Y/N giggles as she puts the last piece of clothing into her suitcase, then closes it to move from the floor to her bed, sitting down next to Harry. “You sound as if your life hadn’t begun until you met me.”

It almost feels like it, says the voice inside Harry’s head.

“Two weeks’ too long.” He frowns.

The way he’s looking at her at the moment almost makes Y/N change her mind, but she knows she cannot fall for that. She has made a promise to herself to not let her feelings take over whenever she’s with him (which she fails most of the times, but definitely not this one). After the other night when she literally confessed her feelings for him and he replied with only silence, she knew it was hopeless, and it’d be best if they stayed friends, though it’s just so hard when he keeps sending her mixed signals like this.

With a soft smile, she tells him, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

...

Harry sets his alarm at 5 in the morning the next day so he can see Y/N one last time before she leaves. It’s not like she’d be gone for years, or even months, it’s only two weeks, but Harry starts to miss her already. He helps her bring her luggage to the taxi parked outside the building, complaining about how she should just let him drive her, but Y/N constantly tells him she’ll be fine on her own.

As the taxi driver opens the door for Y/N, she turns to stare at Harry one last time with a longing look on her face.

“I’ll see you in two weeks. Try not to burn our flat down.” She gives him a timid smile and receives one in return.

“I’ll try.” I’ll miss you a whole lot... “Take care, okay?” ...and I love you.

There are so many things both of them need to tell the other person before they separate. Such words remain unspoken as they stand still for what seems like three seconds, craving for a hug (or more) but neither is brave enough to take the initiative. Y/N eventually gets into the backseat of the vehicle and closes the door. 

Watching the taxi slowly disappear from sight, Harry wishes she could take him with her.

...

“Finally, some men time!” Niall cheers as he throws his arm around Harry’s neck, causing his best friend to stumble forward. This morning, Harry ran into Niall in the lecture hall and told him the bad news that Y/N would be gone for a while, Niall’s first reaction was the complete opposite of Harry’s.

“Oh, come on, I’m sure I can make you happy too.” Niall pinches Harry’s cheek as a joke, but Harry is quick to remove his best friend’s arm and push him away with a slight sneer.

“Sure you can.” 

“I’m going to pretend it wasn’t sarcasm.” Niall slightly shakes his head and adjusts his backpack straps as they’re heading to the parking lot. “But, mate, you haven’t spent much time with me and the boys ever since you’ve got a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Harry replies with a straight face. “She won’t ever be.”

“Are you seriously still lying about not being in love with Y/N?”

“Feelings is a topic we’ve been avoiding since the other night.”

“You’re just gonna let her go after all the things she said?”

“I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“Jesus! You’re like some angsty teenager, Harold!” Niall’s eyes are rolled skyward. “You know what you need? A night out, some beer. How about tonight?”

Harry reaches his car and pulls out the key from his pocket. “Not sure mate. Y/N will probably call me tonight.”

Niall opens the door on the passenger side and stands with one arm resting on the top of it, squinting his eyes at Harry. “If you keep acting like you two are dating, what will happen when she’s got a boyfriend, huh?”

Ignoring his friend’s remark, Harry gets into the driver seat and buckles up his seatbelt, leaving Niall thinking his advice is like water off a duck’s back. But the truth is, what Niall said has really got Harry thinking. 

...

Y/N’s best friend, Violet, is fine. She’s got a broken leg and a few shallow cuts on her face, which will eventually heal and won’t leave any scar according to the doctor. She’s just unable to leave the hospital bed at the moment so Y/N has to spend a lot of time here. But seeing how her presence makes her best friend so content is enough to warm Y/N’s heart.

“Check this out!” Violet pulls her boyfriend closer by the arm to show him a meme on her phone, which makes both of them burst into laughter.

“Where’s the lie?”

Violet snorts at John’s comment. “You know, whenever I hear that question, I automatically think of the whole nine seasons of How I Met Your Mother.”

“Right?!” Y/N, who’s sitting on the armchair by her friend’s bed, joins in. “I made Harry watch the entire nine seasons with me, but he refused to watch the last episode, because of the ending.”

It doesn’t take Y/N more than two seconds to notice the way her two best friends are looking at her.

“And I mentioned Harry again...” She presses her lips together and shifts her eyes immediately back to the opened book on her lap, blushing a little bit when she hears Violet’s soft giggles.

“What are you two gonna do about this?” Violet questions, clearly interested in her friend’s love life.

“Nothing, I guess? He literally said nothing when I talked about my feelings so maybe that’s our solution.”

“Are you serious or sarcastic? Sometimes I can’t even tell,” says John, but the girls ignore him anyway.

"You should never leave a problem unresolved, especially when it comes to feelings. Do as I say, when you get home, straight off tell him ‘I’m fucking in love with you so if you don’t feel the same, we can’t be friends’.”

Y/N puckers her forehead as a response to her girl friend’s advice. “What if he doesn’t feel the same? I can’t just move out!”

“Oh, he feels the same, trust me.”

“Vi, you haven’t even met him.”

John cuts in, “you told us he kept begging you to stay. This guy’s kind of obsessed with you.”

“He is not. He just...wants me there because I cook for him and remind him to do chores.”

Violet stares at Y/N, frustration crinkles her eyes. “It seems to me that you just don’t want to believe he has feelings for you but doesn’t do anything about it, so you try to convince yourself he doesn’t like you at all. I’m sorry to inform you sister, this boy is obviously in love with you, and he’s probably just scared of not being good enough to come forward and admit it. You should just give him time or even a little push, because apparently, this is as new to Harry as it is to you.”

“I...” Y/N is taken aback. “I never thought of it that way.”

"Trust me, I’m an expert when it comes to love.” Violet throws an arm around her boyfriend’s neck, laying her head on his shoulder. “Right baby?”

“Can’t agree more!” John smiles then leans down to peck Violet’s on the lips, the sight of them being heads over heels for one another never fails to put a beam on Y/N’s face. She’s always adored her best friends’ relationship, the real-life high school lovers concept in every teen movie, and it’d be a lie to say she doesn’t crave things like these once in a while. 

Y/N’s not lucky like Violet, she’s experienced love in all the worst ways. Her first boyfriend, Will, whom she lost her first kiss to, cheated on her not so long before Prom night. She then lost the second important first, her virginity, to her Prom date whose name was Brad and he left the next morning before she woke and never called her again. Her second relationship was with an older boy named Noah, it was just a brief fling in the summer before she entered university. He used distance as an excuse to break up with her, but she wasn’t so bitter about it, she didn’t like him that much anyway. 

So looking back, it’s a shame to admit, she’d never really been in love until she met Harry. He’s the biggest plot twist in her life so far, and she’s glad that certain things happened the way they did to lead her to him. 

...

"The wifi sucks! I can’t hear you! Give me a sec,” Harry says in annoyance as he ends the video call and tries to call Y/N again. Her face pops back up on the screen, smiling at him, this time in much better quality.

“Can you hear me now?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, smiling back. “Where was I?”

“You were telling me about-”

Y/N’s interrupted, this time by some muffled shouting in Harry’s background.

“Is the TV on?” she asks, but he shakes his head ‘no’ then turns around to look over his shoulder.

“Our neighbors are arguing.”

“Ben and Mark?”

“Yup.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Can’t you believe we were like that when we first moved in? Now I feel sorry for our neighbors back then.”

“We’re friends now, thank God.” 

Y/N’s choice of word leaves Harry a little uneasy. How is he suddenly so uncomfortable with her referring to them as ‘friends’? That’s what they are, that’s what he wants them to be. Right? Is it because them being friends also means she can be with someone else and he cannot do anything about it? Or maybe because recently it doesn’t feel like they’re friends anymore. They’ve been video-calling almost every night and texting throughout the day during these two weeks. She’ll be home before noon tomorrow, and then what? He doesn’t want to just go back to being somewhere in-between and risking losing her to someone else. What Niall said two weeks ago has really done him damage. 

Well, speaking of Niall...

“Harry, lend me your car keys!” Harry’s best friend bursts through the front door just in time Harry stands up from the sofa to go get a glass of water.  Niall doesn’t see Y/N on the screen since the laptop screen is turned away from him.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry says to Y/N. Niall, however, thinks that sentence is for him. He watches his friend disappear into his room and suddenly feels the phone vibrate, notifying him of a call.

“Hello?” answers Niall. Y/N stays silent while she’s waiting for her flatmate to return. 

“Yeah, Harry and I will definitely be at the party. Did Lara ask you to ask me this? I know she doesn’t care about me and only wants to make sure Harry will show up.”

Niall laughs, unaware that Y/N’s been listening this whole time. “She was all over him the last time. Sure Harry told me he thought she was hot but...Look, just tell her she’s on her own this time, I’m not going to be her wingman or whatsoever. Okay? Good.”

The phone call ends just in time Harry returns with his car key, sighing happily as he gives it to Niall. “Almost thought I lost it.”

“Thanks. See you at the party tonight, mate?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replies indifferently and watches his friend make the exit. Once Niall’s gone, Harry returns to his previous spot on the sofa, Y/N’s still there, but she doesn’t look as happy as she was just a minute ago. Harry can tell right away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. As usual, when it comes to this question, she lies.

“Nothing. My mum called. I gotta go.”

“But I was in the middle of telling you the cat story.”

“Tell me when I get back.” 

“But-”

The chat window disappears before Harry can even finish his sentence, leaving him shocked and confused at the same time.

...

It’s two in the morning. How ironic it is that all the interesting things usually happen to Y/N at two in the morning, whether she’s asleep or awake. This time, Y/N’s still lost in dreamland when she receives a voice call from her flatmate. She normally doesn’t answer calls at this hour, but the moment she sees his name on the screen, she does it without pause.

“Y/N?” His voice is raspy. She guesses that he’s either drunk or just woke up, or maybe both.

“Harry, why are you calling me?”

“’Cause I miss you.” 

Yup, definitely drunk.

“Are you still at the party, Harry?” Y/N calmly asks as she flips onto her back, her arm comes to rest on top of her forehead.

“No, Niall drove me home...with a pretty girl.”

Y/N feels a lump in her throat. “Is the pretty girl still there with you?”

“Of course not! She tried to kiss me but I told her no, no, noooo.” She can imagine him wiggling his forefinger from left to right drunkenly and the thought of it makes her smile. 

“So you’re home alone now?” 

“Yesss.”

And the next thing he says really gets her staring at the ceiling with cow eyes.

“Don’t want to be with anyone else, I just want you.”

She doesn’t know exactly how to response to that. She doesn’t even know if she can count on his drunken words to draw a conclusion! But what else can you possibly think when someone just blurts out that they want you only? 

Despite the reply of silence, Harry carries on with his speech anyway, “have you noticed...how I’ve stopped going out and inviting girls over?”

She has. She just doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, though it makes her glad, undoubtedly.

“I just want you...No other girls,” he repeats as if to make a statement. 

Y/N’s biting hard on her bottom lip, trying to come up with something to say to him but her mind is empty at the moment.

“I wish you were here. When will you come back home, Y/N?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she finally speaks, fingers pinching her bottom lip slightly. His voice sounds so soothing, she knows if she continues this conversation, she may not be able to wake up on time, but she cannot help it, she finds comfort in what he’s saying and how he’s saying it a bit way too much.

“Do you miss meeeee?” Harry asks another question, stretching out the final word in a playful tone. Can he be any cuter? Y/N thinks, beaming to herself.

“I do, very much. But only a few hours more and I’m there with you.”

“Okay...you should go to bed, it’s late. Don’t want you to be sick...”

Y/N snorts in response to his reminder, since he was the one who came between her and her sleep. “You should too. I’ll be home when you wake up.”

“Okay, good night, love,” Harry says softly. “Just know that...I love you very much...”

Just like that, Harry hangs up. Y/N lies in the same position, staring at the ceiling, her phone’s still on her ear. With her lips slightly parted and a shock expression on her face, she nearly shuts down her entire system for almost a minute, just because of those five words Harry said to her on the phone. 

She feels so good, no, she’s over the moon! But at the same time, worried, maybe scared? Harry wasn’t sober! He probably won’t remember anything tomorrow morning! But people say you’re most honest when you’re drunk, does that means he was telling the truth, that he loved her very much? But what if he just thought he loved her because he was in a vulnerable state? What if he changes his mind once he’s been refreshed?

Y/N, now drowning in her own inquiries, decides that she won’t be going back to sleep.

...

Harry’s brushing his teeth when he hears the front door open and shut. In a flash, he manages to finish his morning routine, throws on a white t-shirt, and almost trips over a few objects on his bedroom floor as he rushes to the living room. 

The moment Y/N sees Harry after two weeks apart, she takes no time to literally jump ontop of him. Harry has his arms secured around her waist, eyes opened wide as he’s amazed by his ability to keep the two of them in balance and how he didn’t get knocked over by her sudden attack. Y/N locks her arms around her flatmate’s neck, her legs around his waist leaving no space between them.

“I’m home!” she finally says, making Harry chuckle. His face is in her hair and he cannot enjoy this moment anymore than this.

“Yeah, I know. You just jumped on me.”

Y/N pulls her face away from Harry’s neck to look at him. This is the most intimate they’ve been to each other, her lips are just a few inches away from his and the way his minty breath is fanning her face makes her want to kiss him so bad.

“Are you happy I’m home?” she asks.

“Too happy,” he answers.

Then comes another question from Y/N, “do you have anything you want to tell me?” 

This one leaves Harry thinking for a second before he says, “welcome home?” 

The look of disappointment on Y/N’s face really says it all, she jumps off of him and turns to leave. However, Harry grabs onto her wrist just in time to pull her back into his arms.

“I love you,” he finally says, face buried in the crook of her neck, arms tightened around her waist. There’s no turning back now that the words are finally spoken, but his inner self is jumping for joy as he finally gets the heavy weight off his chest. 

Harry feels Y/N hands move from her sides up to his back, then stop at the back of his head, her fingers locked in his hair. He cannot see her face, little does he know, she’s in seventh heaven right now.

“What? You thought I didn’t remember what I’d said? I wasn’t that drunk.”

Y/N immediately pulls away and smacks him on the arm, making the poor boy jump in shock.

“Hey! What was that for?!”

“Why didn’t you just say it like a normal person huh?!” She tries to look pissed, but the radiant in her eyes say otherwise. “Why didn’t you say anything when I fucking poured my heart out for you, asshole?!”

Harry cracks up and reaches out for her hands, at first she shrugs him off but eventually lets him hold them anyway. She hates that he knows she’s loving it, the smug on his face is just so attractively despicable.

“I was really scared!” he confesses, the way his green eyes are looking at her lets her know that he’s being genuine. “I didn’t think I was good enough for you. I thought it’d be better if I let you go and eventually be with someone more worthy.”

“What made you change your mind then?”

“Well, not gonna lie but it’s alcohol.”

“You’re just begging for me to punch you, yeah?” She widens her eyes, but grinning this time.

“Okay, okay, just messing with you.” Harry wraps her arms around his waist so he can stand closer to her like before, a cheeky grin spreads across his lips. 

“One night last week I sat down and thought of two possible outcomes.” He raises one finger. “One, if I let you go, it’s not unlikely that you’ll end up with an asshole who’s even less worthy than me, then I’ll have to beat him up and see you cry for another guy.” Then another. “Two, if I give us a chance, I can try my best not to be an asshole and make you happy, in this case I won’t have to beat up anyone. I went for the latter option.”

Y/N squints her eyes at him. “Gosh, why am I so lucky to fall for someone this romantic?”

“Stooooop, you make me blush!” he rolls his eyes and they both laugh.

“So...” Harry trails off, not taking his eyes off the girl in front of him, secretly wondering to himself why he didn’t meet her sooner. 

“Will you let me kiss you now?” he asks to receive a look of surprise from his flatmate.

“Are you seriously asking for my permission to kiss me? Who are you?!”

“Just so you know I’m also very blessed to fall for someone this romantic.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” says Y/N. Now both of them are sure that the only thing stays constant in their relationship after this moment is how they just enjoy being sarcastic to each other. 

“You’re allowed to kiss me then.” Y/N nods happily, and judging by the way Harry’s been staring at her lips this whole time, he wants this as much as she does. With no hesitation, Harry attaches his mouth to hers, eagerly yet gently. It’s like all the suppressed feelings from the past weeks are put into this one kiss. He’s been dreaming of how she’s tasted for so long so this is like a dream comes true. Of course this is not the first kiss for neither of them, but without any doubt, the first kiss that’s actually meaningful.

And as they pull away, breathless, Y/N finally tells Harry what he thinks he’ll never forgets.

“I love you too.”

[migleefulmoments]

Abby has a 'CC 2017 A Year in Review' post. It's fascinating. Totally convinced me they are 100000000% correct. Darren and Chris were both at 2 events. Darren wore his God Save the Queer shirt. TLOS is definitely a representation of CC.Oh, there are pictures of them in similar poses!!! They tweeted on the same day!! Darren sang songs from Glee. I'm convinced. She really knows her shit. #sarcasm is dripping off this message, btw. She's a certifiable nutcase. Go read for yourself. its Hilarious!

I cracked up when she said they were both at the LA Women’s March with the several million other people who went. How is that different from “they both live in LA”?  

The God Save the Queer T-shirt is her most treasured post-Glee “proof”. She is sure that he wears that because he is saying ‘I’m queer’.  It isn’t simply that  he is wearing a LGBTQ-positive shirt to an LGBTQ events. Darren and Mia’s entire group carried pro-LGBTQ and women’s signs at the women’s march.

They also both went to a huge Adam Lambert concert thousands of their friends.  The man was on Glee and Darren never misses a music event... of course they went.  One rando posted a Tweet claiming that Darren and Chris were talking and Abby buys it.  His 27 likes and 4 retweets is proof enough for me!  It’s cclove. 

Darren and Chris both went to spirit day- a LGBTQ support event.  That’s huge...why would both men attend an LGBTQ-positive hosted by their friend Justin Trantor if they weren’t together? It makes NOOOO sense.  THEY WORE MATCHING OUTFITS, FFS!!!! Jeans, a Jean jacket and a t-shirt is not a common outfit for a 30-ish yo man at a causal event so IT’S PROOF.  History is not wrong!

We cannot forget TLOS 6: A Love Letter to Darren Criss by Chris Colfer.   Darren released a song called Lost Boys Life written by his brother that is clearly about a man on the road missing his love. But ccers immediately declared that Darren actually wrote it -plausible deniability-because it “reeks of CC”. That along with it’s Peter Pan reference and Chris’s dedication  “Let’s never grow old together” is PROOF PROOF PROOF PROOF OMG ITS PROOF.  And O.M.G. Froggy is on the cover in the Mirror that MorInA put him in and Chris is a petty dick so we know that is about Darren.  He also called MorInA a goat - he’s such a misogynistic dick and I LOVE IT. 

“And this amazing quote that speaks for itself:“Only idiots listen with their eyes” she said. “if people don’t hear your words, that shout them. If people silence you, then write your message with fire. Demanding respect is never easy but if something you love is at stake, then i’d say it’s worth the price”.   (Ok, I gotta be honest, all sarcasm aside, how the fuck does she not see this is what she is doing and realize he was calling out people like her?  How does she believe this was something cc positive? Also all the STFF stuff...how is she so obtuse?).

Oh I forgot they both posted childhood photos on the same TBT -nobody else did that...nope never.  

Chris denied he watched AVPM -not because it’s been a decade and he forgot-or it doesn’t really mean anything to him but   because CC IS SO ON. “Denial of AVPMI know for a fact this was not a planned question. He was caught by surprise and instead of answering truthfully, Chris got flustered and denied seeing AVPM when it has been documented countless times that not only has he seen it, he was a huge fanboy.” 

Also these two nonsense statements “That time when Chris was asked if he kept in touch with D and he said “Kind of Sort of”The Promo Interview right before TLOS was released on the SocialIf it’s on social media, you’re not happenin’. I try to keep my personal life personal, and not mix the two. It’s hard to do, but I try.” All CC positive moments in 2017. 

I’m just going to leave this one without sarcastic comment because it speaks for itself: 

A Doll’s House Part 2.  

“A show chris saw when promoting TLOS and that months later we discover Darren saw as well yet not one photo or tweet placing him there unlike the myriad of other shows he sees where there are copious pics and accounts. Both loved it.” (Ok, I give it a Huh? Darren goes out all the time and we don’t know most of the time. He has said so but of course he didn’t say so with a social media post so ccers don’t count it).  

Chris wore his “cc” scarf in London...yes a scarf he wore in an actual picture of Chris and Darren from an early event is somehow a cc scarf.  Oi vey.  

and Darren’s ccfamous tweet where he used a Batman gif saying “I don’t want this” is ccproof becuase he was telling us he doesn’t want his life but he’s in too deep to get out now

When will this end? 

This was followed by Chris’ Epic Snap Chat, Don’t you wish your bunny was cute like me that can be found here (x)” in which Chris posted a filter of a bunny on his face and voice singing “don’t you wish your bunny was hot like me’ I would imagine that Mia must have used a similar filter somewhere int he last 6 months prior to this “so much shade” from Chris. Again he’s a dick.   

And there was the time Darren waited over a week to respond to a tweet, a tweet posted on May 27.  It should be noted he chose his tweet to respond of the likely thousands he was tagged in as i was right after the selfie and the CG show. Further, he replied right after Chris posted his Peru pic where he claims to have spent his birthday. (In other words I”m really grasping here) 

I Don’t Mind” a song that is so clearly about Chris even though he has since mentioned he wrote it during his teenage years in San Fransisco. Her 2017 proof isn’t that he wrote the song about Chris but that he didn’t play it in 2017 even though it was on two playlists and he made a big to do about no playing it at Elsie Fest. 

“Remember that Variety Article, an Exclusive About Indigo that originally contained this quote:Colfer’s news comes a day after his former on-screen love interest Darren Criss reunited with Murphy with a starring role on season three of anthology American Crime Story. So mysterious how it was edited out almost immediately”. 

TLOS movie and ACS Versace moving to season 2 happened on the same day- I believe that movie news is in Variety on the same day hence it gets out to press on the same day.  

Then we come to more mirror imagine photos -years apart 

Darren sang Glee songs which means he loves Chris- Hopelessly Devoted 

“The Day the Dance is Over  The video from the first time we heard this beautiful and incredibe love song about a dedicated love full of obstacles (and every version since as continued to amaze)” Another song that plausible deniability was written by Darren not Chuck.  

“And Critical to Remember, 2017, the year both C&D made a deal with Fox. This is going to majorly contribute to 2018″

(X)

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Heart of Steel - XIX

Description: Sir James is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. Ballads have been written about him. Men fear him. He is the most trusted knight of King Henry. So why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to Princess Y/N?

Pairing: Medieval AU -Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 3,294

Series Masterlist

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Yet the war continued.

It was the kingdoms’ misfortune that they underestimated their mutual enemy. Hydra must have been preparing for this war long before anyone could ever realize. And now all of them were paying the price.

Y/N helped as much as she could from the confines of the castle. She continued to oversee the food, water, and medical supplies that were delivered to the front lines. She also visited the town folks as much as possible. People weren’t just suffering physically, but emotionally as well.

Y/N tried to keep herself busy. The more time she allowed herself to get lost inside her mind, the crazier she felt and the more depressed she became.

Steve wrote to her. He couldn’t give her specifics on the war in fear that their letters could be intercepted. But he did tell her how much he missed her. It seemed that writing and thinking of Y/N was the only source of light he had during such dark times.

Tony helped with Zamora’s army from the castle too, having meetings with generals and advisors. 

King Henry forbid him to ride to battle. After all, he was the heir of Zamora. 

Tony hated it. He wanted to be fighting like his friend Steve. But Zamora’s customs were different than those of Midgard’s.

Y/N often sat in council meetings. She learned it was better to observe everything, listen to every man’s opinion, and then save her own for when her and Tony were alone. He always listened to her. Always.

“You were born to be a king, not me,” Tony had recently told her with a sad smile before shooing her off to bed.

To Y/N’s surprise, Bucky did not flee Zamora. He stayed at her side. But things had changed between them. There was no longer that draw between them. The knight was cold and distant, but still watchful of his princess.

Y/N thought it was best to ignore him as well as she could. It was hard, especially after years of feeling a draw to her knight.

Slowly the princess stopped seeing him as Bucky. He was Sir James to her now.

-------

It was the end of a long day now. Y/N had been helping the medical ward that had been set up in the town square. There were men injured from war that could not return to battle. Some didn’t make the journey back to their kingdom. The rest were now placed on cots.

The princess was no physician or surgeon. But she helped where she could. Sometimes it was just getting fresh water or holding a lonely man’s hand as he died. But it was better than doing nothing.

Y/N was exhausted.

But more than anything… she was sick of watching her people die.

Y/N was lost in her thoughts, barely even having the strength to walk to Moon and ride back to the castle.

So when her foot caught a bump in the footpath, she wasn’t even strong enough to regain her footing or catch herself. 

Just as she accepted that she would be falling, a strong pair of hands gripped her waist and pulled her upright.

Y/N blinked slowly, too exhausted to fight the grip of a stranger.

It felt like a dream as she looked over her shoulder to see that it was Bucky who was steadying her.

How long had he been following her?

She hadn’t seen him anywhere in sight when she was helping the wounded.

The knight observed her face and body for a moment.

Y/N wished he kept his grip on her hips just a few seconds longer. But he let go as soon as she was steady.

“When was the last time you ate something, Your Highness?” Bucky

Y/N touched her forehead, suddenly realizing how lightheaded she was as well. She shrugged and shook her head. Not really answering his question, but brushing it aside altogether.

Bucky sighed in disappointment.

Y/N barely heard him whistle to Persephone.

His loyal steed came cantering to his side.

Without warning her or asking for permission, Bucky lifted Y/N into his arms and planted her on top of the saddle. There was barely a second before he was swing his legs over and placing himself right behind her.

Y/N wanted to yell at him, to reprimand him for manhandling his princess.

But she was so exhausted and she realized how much she missed him. Though he had frequently been at her side, he was distant in every other way.

So Y/N welcomed the feeling of his warm body pressed against her back and his arms wrapped around her as he reached for the reigns.

“Thank you,” Y/N muttered so quietly that she doubted he could even hear it.

“You would have fallen off your horse and broken your neck,” he scolded before making a clicking sound to urge Persephone forward.

Y/N gave a lazy smirk. It felt like old times for just one moment.

She decided to say nothing.

“You have worked yourself to exhaustion…” Bucky continued.

Y/N rolled her eyes, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “My people need me.”

“Yes, but they also need you alive and healthy too.” He countered.

She didn’t have the strength to argue with him.

The ride from the town square back to the castle only took half an hour or so.

But Y/N was so tired and relaxed in the arms of Bucky that she fell asleep. Her head rested back between the knight’s right shoulder and bicep.

“Is she alright?” Y/N recognized the voice of Peter in her sleep. It sounded like a dream.

“Do not wake her,” Bucky hissed in a hushed voice.

Y/N could barely feel herself being moved from the saddle to someone’s arms.

————— Wanda watched as Bucky carried Y/N’s sleeping body into her bedchambers and carefully slid her into bed.

The servant girl’s heart warmed as the knight pulled the covers up to the princess’ chin.

When Bucky turned to leave, he stopped at the expression Wanda gave him.

“She misses you,” the servant muttered quietly. But there was malice in her eyes.

“I have not left,” the knight answered before continuing his walk past her.

“You know what I speak of, Sir James.” She closed the bedroom door behind her as she hurried after the knight. “Why did you push her away? She told you she loved you! She gave you her heart, the thing she has protected most in her whole life... and you trampled it!”

“Enough, Wanda!” Bucky groaned.

“No!” Wanda snapped and grabbed his arm, whipping him around to face her. “People sing songs and tell tales of your bravery. But I see you for what you truly are: a coward.”

Bucky remained emotionless by her insult.

Then he looked at the ground. “I…I cannot give her what she wants. You know this. I know this. And so does she.”

“But do you truly not believe sharing your true affections is still worth it?” Wanda whispered.

Bucky clenched his jaw and stared into the servants eyes before shaking his head.

He turned and rushed to the door, throwing it open. “You will regret it,” Wanda told him.

He paused in the doorway, letting the words settle over him.

But he gave no reply before storming out the door.

—————————

6 Months Later

Y/N was laying in the grass of her garden, staring up at the clouds and trying to figure out what each one reminded her of. She had been forbidden from helping the wounded or monitoring the rations today. 

Tony and Bruce had rallied against her. She suspected Bucky might have had a secret role, as well.

If she couldn’t help, she would hide away. It had been months since she visited her garden. Part of it was because of the changing seasons. The other part was because she had been avoiding it.

Y/N was punishing herself, ridding her life of anything that caused her joy. 

She never went riding, only using Moon to travel back and forth to the town square. She didn’t read her favorite books, telling herself that she had better things to do than spend time on such hobbies. Lastly, she avoided her garden because it brought her solace…solace that she didn’t deserve. Furthermore, being there reminded her of Bucky and the few stolen moments that life was charitable enough to allow them.

Now it was fall, she’d missed the beautiful blooming that spring brought and the bright colors summer then provided. But now she saw the leaves changing and heard the crinkling of them with every breeze, and she remembered how much she loved autumn.

Y/N was brought out of her daydreaming when she heard and felt heavy footsteps approaching.

She knew Bucky was the only one with access to the garden besides the greenskeeper. Yet she was still surprised to see him.

Y/N noted the tension in his body. But his face remained calm. It didn’t mean anything though: he was trained to never show panic or fear.

“What is it?” Y/N asked him. He had not come to her garden since the last time they kissed. She knew he would not enter unless it was something dire.

“I think it is best you come to the courtyard, Your Majesty.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Why? What has happened?”

“The tower watchmen spotted a couple riders approaching the castle. One was riding with a banner of Midgard.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Steve!” She gasped before jumping to her feet and running past Bucky.

She was barefoot. Her hair in a wavy mess that was far too improper for a princess. She was in a dress that even a commoner would wear, for she did not know she would be forbidden from helping wounded that day.

But she wasn’t thinking about how she looked as she sprinted to the courtyard. But she didn’t stop there. She kept running and ran straight through it and to the gates at the castle walls. She didn’t even notice the crazy stares she got from townsfolk, nobles, and guards.

Y/N walked onto flying bridge and stared into the horizon.

She saw Dame Natasha first, her red hair sticking out from everything else.

Next she saw Sir Clinton and Sir Samuel.

Then Y/N let out a gasp of relief when she spotted Steve amongst the four of them. He rode at the back of the group, which was why she didn’t see him at first.

It worried Y/N that her two knights were accompanying a foreign king. Was it possible that they were all that was left of Zamora’s army?

Suddenly, Y/N felt a presence behind her.

She turned around to find Bucky standing guard. But he wasn’t looking at the princess or the approaching riders. Instead, he was scouting the horizon to see if there was an enemy lingering or some surprise attack trying to be executed, using Steve as bait.

Y/N squinted when she saw that only one of Steve’s hands was holding the reigns, while the other one was holding a sack of some sort.

The four riders came to a halt quickly. Y/N had to take a quick step back to prevent herself from getting trampled.

“What is it? What has happened?” Y/N looked up at Steve only.

He tossed the sack on the ground and it rolled to the princess’ feet.

Y/N felt sick when she saw there was blood soaking the bottom of the sack.

“King Alexander’s head,” Steve clarified darkly.

Her eyes widened, realizing what this meant. If Hydra’s king was dead, then that must mean…

“The war has ended,” Steve declared.

Y/N was about to smile, but then she finally took Steve in. His skin was pale and sweaty. There was red shadows lingering on his skin beneath his eyes.

Suddenly, the king’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he started sliding off of his saddle.

“Steve!” Y/N screeched and rushed forward.

Bucky beat her to the king’s saddle thankfully and caught Steve before he could hit the ground. He lowered him to the ground and called over his shoulder for a medic.

Y/N instantly kneeled to the ground and was cradling Steve’s head in her lap as she called his name.

She looked up at the knights that had accompanied him back. “What happened?”

Natasha looked just as shocked as her and was shaking her head. “He-he said he was scathed in battle... b-but that it was nothing to worry about…” Her voice was numb.

Y/N’s fingers were desperate as they unbuckled his armor and rid his body of it. When his chest plate was removed, she saw a huge stain of blood on the right side of his torso, just under his pectoral muscle.

“Steve? Steve, please!” The princess begged as she rain her fingers through his hair.

His eyes fluttered open at her calling.

But he closed them before smiling almost with delusion, “Hello, my love.” His voice was but a mere sigh.

“Please, stay awake.��� Y/N urged him.

Steve nodded numbly, trying his best to calm her and listen to her pleading.

Suddenly Bucky was pulling her away from him as servants ran a canvas stretcher to the king and carefully placed his body on it.

Y/N tried to rush after them as they hurried Steve away. But Bucky pulled her against his chest and stopped her from moving.

“You have to let them help him,” he whispered comfortingly in her ear.

Everyone was too preoccupied with Steve to notice the intimate solace the knight gave his princess.

Y/N allowed herself to go limp in Bucky’s arms…but only for a moment.

She pulled away slowly and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

Bucky leaned forward and brushed her messy hair off her face. Then he brushed a lingering tear on her cheek away with his thumb. “It will be okay,” he whispered reassuringly to her.

Then it seemed he snapped back to reality and realized they had an audience. He quickly dropped his hand and took a step away from her.

By some miracle no one seemed to notice the intimate moment except Natasha, Clint, and Sam. They looked at him almost pathetically, seeing how hard it was for Bucky to be near Y/N when she was in distress and not able to do anything to help her.

Y/N’s eyes fell on the sack filled with King Alexander’s head.

Taking in a deep breath, she grabbed it and headed back toward the castle. She marched into court, knowing her father and mother were lingering there.

The ignorant and pompous nobles gasped at her attire and the sack she held that was dripping blood at her feet.

Y/N looked around the room and then found the eyes of her father and king.

When she did, she tossed the sack forward. “The King of Hydra is dead. The great war is finally over.”

People blinked in shock before processing the words she actually said. Then the room erupted in cheers. But Y/N saw no cause for celebration. How many lives had been lost to get here? Yes, the suffering had ended. But the scars would remain.

Y/N slipped out of the room with the chaos of jubilee that had now taken over the room.

She heard Bucky following a few steps behind, but tried her best to ignore his presence.

The knight already knew where she was going.

Y/N turned the corner to the infirmary.

Bruce seemed to be expecting her already, knowing the princess would not be able to stay away from her betrothed.

“He will be just fine, my dear.” Bruce told Y/N gently.

“He fainted and fell off his horse. That wound… H-how will he be fine?” She challenged.

“Because he did not treat the wound immediately, it continued bleeding. Blood loss causes lightheadedness. And he lost a lot of it. But I cleaned the wound and stitched it up. Right now... he just needs rest, Your Highness.”

Y/N let out a giant and shaky exhale.

Bruce gripped her shoulder and gave her a small smile. “You can go in and sit with him, Your Highness.”

She nodded before quickly going inside.

Bucky waited outside, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword that was strapped at his waist.

Steve sat up in bed when he saw Y/N enter. His eyes lit up with love, but it flickered when he saw that she was glaring at him.

“Do not scare me like that ever again,” Y/N snapped and she made no move toward him. Instead, she stood her ground and crossed her arms.

“Forgive me,” Steve muttered, eyes genuinely fearful of his betrothed’s wrath.

Y/N stance seemed to soften then. “Can it really be true? Is the war truly over?”

Steve nodded, “I promised I would not return until it was won. I brought his head as an offering to you. Hydra cannot harm you ever again, Y/N.”

“You really know how to woo a woman, Your Majesty.” Y/N couldn’t stifle her giggle.

Steve’s heart melted. “I have missed that sound.” Then he blushed when he realized he had said it aloud.

And just like that, the Steve she had first met returned and the general king was hidden away once again.

Steve reached a hand out to her. “Please, come here.” The distance between them was growing more and more torturous.

Y/N did as he requested, already deciding to give up her tough love act.

She sat down at the edge of her bed. But that wasn’t enough for Steve. He pulled her down so she was laying in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. 

Silence settled between them. Neither of them really knew what to say. They had been apart for so long. But ever so slowly, they started to remember the problems they had left unresolved when Steve went to war.

“I have missed you,” the princess whispered ever so quietly.

“I promise... it was not as much as I missed you,” Steve countered as his grip on her body tightened ever so slightly. 

——————

Bucky couldn’t sleep. It was nothing new. But tonight, he felt extra restless. Perhaps it was because he was still worried for Y/N. Bruce had confirmed that Steve would be fine and make a full recovery.

The knight had no idea how Y/N would react if anything were to happen to the King of Midgard.

Bucky knew she loved him to some degree. He saw it in her eyes. But what he saw even more was how hard she had to try to hide her feelings for the king. Bucky wondered if it was easier or harder than it once was hiding her feelings for him.

But the knight was brought out of his reverie when there was a harsh knock at his bedroom door.

His body tensed.

But his hand immediately went for the knife he hid under his pillow every night.

When he opened the door carefully, he was met with Dame Natasha.

He said nothing, waiting for the lady knight to speak first.

“The King of Midgard wishes to see you,” she told him.

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

Part XX

Just a heads up, there are only a few more chapters left in this story. Don’t panic lol

[icedcappujaeno]

iii. unheralded salvation

Hebrew 13:6. “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?” - except that he was no man.

→ genre: medieval, angst, fluff, smut (on later chapters) → words: 2,215 → pair: werewolf!jaehyun & postulant!reader

warnings (in this chapter): hinted mentions of sex

✭ 🕊 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 | 𝔬𝔫𝔢 | 𝔱𝔴𝔬 | 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊  🕊 ✭

( a/n: this chapter would have to be my most favorite of all - and I hope you all do as well. Also, I dedicate this chapter to this lovely anon who ignited the fire back in me to write this again. thank you so much. i love u.  )

“What a kind god you have.”

The flame from your candle has been extinguished by the sudden cold wind, and you sprang on your feet when you looked at the direction from where the voice was coming from.

“Jaehyun,” you breathed heavily, your eyes trailing down his human figure which was sitting by the edge of the window where you first saw him, next to your small cactus.

“Oh, you remembered me,” he chuckled, the deep baritone of his voice was surprisingly soothing. He jumped down from the window and there was no sound when his foot landed on the floor.

There was a smile playing on his lips, yet it doesn’t scare you in the slightest.

Oddly, your heart started beating erratically with it.

You grasped at the bible you were holding and grabbed the rosary by your nightstand, confused with your own thoughts as you should be feeling scared. The man – the beast – who is currently standing in front of you right now could shred you to pieces, yet he showed no sign of doing somewhere close as you feel.

He took a careful step to your direction, his hands slowly raising up to his chest, palms directed towards you.

“I meant no harm,” he said. “And I’m being sincere.”

You remained quiet and heed no reply to him, and your guard was still on high. Your eyes were scrutinizing every move he made – which made him chuckle in amusement. You didn’t cower in fear like others do when they see his beastly form, which greatly piqued his curiosity and interest, rather, you try to help him tend to his wounds.

He stopped when he was in front of you, bodies a foot apart. You were looking at each other, eye-to eye, and never did you lose the firm stand to conceal your fear.

“You’re interesting,” he chuckled, cornering you until the back of your legs bumped the edge of your bed, causing you to sit down and dropping the bible and rosary to the ground. He leaned his body closer to yours, as if he was studying your features.

“Really, really interesting.”

“What do you want?” You said bravely, feeling his slow breaths against your face. You never broke eye contact, you believe that God is out there to protect you from him. His lips etched into a smile – a smirk, and his eyes creased upwards lightly, tilting his head.

“You.”

Your eyes widen, obviously surprised with his response. Your arms flew to your chest as your cheeks were slowly flushing pink, and thankfully the candlelight wasn’t enough to show this to him.

“What do you think you’re saying?!”

“Ah,” he took a step back, but instead of retreating he took a seat next to yours on the bed. Your body followed his direction to guard yourself up, your arms still crossed on your chest. When he looked back at you, he chuckled at how ridiculous you look.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly. Once again, his brown eyes bore onto yours, but this time it was not threatening to kill nor scare nor cold like the summer thunderstorms, but it was soft and warm like the spring breeze. “I mean I want to be friends.”

Your arms lowered to your sides, but your scrutinizing gaze never left his figure. “Why?”

“Why?” He repeated your question, looking at you confusingly as if it was stupid to be friends with someone outside the convent and more ever, a werewolf. “Why not?”

“You’re…you’re you,” you stuttered, knitting your eyebrows as you left your gaze on him to pick up your bible and rosary, putting the latter on the nightstand beside your bed and dusting off the folded pages of the bible from its fall. This was an important item to you as it was given by your grandmother before your parents forcibly enter you to the monastery to keep their wealth. You can’t let it be ruined even with simple folds.

“Are we even supposed to be friends?” you sighed, closing the book and fidgeted at its fading cover.

“Can’t I be friends to someone who tried to save my life the other night?” He said, but his face was making you doubtful. You can’t exactly read it nor express what it meant – you wanted to believe he was being genuine as he hasn’t eaten you yet, but the smug expression playing on his features were telling you that he was being a jester.

You sighed, giving up on analyzing his real intentions. You looked back downwards, to the book you’re holding. Admittedly, there was still fear instilled within you, but the silence between you as you try to figure out the right words to reply was oddly comfortable.

His gaze was staying on your figure from what you can feel, and from your peripheral vision you saw he’s leaning side ward to your direction, elbows pressing against his knees as he waits for your reply.

“I don’t know,” you breathed, running out of ideas to reply. If you say no, would he let his sharp fangs and claws out and shred you into bloody pieces? Take your meat to his pack and be their meal?

If you say yes, would he visit you often like this in secrecy? Would he actually be your friend – or would you end up like the little girl in that fairy tale; ending up the same bloodied meat if you were to answer no?

“I just know by this time you should have killed me with those claws and fangs of yours, but I’m still here, breathing normally and talking to you in complete flesh. For all I know if I answer, you’ll kill me right now and be dinner to your friends.”

He seemed to be taken aback, looking at you with those brown eyes with a surprised look on his face. He blinked twice with his mouth agape, but it was immediately replaced with a laugh. It was your turn to be surprised when you were sure his laughs – and pretty sure there was a howl within it, were loud enough to be heard outside your door, so you shushed him by covering his roaring laughter with your hand.

He stopped upon the contact, looking at your hand first then at your worried features.

When you realized the closeness of distance between you, your hand quickly retracted back to your sides, blood rushing back to heat your cheeks for the second time tonight.

“(Y/n)?”

You heard your name and two knocks followed, and it was coming from outside, coming from tonight’s hall monitor. Your hands went cold and ushered Jaehyun to your closet, which was barely enough for his size. He had to tilt his head to be able to fit in.

“What—”

“Stay here,” you whispered firmly to him, before closing your closet to get to the door.

When you opened it, she was looking at you with confused eyes. She was holding a lamp, trying to illuminate from what’s behind you. “I heard a laugh – a man’s laugh, or a howl? I heard a howl as well.”

You looked at her incredulously in return. You opened the door a little more, looking back as if to prove what she said was ludicrous. “I’m alone, what do you mean?”

She seemed to be convinced with your act, nodding and bidding you with a soft apology and goodnight before leaving you alone.

It was an excellent act -- how could someone normal go through your room without getting in through the gates?

When you closed your door, you took a deep breath and exhaled rather loudly. You walked back to your closet and revealed an amused Jaehyun inside. His lips were tugged into a smile, and you noticed there were dimples formed along it – it was endearing, you had to admit. His eyes were creased upwards, and like a cat, there were whiskers forming on the sides of his nose. Those weren’t really helping with your emotions – you should be fearing him, not be endeared with his physical features.

“Can I come out now, or will you stare at me longer?” He softly said which made you blink and shook your head away from your thoughts.

“Yes, I apologize,” you said and he stepped out of your closet and stretched his neck side ward to relieve the pain. He chuckled, but this time softly, making sure that his melodious voice is confined within the corners of your room.

“I guess that was a bit primal,” he admitted sheepishly, running a hand on his nape. “The animalistic side sometimes comes out.”

You walked back to your bed and sat on it, your heart now calmed down – but the guilt of lying to your sister was knocking to you. You felt heavy – you put your hands together and closed your eyes. Jaehyun watched your every move, and curiosity piqued in his features when you held your arms in prayer as your head tilted upwards.

“Almighty God, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’ve sinned. I told a lie. I ask for your forgiveness, oh Lord,” you whispered, though with Jaehyun’s sense of hearing as a wolf, he could hear your small incantation. A small smile played on lips and took a seat next to yours – your figure never leaving his sight. He noticed how endearing you looked – those furrowed brows as you ask for forgiveness, the lashes on your eyes that was oddly attractive, your soft, naturally pink lips were oh, so tempting to place his onto…

And your scent – your god damned scent – he was truly thankful that that season is over, or else he wouldn’t be able to control himself. His mind is running crazy with all the thoughts – what he could was beyond you would imagine. He pictured those furrowed brows and lashes of yours – wet by the tears from your closed eyes – beneath him, how those pink lips would be stained with iron red, making it his –

“Jaehyun?”

His mind went back to reality – your innocent, wide eyes staring onto his. It was the second time tonight you called upon his name. He bit his lip, realizing that those thoughts were truly out of the question. You cannot even go out without asking permission from your superiors, you were only confined behind the tall, metal gates, singing praises for your god.

But Jaehyun was stubborn.

Jaehyun didn’t want that.

He wanted you.

He wanted to smell your scent every night. He wanted to stay by your side, hell, he’d even listen to the stories of that holy book about the god you’re dedicated to. He wanted your company so much. He didn’t know the reason why he’s so drawn to you like a moth to a flame, and he didn’t need to know that.

He wanted you.

“Are you plotting on how to shred me to pieces and how you would distribute me to your friends now?”

Jaehyun laughed softly and shook his head. You noticed his ears flushing red. It was truly endearing. He seemed like any other normal man you see when you go out of the convent for errands, though either way, you never looked at a man at all since your upbringing had told you so.

But still, you would never know what monster lies with that attractive exterior.

“Why would I do that to my friend?” He answered, looking down on his hands that rested on his thighs.

“Good,” you said, looking forward as you sat cross-legged. Your fingers fumbled with the hem of your white gala, feeling a little embarrassed as you felt your cheeks heating up. “Because I’m starting to think you’re going to be my unheralded salvation.”

He was about to ask the reason behind those words, but he heard footsteps from the hallway outside – coming through your door. Not wanting to hide in the closet again, and with how to moonlight shone over your window pane, he figured it was late and it was time for him to leave, much to his disappointment.

Without a warning, his lips pecked your cheeks in a rush. “I’ll see you again.”

The door of your room opened – revealing the earlier hallway monitor who knocked on your door. One of her eyebrows was raised questioningly, and her arms were crossed beneath her bosom, not that you can see. “You’re still not sleeping?”

You shook your head. “I…I just finished reading.”

You never noticed what happened even she closed the door – your eyes trained on the closed window pane from where he came from for the entire time since he left.

You placed the palm of your hand on the side where you felt his soft lips descended, your heart beating erratically when you know it shouldn’t be.

Though you know it will be hard for you to sleep after what happened, you grabbed the bible one more time, opened it to a random page, reading a random line to ease your confused heart and mind.

Jeremiah 17:9 says “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?”

cont.

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

A Different Time pt5

Warning: Scientific nerdy Ninja

Masterlist

---

Chapter 5 - Taking the Field

As we ate in a local tea house I found I couldn’t shake Yukimura’s parting words from my mind. Each time I tried, I noticed something about her that brought them right back up again like an oil slick on water.

“…So, what do you think?” [Name]’s voice broke my reverie.

“Mmhmm?” Did I miss something? Of course, you missed something Sasuke you weren’t even listening.

“You weren’t listening, were you? You might want to watch that someone might try taking advantage of you.” As she smiled at me I had the notion that I have never felt so easy to read in my life.

“I’m sorry I was just thinking about how long it would take for help to arrive.” I was lying. Whilst that had of course been a minor part in my mind the rest seemed to be filled with thoughts of [Name].

“I was saying I might need to do a bit of training before the storming of the keep.” She repeated her words as she ate the last of her rice.

“Very Tolkienesque.” I replied as I took a drink. The tea was hotter than I thought but I forced it down all the same.

“Hehe thank you. So how about you?” She asked picking up her own cup.

“Well I am nowhere near your level in the ninja arts. I do feel I would need to train a lot before I could even think about training with someone close to your ability.” I wasn’t lying. I had only really been in this era for a little short of four years. I had trained every day until I was told I was proficient enough to not get myself killed and then sent out for on the job experience. I pushed hard to gain more knowledge and skill but compared to a seasoned professional there was no way I was close to them. Although I had pride in my speed… but I suspect that is something to do with being a nerd and having to run fast as a matter of survival.

“You seriously just called it “ninja arts”. What kind of nerd are you?” [Name] smiled from behind her cup looking at me with sparkling eyes. Tiny lines crinkling the corners of them from her smile.

“The not dead kind.” I deadpanned.

“HAHA well I’ll concede and give you that one. Personally, I always found learning easier with a hands-on approach to education. If you like to join me I won’t judge you, you’re not a bad as you think you are.”

Error: Sasuke operating system failure. She not only complimented me but the possible connotations of the ‘hands on approach to education’ alongside the thoughts I was already having after Yukimura’s parting was doing nothing to alleviate my rapidly increasing body temperature or accelerated heart rate. I wonder if I ate a bad bit of fish. Although I would have to admit that now my overactive imagination and basic laws of attraction have a much higher likely hood of being the culprit in this case.

---

After paying the bill we left the teahouse and returned to her camp in the trees. I looked around out of habit and realised that if you had not been aware of its existence you might not have been able to find the camp site in the first place. Nothing looked anything other than natural, [Name] had even covered her firepit with vegetation from the surrounding area.

The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time I noticed it. We had gone through our drills for timing, balance and attack. Our make shift targets were full of holes from our Kunai and Shuriken. It was when I was timing my climbing and practicing swinging my weight from branch to branch that it happened.

[Name] had excused herself to go fetch some fresh water and when she returned I noticed she was soaking wet. Her skin glistened and her hair was a darker shade dripping at its ends. Her kimono was clinging to her figure swaying as she walked in to the clearing. I could feel my hands start to get clammy and before I knew it I had slipped from my grip and fallen backwards, I shifted my feet and somehow managed to gain a purchase strong enough to keep me from falling further, this did however leave me hanging upside down in a less than dignified position. Oh, please God no… please say she didn’t see that. While I was calculating my odds at having successfully managing to avoid the fall I nearly jumped after I adjusted my glasses and realised I was nearly nose to nose with [Name].

“Well hello there Sasuke bat.” She laughed and as her face lit up I felt something inside me pulling me forward. It was illogical and unscientific. It was a feeling that seemed to come from no where and emulated all those anime, manga, comics and films I had seen. Her eyes were sparkling and when she stopped laughing all that was left was a rich warm smile on her face. Leaning forward with one hand on her cheek, I felt the softness of her lips on mine. The gentle heat of her flowing into my body. I’m kissing her, aren’t I? Pulling back, I steadied my breathing.

“That was no where near as easy or romantic as I had hoped.” My words made her smile even more.

“These things never are. I got water so we should probably have a drink and head back. Need help getting down?” [Name] inclined her upper body and tilted her head so she was looking at me upside down.

“It’s ok I can get down.” After I said this I pulled myself up bending in my centre and gripped the branch with my hands before dropping silently to the ground the correct way up.

---

We had a drink then she changed into some dry clothes before we returned to the Inn as it was getting dark. I managed to convince the owner that [Name] was only a friend and a respectable traveller avoiding for the most part a lot of unnecessary gossiping and the very possible out come of being thrown out of the establishment for ‘bringing it into disrepute’.

[Name] was given Yukimura’s room that was next to mine which allowed us to eat our evening meal together and talk without disturbing the rest of the household. It was strange and comforting to be alone like this but I was aware that my hands were still clammy and my heart was still racing. She had not mentioned anything further after my improvised movie hero moment and I was curious. Did she like it? Did I cross a line? How does she feel about me? I was more than aware I should have ascertained those answers before I had done anything like that at all.

“So… about earlier.” She spoke quietly. Suppressing an internal cringe that threatened to take over my body as the whirlpool of emotions ranging from guilt to panic surged forward. This feels like high school prom all over again. Asking a girl out took a lot more courage than the other guys in the class had made it look like it did. And that was only half the battle.

“I’m Sorry” “I liked it.” Our Voices over lapped and I looked at her in bewilderment as what she just said sunk in. Huh?

“There isn’t any need for you to apologise Sasuke. I didn’t hate it or you. You are a good guy.” [Name] averted her eyes a soft faltering smile gracing her face.

“I have a feeling that there is a Dear John coming.” I muttered half under my breath and in the quite room it seemed nearly as loud as it would have been had I yelled it from a rooftop. Her face contorted and looked like she was recoiling from an invisible hand slapping her across her face. The emotions I felt earlier pooled heavy in my chest making it difficult to breath but seeing her struggling in front of me I tried my best to ignore it and place a strained smile on my face. It was difficult I knew I couldn’t smile properly and I hoped I had made a passable one for her sake.

“It’s… It’s not really a ‘Dear John’.” She raised her face to meet my gaze and the soft brown pools reflected me completely. She wasn’t looking at anything but me in that moment I felt like the single most lucky guy in all the world but also completely aware that that world was about to hand me something that would change it forever. “I’m not someone that has ever be comfortable with a one night… thing. I have no idea what will happen in the near future and I…”

“It’s ok I don’t like them either.” I somehow managed to keep my voice level even with my body feeling like it was about to fall apart. She seemed to sense how I felt and gave a pained smile as she reached to take my hand. I nearly pulled it back but part of me wished to touch her and be close to her in any way it could. My own personal torture.

“I like you Sasuke please believe me when I say that. But I don’t think it would be fair to you to be with someone like me.” She appealed in earnest.

“Someone like you?” I repeated her statement as a question she nodded.

“While I cannot deny that I am certainly attracted to you I think ultimately you would be happier with another. I’m truly sorry.” [Name] bowed before me. Was she right? I have no desire to push myself on someone who is not interested. By her own admission she is and yet she has also declined the chance to take the field. The only gentlemanly thing to do would be to back off.

“It’s ok. I like you too. I guess I already managed to make that painfully obvious.” I shrugged trying to relieve some of the awkwardness of the situation. “I will not press the matter further.”

“Sasuke…” [Name]’s voice trembled. I stood from my position from where we had been eating moving to the sliding doors.

“Good Night [Name]” I bowed low enough for me not to have to see her face. I could hear from her breathing that she was on the verge of tears and like a coward fleeing I left her room entering my own at a brisk pace and once my doors firmly closed I slid down the wall and allowed myself the painful release of that trapped whirlpool inside.

---

Time passed in the solitude of moonlight, along with several bottles of sake. I had seen how the great men around me had self-medicated to deal with the phantoms they wrestled with at night. I was not arrogant enough to think myself a great man but I could not deny that I saw the emotional benefit in seeking out such a thing even if I knew it to be scientifically impossible that alcohol could erase how I felt.

It was around the end of the third bottle of strong sake that I felt myself become woozy and my mind became clearer for a brief moment. I didn’t feel the pain of a love unrequited. I didn’t feel the hurt of rejection. I found an agreeable clarity. It wasn’t that they didn’t like me, we might not become anything more than what we are right now but was that really such a terrible thing? I slipped into slumber at peace.

---

It was raining. It started off light and quickly became a torrential down pour. I was standing in front of the stone monument at Honno-ji. The air was electric and there she was. That girl I saw that night of the time slip looking up at the sky before turning her eyes to mine. I remembered. I remembered every detail of her face as if it was imprinted on my mind. Why would I see her right now at a time like this?

The Lighting cracked loud as I remembered and rent the stone in two in front of us.

“Be careful, Miss –” I held out my hand towards her, the look of confusion on her face. The world around me twisted as it turned into the warped distorted lines of the wormhole and everything was lost.

---

[douxreviews]

Arrow - ‘Training Day’ Review

“We have to be something else... something better.”

The episode where Oliver learns, once again, he’s not always right, Dinah figures out who she is, Emiko shows her true colors, and William and Mia go on a treasure hunt.

To assuage the Mayor’s concerns, Dinah persuades Team Arrow that a little SCPD 101 might be in order. Not a bad idea if they intend to convict the people Team Arrow captures. However, limiting them to only SCPD issued uniforms and firearms kind of defeats the purpose of using Team Arrow in the first place. This goes over about as well as can be expected.

The SCPD officers believe that Oliver and company don’t understand the reasons for their procedures and resent the implication they are inferior. The former vigilantes feel handicapped by the chain of command, the chain of custody and the limits imposed by SCPD budget and technology. Dinah does her best to straddle both sides of the SCPD/Vigilante debate. Repeatedly asking Team Arrow for patience.

Her position changes when on her first outing as both Captain and Canary she discovers she cannot use her cry. While it’s true that Oliver and Felicity’s actions put Dinah in a difficult position it is also true that she’s made the calculation that if she cannot be the canary, then she’ll side with the SCPD. Rene reminds her that her Cry isn’t what makes her the Black Canary. If the flash forwards are any indication, in the not too distant future he will regret that conversation.

Oliver freely admits that patience is not his strong suit and he proves his case here. Although willing to attend classes and to submit to Dinah’s authority within the confines of the police station, the moment his authority in the field was compromised he declares his partnership with the SCPD a failure.

Felicity, in a moment of willful blindness, convinces Oliver that if he captures Midas, a well respected CEO who has given so generously to the SCPD in the past but is now suspected of creating poison bullets, all will be forgiven. After all, who needs a warrant, or proof for that matter. Both Oliver and Felicity are shocked when this is not the case and make plans to clean up Star City without SCPD assistance.

Diggle to the rescue. After congratulating them on the latest addition to the family, he promptly reminds the couple they would once again be in violation of the Vigilante Act and subject to arrest and imprisonment. Good luck cleaning up Star City from Slabside. Like Dinah, he has experience with both law enforcement philosophies and convinces Oliver there is another way. Felicity finds a viable (and legal) lead that ties Midas to his crimes. Team Arrow and the SCPD join forces to capture Midas, his gun-toting goons, and the evidence.  This forces Pollard to both acknowledge Team Arrow’s value and make some concessions.

I applaud The Powers That Be finally addressing Team Arrow’s penchant for ignoring private property, probable cause, and rule of law in general in their pursuit of criminals. It’s been a long time coming. I was also pleased they explored Dinah’s conflicting values. Unfortunately, both stories were given short shrift in order to set up new storylines and to tie up a few loose ends.

While it was clear Dante was behind Diaz’s death, I doubt anyone believed he did the deed himself. And as luck would have it, there was a witness – the partially reformed Ben Turner. He offers to spill the murderer’s identity if D.A. Laurel Lance frees him. She’s working on it but makes no guarantees. Alright, then get him a visit with his son.

The moment the word “son” spilled from Ben’s lips I realized we were witnessing Connor Hawke’s origin story. Unfortunately, it means Ben is not long for this world. Ratting out Dante, even indirectly, does not come with a long life expectancy. At this point, we can only hope for two things. First, for Oliver to keep his promise and arrange for Ben’s freedom however short-lived it may be, and second, for Ben to earn the redemption he’s been hinting at for years.

Which brings us to Emiko Adachi. Her ability to fault Oliver for any of his transgressions is at an end. For all Emiko’s talk of justice, she had no qualms about straight up murder. Oliver has walked many a dark path but I can’t remember him ever killing someone who had no means to defend himself. Waltzing into a supermax, dousing an imprisoned man with gasoline, and setting him on fire is hard to defend even given Dante’s apparent threat level.

Emiko had little fear of Star City’s D.A. either. I have to assume Dante filled her in on Laurel’s true identity but I’m hard-pressed to see how Emiko can use it to her advantage. Team Arrow already knows Laurel's identity and since she has successfully served as the D.A for months now, outing her as a metahuman criminal from an alternate universe to Star City might prove difficult. Just sayin’.

As for our flash forward, Mia and William join forces to acquire a microcassette player and listen to Felicity’s message. Considering they are both supposedly geniuses the ensuing comedy of errors should be but wasn’t unexpected. Mia, realizing William has no experience with Star City’s seedy underbelly tells him to stay put and “not do anything” and for some reason expected him to follow directions. William, understanding the true nature of his genius sees no reason to heed her advice. And like his father before him, he would be wrong. But in the true spirit of family, they work together. By marrying her knowledge of both the SCPD and the criminal element with William’s tech skills they succeed in getting the cassette player and give Felix his comeuppance as an added bonus.

Felicity’s message turns out to be coordinates for what’s left of Team Arrow and a plea for her children to get safely out of Star City instead of searching for her. Like that was ever going to happen. Does she remember who their parents are?

This episode neither carried the emotional weight nor the exuberance of last week. However, it did answer a few more questions of the “how did we get from the present Star City to the flash forward version” variety as well as succeed in setting up multiple story lines for the back half of the season.

3 out of 5 cryptic messages

Parting Thoughts:

The Powers That Be weren’t exactly subtle about foreshadowing Oliver and Felicity’s failure to make the better world for their children.

I really want to know where Felicity gets all her money. Is she embezzling from Helix again?

After everything his parents did, Oliver is still trying to honor their memories. Mia was named after Moira. Go figure.

When the truth about Emiko comes out, will Oliver or Rene feel the most betrayed?

Quotes:

William: “Are they all staring at you or me?” Mia: “Both. You reek of money, and, well, I’m undefeated.”

Laurel: “I don’t know what you thought was gonna happen here, but you’re wasting my time. There’s no way that I’m– Fine, I’ll be right there.”

Rene: “Pollard’s taking away our threads?”

Tech officer: “What did I tell you about off-the-books hacking?” Felicity: “You said no public resources. This is private. Loophole.”

Dinah: “There is no more vigilante-way. There is only the SCPD-way.”

Oliver: “Our partnership with the force is not working.” Diggle: “Then we have to find a way to make it work. Compromise, do whatever you have to do because if you want a new future for this baby of yours, it won’t come by doing the same thing we used to do.”

Mia: “You’re a genius.” William: “I am. Like, literally.”

Felicity: “Overwatch to Team Arrow. I have confirmation on Midas and a crapload of gun-toting goons.” Midas: “Now I’ll have your badge and your costume.”

Rene: “So, we’re like the black ops for the SCPD now? That’s cool.”

Felicity: “Then get the hell out of Star City and whatever you do, don’t come looking for me.” Mia: “So we’re ignoring her.” William: “Definitely.”

Shari loves sci-fi, fantasy, supernatural, and anything with a cape.

[badboyobsessedd-blog]

Counting On It

Okay I know no one asked for this, but I wrote a Klaroline fanfiction and I really wanted to share it! I think it if anyone would read it, they would like. So, I’m just going to put it out there and hope that readers like it ...

Okay have at it!

Counting On It

“...Goodbye, Caroline.”

Klaus hung up the phone, wishing he was able to talk to her a little longer. They haven’t spoken in over a decade. He promised her after the glorious day in the woods, when they had to rescue Matt, that he would leave and never come back.

It was hard for him to stay away. He’s never met anyone like Caroline in his a thousand plus years of living and she was always able to capture his attention. She was a challenge and Niklaus Mikaelson never backed down from a challenge.

Their conversation whirled around in his mind, not willing to forget the sweet melodies of her voice just yet. Hearing her on the phone made it harder for him to stay away and standby while she calls Stefan her boyfriend.

It was torture enough to see his Caroline with that miscreant Tyler Lockwood. He was lucky he didn’t take his pathetic life when he had the chance, if it was anyone else, his heart would’ve been out of his chest in seconds. But Klaus knew how much Tyler meant to Caroline, and Stefan apparently meant even more to her.

He truly wasn’t expecting her to call, but of course she was worried about Stefan’s well-being. Caroline cared about people, no matter how terrible they were. Klaus knew that first hand.

Stefan’s phone rang on the bar and it felt like Klaus’ heart stopped when he read Caroline’s name of the screen.

Should I pick up? Would she be disappointed to hear the sound of my voice instead of Stefan’s? Did she miss me like I did her?

Questions and scenarios danced around his head. He knew that it would be that much harder to keep away from the blonde beauty if he heard the voice that has entranced him since he’s met her. But he would regret not picking up the phone. He hated the feeling of regret and guilt, they’ve haunted him his whole life. He knew how to cover it up and appear unaffected, but adding one more regret to his nearly overflowing basket would kill him.

So he picked up.

Klaus: Hello, love.

Caroline: Who is this?

Klaus: Ouch. Has it really been that long?

Caroline: Klaus.

Josie's cries are heard by Klaus over the phone, and he smiles despite himself.

Klaus: I know that sound all too well. You might try picking her up?

Caroline: Just hold on.

Caroline picks Josie up, but she continues crying as Caroline picks up the phone again.

Caroline: How am I talking to you right now? Where's Stefan?

Klaus: By the way, what's your stance on hand-me-downs? We have a chest that was once owned by Louis XV. It's being wasted on my daughter's outgrown onesies. Any interest?

Caroline: One––these babies aren't mine, they're Ric's.

Klaus: Yes, that's been made abundantly clear to me by your boyfriend.

Caroline: Two––I didn't call you. I called Stefan––yes, my boyfriend–– who's currently running for his life while I sit here playing worst case scenario. Except these babies, that aren't mine, won't stop crying, and now, this entire diner hates me. So, if you could refrain from gloating in the face of my misery, that would be very much appreciated.

Klaus: (sighs) Stefan will be fine.

Caroline: How do you know?

Klaus: Because I will ensure it. So, here you are, in college, building a life for yourself…

Caroline: Klaus, I'm not doing this with you.

Klaus: I take it children were not involved in these plans?

Caroline: No, they weren't. Luckily, these aren't mine.

Klaus: (amused) So you've mentioned. You know, my family challenges the bounds of my sanity. They drive me to do unspeakable things; all the while, finding fresh and inventive ways to torture me. But, as it turns out, my family is what makes me truly happy. It's not a crime to love what you cannot explain. I was sorry to hear about your mother, Caroline. I'm sure she would have loved to see you with the little ones.

Josie becomes silent, and Caroline gasps in surprise and relief.

Caroline: Oh, my God. She's finally sleeping.

Klaus: Well, then we mustn't wake her. Goodbye, Caroline.

(phone call from Season 7, episode 14)

Caroline almost wanted to tell him not to leave. She hasn’t heard his husky British accent in so long, but she could never forget him. His voice, lips, and body would forever be ingrained in her mind. She has trained her mind to push all the ‘dirty thoughts’ she had about Klaus, as Elena so subtly put it, to the back of her mind.

She couldn’t think like that again. Sleeping with Klaus already messed up her relationship with Tyler, although she could argue it was done before that. Tyler picked revenge on Klaus over her. All she wanted was him and he was focused on destroying an Original Hybrid. Like that would have any real chance of happening.

Now she had Stefan, someone who actually loved her back and was willing to stay with her even when she had babies that weren’t his. Granted, they weren’t really hers either, or that’s what she kept telling herself. She loved Stefan and didn’t want her relationship––a very strange one––with Klaus.

But even though she kept reminding herself that she hated Klaus and he has done nothing but brought misery and drama to Mystic Falls, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She saw the good in him and knew him on a deeper level than most people did. And that made it harder for her to simply leave him in the past.

Caroline gently swaddled the babies’ heads and left the diner, while trying not to make any movement or sound that would wake up Josie and Lizzie. Somehow they stopped crying and went to sleep, this temporary silence was rare ever since she had the twins and she wasn’t going to take it for granted.

She drove around for thirty minutes until she found a cheap motel to rest for the night. In the morning, they would head back to Mystic Falls and anxiously wait for a word from or about Stefan.

One thing did happen because of the call though. Caroline thought about the phone call with Klaus all night instead of being worried sick about Stefan. But Caroline didn’t necessarily know if that was a good thing or not.

A whole night went by with dreams of a certain blonde vampire that made Klaus wish he never woke up.

After he hung up last night, he held Stefan’s phone in his hand pondering whether he should get Caroline’s new phone number from his cell. He knew he shouldn’t have and she probably wouldn’t be pleased, but it was a known fact that Niklaus Mikaelson struggled with self control and patience. He didn’t know how he went this long after their rendezvous in the woods, but he knew that he couldn’t try to move on now.

His phone sat on his night stand beside his bed, taunting him with Caroline’s number shining on the screen. Her voice still rang in his ear like a choir of angels and desired nothing more than to hear her speak again. He wouldn’t even mind her yelling at him like she almost always did whenever they spoke.

He didn’t mind it though because he knew she was being honest and speaking her mind. Not many people were gutsy enough to take that chance and if they did, their throats would’ve been ripped out. But Klaus appreciated Caroline’s honesty. Yes it hurt, but it was also true.

Klaus stared at the phone for what seemed like hours, wondering if he should call. Would she even pick up? You know what, it doesn’t matter as long as he had the chance to talk to her again.

He picked up his phone and pressed on her contact. Klaus held his breath as he heard the phone ring.

First ring goes by. No answer.

Second ring goes by. Still no answer.

Third ring. Maybe she wasn’t going to pick up! I mean did he really think she would ans––

“Hello,” Caroline spoke gently, her words laced with curiosity. She just laid the twins down for a nap when an unknown phone number popped on her screen. Her heart beat sped up as if it knew who was calling.

“Hello sweetheart. If I’m honest, I thought you weren’t going to pick up,” Klaus breathed into the phone. The corner of his lips upturned a bit when he heard Caroline’s breathy laughs. Unfortunately, he has only heard it a few times but made a vow to make her do it more.

“Then why did you call?” Caroline rolled her eyes, pretty sure it was noticeable in her tone. She was used to their playful banter and didn’t know why she always played into it.

Klaus laughed again, “I just wanted to see how you and the twins were. Is that so hard to believe, love?”

Caroline hoped by now that she was immune to his charms, but even till this day a part of her melted every time he spoke. He had a persona that exuded confidence, radiated power, and oozed sex appeal. Top all that off with a British accent and you had a delicious man sundae right there!

“Yes it is! If you’ve forgotten, I have known you for over a decade Klaus Mikaelson. I’m too smart to be fooled by you,” She said with a sass Klaus hadn’t realized he missed until then.

He doesn’t know how he was able to go ten plus years without her, when all he wanted to do during the phone call is run to where she was staying and make sure she never left his side. Klaus Mikaelson isn’t a patient man, yet he was willing to wait forever for her. She made him a better person. She saw behind the ‘Big Bad Wolf’ façade that he put up to protect himself from constant hurt and betrayal.

“I know you’re not and that’s one of the reasons why I fancied,” Klaus paused and corrected himself, “Fancy you. But since I’m apparently see through, I called because I missed the sound of your voice. It made me realize that I can’t go another ten years without hearing it.”  

Caroline’s breath hitched in her throat. She wasn’t expecting him to say that. A majority of their conversations started off or end up as an argument, going back and forth was their thing. Klaus has hurt her more than many people have, but he’s also said the sweetest things to her.

It was silent over the line and Klaus was beginning to worry that she had left, “You still there, love?”

“Oh, uh, yeah I–I’m still here. Oh, is the offer for the hand-me-downs still on the table? Josie and Lizzie are in desperate need on some onesies and the ones from Louis XV would probably be way better than the ones sold at GAP,” Caroline desperately tried to steer the conversation away from their relationship. That was a road she dreaded going down and tried to avoid it as much as possible.

Klaus chuckled at her pathetic attempt to change the topic, but he went along anyways, giving her a pass only this one time. “Of course, Caroline. I’ll have them sent to Mystic Falls as soon as possible.”

Caroline didn’t hear anything after him laughing. Klaus never really laughed. The only time she could recall him genuinely laughing when he was laughing at her for being melodramatic about Elena taking her prom dress and begging if he could give her a new one.

Looking back at it now, she can’t believe she cared so much about prom and trying to impress everyone. Back then, she was caught up in trivial human conventions and as a vampire with kids, none of that was important anymore.

Drowning in the deep melodious tone of his laugh, Caroline quietly whispered, “I missed that.”

If it weren’t for a vampire’s superhuman hearing, Klaus was sure he wouldn’t have heard those words slip out of her mouth. “What was that, Caroline?”

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything,” Caroline could feel the heat rise to her cheeks and couldn’t believe she actually said that out loud. She admitted that she missed him, or missed some aspect of him. She didn’t like admitting to Klaus how she felt about him, she didn’t even like admitting it to herself.

“Sure, love. If you don’t tell me now, I will call back everyday until you don’t confess. You and I both know how relentless I can be,” promise shined in his voice. A promise they both knew he would keep. The Originals had a thing with their ‘word’. They won’t give it to you unless they plan on keeping it.

“Whatever. You’d just be wasting your time,” Caroline said, brushing off his promise to call her everyday. That’ll only make things more complicated.

“Any moment spent with you is time cherished, not wasted. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Caroline,”  Klaus told her assuringly, then hung up.

True to his word, Klaus phoned Caroline everyday for the past week. Caroline was now back in Mystic Falls with Josie and Lizzie. They were both busy taking care of their children and ensuring everything would be safe for them, but they unconsciously found a way to make time to talk at least once a day. Caroline hated to admit it, but she looked forward to the daily phone calls.

Her heartbeat raced when Klaus called her love or sweetheart, but she also felt a twinge of guilt. Would Stefan be angry with her if he knew? Was she considered selfish because instead of feeling anxious about how Stefan was doing and when he’d be back, she got anxious when Klaus was an hour late from calling at his “usual time”, which was around two in the afternoon. But she couldn’t help it when her pulse picked up whenever she heard her phone go off around that time.

Their conversations were light and every now and then, Klaus would turn up his charms or referenced their time in the woods. That always made her blush and whenever it was brought up, she quickly changed the subject to safer territories. And of course before the end of every phone call, he would ask her what she said and promised to call the next day to find out.

This day wasn’t any different. He called at exactly 2:00 pm and Caroline entered her bedroom just in time to answer the call.

“Klaus,” Caroline greeted. Her voice held a hint of annoyance, but also amusement.

“Caroline,” the smile evident in his voice. “Ready to fess up, sweetheart?”

Caroline scoffed, “Yeah, no. Just get over it already! And don’t you have revenge plan to make with Elijah or something against someone who’s done your family wrong?”

“Actually I do,” Klaus chuckled. “But not now, I have more important things to attend to. All of that can wait until this phone call is over.”

Klaus was serious. He was willing to put the whole world on pause for her if that’s what she wanted. He has shown mercy, kindness, and pity to those who have wronged him because of her. He has given her space and time, over ten years worth of time to be exact. It was all for her.

Caroline knew that he was serious about putting their conversation as a top priority. It’s not the only time he’s done this and in her heart, she knew it wouldn’t be that last. He loved her and talking to him like this made her think he still does. She figured he would move on and when she heard news about getting Hayley pregnant, a small part of her broke. But she had no right to hold him back. She constantly pushed him away and denied their connection and attraction, but he still pursued her.

   Maybe having feelings for Niklaus Mikaelson wasn’t such a bad thing. She didn’t want to cover their connection with hostility. Caroline missed him and she knew he would treat her right. They understood each other and in a lot of ways they were the same, just like Klaus said when she denied the cure.

   Caroline took a deep breath, knowing where her confession would lead. “I said I missed hearing your laugh. You never really do it much, but when you do, I can’t help but get sucked in. I wanted to be the one to make you laugh, to make you smile, but I blew it. I probably gave you more headaches if anything.”

   Klaus smiled at her rambling. He knew what she said all along and just wanted her to be honest about her feelings towards him. She could say all the hurtful things she wanted to keep herself from admitting the truth, but they both knew they had something there. They always had and they most likely always would.

“You make me smile more than you know. And the headaches and your constant denial is one of the many reasons I enjoy you,” Klaus paused when he heard Caroline’s small sigh. “And I know you’re with Stefan, but do you remember what I said the night of your graduation, love?”

How could she ever forget? Those words melted her heart until it was nothing more than mush.

“He’s your first love. I intend to be your last, however long it takes…”  

“Yes, I remember,” She said breathlessly.

“I’ll wait for you Caroline Forbes, however long it takes,” The finality and confidence in his tone let Caroline know that he would wait for her. He would always love her, no matter what was in the way, whether that be a significant other or time itself.

   Caroline took a deep breath, “I’ll be counting on it. Goodbye, Klaus.”

   “Goodbye, Caroline,” Klaus whispered and hung up.