#but at least the money is safe so I won’t do anything stupid or reckless with it

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

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[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (13/15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2.2k words

Warning : angst, violence, sad reader, sad Bucky, shitty Rumlow, maybe Steve isn’t that bad, the doughnuts are back from chapter 11, did I mention angst?, angst, more angst

Everything was dark, you noticed. When you slowly returned to consciousness, you half expected to be in your bed with Bucky tangled beside you, just like in your dreams. He fit so perfectly in your bed — your life and you, as if he was a part of you, and you weren't sure where he ended and where you began. 

But when you moved to stretch your aching limbs, they moved a few inches before halting by some sort of restriction. Instantly, the bubble of your dreams burst, and everything came to your mind, and you abruptly looked around to find him. Bucky was still unconscious — tied to a chair, but instead of rope like yours, he was tied down with manacles. He had restraints on his wrists and ankles. You were sort of offended that they didn’t think you were strong enough to be captured like him. Not that you wanted those manacles anywhere near your body, but you preferred not to be treated as if you were meek.

What could be worse than getting kidnapped? It's definitely getting rekidnapped with the person who came to rescue you. Clint lied, he was working with Rumlow. His source was nothing but an ambush for Bucky. There were more than 4 of Rumlow’s men in the warehouse. Clint lied so that Bucky would come under prepared and he fell right into the trap.  

Earlier, it was just you in a room alone, but now it was you and Bucky in a dingy cell-like room with a closed door. He was still knocked out when the man known as Rumlow walked in. You recalled him from the time he came to the club, and you wanted nothing more than to run towards the safe embrace of your lover. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Rumlow’s steps halted when he was near your tied form. His hand came for your cheek and naturally, you recoiled away. Your rejection didn’t deter him, it only fueled his fury more as he held your chin tightly in his other hand and made you look at him. You attempted to get out of his grasp, which only angered him more, and he struck his hand to your face. It ached so much and it was so loud that it jolted Bucky up. 

“Will you look at that,” Rumlow mocked, pushing your face away from his hold. “Lover boy can feel her pain.”

It took a second for Bucky to drink in the sight and commemorate everything. Once everything came back to him, he looked at you deplorably, his eyes filled with concern and guilt as he saw the blood dripping down your face.

“Get away from her, Rumlow!” Bucky seethed when his gaze was back at the man who hurt you. Despite the warning, Rumlow moved more towards you. One hand running his knuckles on your face in an attempt to be soothing, while the other held your chin in a painful grip.

“Why do you get to keep such a pretty thing all to yourself?” Rumlow asked rhetorically. “I should get a taste too.”

Before Bucky could try to do something, a knock on the door attracted everyone’s attention. Clint came in with a look of victory on his face.

“You betraying son of a bitch,” you hissed. Unlike Bucky, you didn’t have much self-restraint or any wise escape plan cooking in your head. “Why the fuck did you do it?”

“You’re new, sweetheart,” Clint pointed out, his tone condescending. “You don't know how it works.” 

“What I know is that your wife is friends with Wanda's girlfriend,” you retorted back immediately. You were tired of being seen as weak. ”How will she feel when she finds out that you betrayed Bucky?”

A look of uncertainty came over Clint's face and you continued, “I might be new, sweetheart, but I’m not dumb.”

When Clint was astounded, Rumlow spoke up,” Ah, the power of pillow talk. You are one feisty little bitch. What else did he tell you? Did he tell you that his work is not illegal and he sells weapons to the government?”

You looked at Bucky, hoping that the man you knew and loved was nothing like this monster who assaulted you. Rumlow continued, “Barnes, Rogers and I started this whole a business together. They enjoyed the money that was brought in with our illegal escapade. He enjoyed girls like you every day. Until one day, the childhood buddies decided it was time to go clean. And they just left us in pursuit of some dream life.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just looked over at Bucky who was staring at the floor as if waiting for it to open and swallow him whole. Was he ashamed of his past? Did he think that his past would make you love him any less? If he did, then he was highly mistaken because now you didn't see James as your arrogant boss. Now you saw a young boy who made some questionable choices and, to make a better life for himself and his family, he changed his direction. Now you saw a reckless boy who did stupid shit in his past like everyone in the world and instead of letting it define him, he made a better life for himself. Now you saw a hardworking boy who worked his ass off to build an empire for himself and his loved ones. All of these versions of him existed before you, but you only saw one — the one that mattered to you at least, you just saw the love of your life, your Bucky.

The universe might have listened to your pleas because Rumlow’s phone rang and both he and Clint exited the room. You didn’t know how to start a conversation with Bucky. He didn't want to, that you were sure of. What were you supposed to say? That his hardship and past made him look hotter in your eyes? You wanted to avoid romanticizing his struggles, so you resorted to the only thing you do when you are tense.

“This is not the lunch date I had in mind,” you teased, forcefully huffing to make the situation seem less intense. When Bucky did not respond or even looked at you, you retorted to another antic. “I remember that song name, you know — Invisible String. Taylor Swift, of course. It would make an excellent bakery name. We can -”

“We can what?” Bucky finally snapped, “You want me to fire my friends and convert the most profitable club into a fucking bakery, huh?” 

“Is that what you want? A life with a man who got you involved in this shit?” you flinched at his harsh words. You knew this wasn’t your Bucky — your Bucky was all about sweet touches, teasing words and passionate kisses. No, this was the Bucky that Rumlow recognized. 

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered, your tone gentle. “I’m sorry you're stuck here because of me, but -”

He cut you off. “Doll,” he exhaled, his voice devoid of all the venom present a moment ago, It was filled with the adoration towards you that you were used to; Nonetheless, it still made you feel dizzy all the time. His face softened before saying, “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I got you into this mess. I should have stayed away from you.”

You opened your mouth to object. You wanted to tell him that he was being stupid — that you would get through this together, but he sustained.

“I will stay away from you,” he pondered, his eyes avoiding yours again. 

No, you wouldn't let that happen. You finally had him, and you wouldn't let Rumlow get into Bucky's head. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

“There is nothing to talk about,” he concluded, “When we are out of here. I will maintain my distance.”

You tried to ask him to stop saying that, but he kept ignoring your words and looked at the wall behind you for almost an hour. When it got to your nerves, and you were starting to get pissed he started whistling a song you weren’t quite familiar with. “Seriously? How old are you? Five?”

He didn’t respond. “So what? You're just gonna ignore me while we’re tied here?”

 “Hey, let's play a game,” you tried again.

Before you could lose all your patience and start yelling at him, you heard grunting sounds from behind the door. You shuddered, swallowing the lump in your throat. You didn’t want to see Rumlow again, in fact, you never wanted to see Rumlow.

Sensing your discomfort made Bucky finally speak up. “Y/N, look at me,” his voice sweet as ever, as if he hadn't been ignoring you for the past hour. You looked at him, and he held your gaze, assuring you, “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak anything. Both of you held your breath, waiting for someone to walk in and hurt you more, but it never came. All that came was a blond man with a gun in his hand, whom you recognized instantly — Steve. You didn't like that man one bit because he clearly disliked you, but at that moment, he was your angel who came to your rescue.

Immediately, Steve ran towards his pal who nodded his head towards you, indicating his friend to let you out of the restraint first. Again, he had manacles around his wrists and limbs, and he wanted you to be free of the rope that was around you. Steve took his friend’s request and freed you of your restriction before doing the same for Bucky.

When you stood up, the world stood up with you, and you realized that you hadn’t eaten anything in more than 24 hours. You almost collapsed on the floor when two strong hands came to your relief and held you. You didn’t need to keep your eyes open to see who it was. Likewise, you knew it was Bucky — you could recognize his touch anywhere, and just liked that you passed out.

The next time you gained awareness, you were moving swiftly. It took you a few seconds to acknowledge that you were in a car. You craned your neck upward to find your head situated on a hard and firm chest, Bucky looked down at you and engulfed you tighter to his side, your legs resting on his lap while his free hand was settled on the back of your thigh, holding you closer to him. 

“Doll,” his voice was barely audible, and you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close to him or if he didn't whisper it in your ear. “You gotta eat something.”

Tiredly, you nodded and Bucky nudged you softly, encouraging you to straighten up a little before eating something. You straightened your back and somebody passed a box from the passenger seat. Steve, you recognized him and the person in the driver's seat — Sam. Both of them looked at you sympathetically, and you smiled at them, or at least tried to. You were so exhausted.

Bucky opened the box and took out a doughnut, which you brought for him that morning, or was it the previous morning? How long had it been since you were kidnapped?

Two doughnuts and one bottle of water later, you were back at your apartment. Bucky’s hand rested on the small of your back as Steve and Sam followed both of you. You hesitated before unlocking the door, and Bucky ran his hand on your back reassuringly as he ensured you, “I’ve got you, doll.”

Bucky said something to Sam and Steve, but you were too exhausted to listen. Once they were gone, Bucky strode towards you, cupping your face in his hands as he scanned your face for all the wounds. “How about you clean up, and I’ll get the first aid kit. Okay, doll?”

Just like the whole night or day or whatever time it was, you didn't remember most of the bath. You remembered going into the shower — you remembered water running down your body — you remembered seeing red water (probably from your bruises) seeping in the drain — you remembered seeing someone in the mirror you didn't recognize — you remembered falling to the floor and crying and most importantly you remembered calling for Bucky.

As if standing outside the door, Bucky was crouched over you instantly . He wrapped a towel around your naked form and held you on the bathroom floor while you cried and finally acknowledged the trauma that you had encountered.

Bucky held you as you continued to cry in muffled sobs against his chest. When you fell asleep, he placed you and tucked you in your bed comfortably before getting in himself. You wrapped your arms around him in your sleep and held him like the anchor he was to you. Bucky pressed a kiss in your hair and whispered his love and apologies to you for pulling you into his messed up life. You couldn't fathom a word he confessed before sleep finally engulfed you.

TAGS : @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​ @rivers-rambles21​ @emmabarnes​ @valsworldofcreativity​ @boofy1998 @marvel-3407​ @mybuck​ @priii​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @ladydmalfoy​ @shaking-a-jar-of-bees @elizamalfoyy​ @maladaptivexxdaydreaming​ @sabrinathesimp

A/N - Hey, I finally made a Taglist .This was a very intense (please don’t hate me) I love you bye. Take care!

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[sockablock]

(TW for panic attacks and discussions about trauma)

— — —

The thing is, Beau's friends are shit fighters.

To be clear—she's not saying that they're bad at fighting, gods know Veth's a force of nature with her crossbow and all of the spell-slingers can kill with a word—it's just that when it comes to fighting, actual fighting, that down-and-dirty fist-on-flesh shit, her friends suck. Most of 'em just run, or they’d sweet-talk a surrender, or go back to slinging spells.

Beau would never admit she misses the Soul, but at least those people knew how to block. At least Dairon would make her work for it, wouldn't tell her to please, gods, Beau, stop punching me, I give!

Fjord's better these days, but not good enough.

Which is why, on their third morning back in Nicodranas, when Beau opens the door to see Yasha looking restless, she knows exactly what's up.

"Should I get my staff?"

Yasha shrugs. She usually does.

"I'll grab it. Down in five."

Beau considers grabbing some toast too, but she remembers how antsy Yasha seemed and figures she should try to avoid puking in Marion’s yard.

Yasha is stretching when she gets there. The gate swings behind her with a gentle clunk, and she kicks her shoes off, curls her toes in the grass. The sun is barely broken above rooftops and towers, and the first chime of church bells ring out overhead.

Beau yawns a little, but it’s just for flavor. Mind games. She’s not actually sleepy.

“We do not have to—” 

She quickly waves her hand. “It’ll wake me up. You know, get the blood pumping.”

Yasha smiles a little at that. It’s always such a small one, but it’s getting to be familiar.

“I got up early. I couldn’t sleep. Er...sorry.”

Beau doubles her effort to be dismissive. “Don’t apologize to me, Yasha. C’mon. You think I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to?”

This seems to be a winning argument. Yasha nods, like she can’t imagine Beau doing anything she doesn’t want.

Maybe it’s the crisp ocean breeze, maybe it’s the way they circle each other in the yard. Maybe it’s the fresh brush of gauze on her fists.

Beau wants to win.

She dives in, pulls low, uses her quick movement to catch Yasha off-guard and get in as closely as she can. Yasha’s tall, broad, strong as an ox, and even holding back, she could wind Beau with a punch. She presses even closer, limiting Yasha’s motions, sweeps out a leg and cuts up when Yasha moves. The two of them duck and weave and push, neither allowing the other an inch, fists flying, blows being blocked and sweat beginning to pour down their backs. Beau lands a hit that leaves Yasha grunting, then stumbles when a wild haymaker knocks her back. It’s clear that Yasha was never taught any form, just scraped it all together by surviving on the moors and her chaotic movement, high endurance, and reckless confidence just make her deadlier.

Beau tries to close in again, but a lucky kick forces her a pace too far. Her knuckles are bruising in that numb, seething way, and so she darts to the side, grabs her staff, vaults up and then arcs her foot to Yasha’s face—

The dance starts again, this time hardwood hitting forearms and on anyone else, Beau might even feel guilty about it. But Yasha barely seems to register the thwack, her teeth bared in a sideways grin, her eyes hard and excited and alive. Beau’s probably wearing the same expression. She hears herself laughing, and knows that she is. Up-swing, down-swing, slide left, throw a punch, block one, dart back, duck and then—

Yasha’s fist catches her right in the gut, sends Beau lurching flat into the dirt. She chokes her own breath, coughs up dust, barely gets an elbow up with Yasha leaning over her, blotting out the sun, raising Beau’s staff for a finishing strike—

Halts.

It’s like watching a tower fall. Yasha staggers back. She drops the staff. She lifts her hands and stares at her palms and Beau hears a mangled breath. Her knees give. She collapses on herself.

Beau scrambles up, aching limbs forgotten.

“Yasha?” she says. “Yasha? Are you—is—what’s wrong?”

Yasha sucks in more air, but that just seems to make things worse. Her shoulders tremble and her lungs sound ragged.

“Aw, shit,” says Beau, “I mean—fuck—uh—”

She half-runs, half-crawls, ‘til she’s at Yasha’s side. She wants to put her hand on Yasha’s arm, thinks better of it, panics a little more. She wishes she were Jester. She wishes she were Cad. They’d know what to do, they’d be better at this than her, anyone, hell, Marius would be better at this than her—

But it’s her, and everyone’s still in the house, so she shakes her head and stamps the fear down. 

“Yasha, I...aw, fuck, I’m—I’m here, it’s okay, nothing’s wrong—” clearly something is wrong, idiot, “—I mean, um, you’re safe here, okay? It’ll be alright. I’m here, and I’ll stay if that’s what you want, okay? I won’t go anywhere, if you don’t want. Uh...can you shake your head if you want me to go? Is that...possible, can you—”

A frantic shake.

“Oh good, okay, thank fuck, then I’m here. I’m right here, Yash. I’m not going anywhere.” She tries to pitch her voice calm, takes deep, long breaths, and continues to murmur as reassuringly as she can until after...seconds? Minutes? Yasha’s trembling slows. 

There’s a pause. Yasha inhales and lets it go. It’s shaky, but apparently good enough because finally, eventually, she turns and looks back at Beau.

“I’m...okay. I am okay.”

Beau sinks back into the grass. Then she lies down. “Oh, cool. I’m, uh, glad.”

“I’m so—”

She holds up a hand. “Nope. C’mon.” She pats the ground beside her.

“Er...what?”

She pats it again, emphatic. “Lie down. C’mon. I think we’ve earned a break.”

She stares up at the sky while Yasha shifts around, and eventually there’s a gentle thud as she lies down. Seagulls cry in the distance and clouds drift slowly past their heads.

Beau swears, but mentally. A private thing.

“So, uh...do we...want to talk about it, or...?”

Yasha is quiet for a moment. That’s not surprising. Then:

“It...reminded me of when I killed you.”

“What? Oh—” 

“Almost killed you,” Yasha amended. “Both times.”

“Right,” says Beau. “That’s...right.”

She thinks about saying—almost. You only almost killed me, so really it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. And you kill people all the time anyway, right?

She blinks. “Wait, you kill people all the time, Yasha. Is it always that bad? Shit, does it always...does it always make you feel like this? Only...I don’t think I’ve ever seen you...break like that...”

She regrets the words immediately. Stupid, Beau, that’s a stupid thing to say. 

But Yasha answers the question earnestly. “It’s usually different,” she says to the sky. “It usually...doesn’t matter. Er...no, not that it doesn’t matter, it just...”

“Doesn’t matter,” Beau sighs. “No, I...sort of get it. Man, that might be fucked up. Of us.”

Yasha shrugs, which rustles the grass. “It’s how it has always been for me. That is just what life is like.”

“I’m sure Jester would disagree.”

“Jester is...nice. I am not. I...have hurt a lot of people. And not just people who were fighting me, or trying to hurt me, but people who were innocent, who did not need not to be hurt, people who care about me, and, and people who I...”

She trails off. Beau can’t see her face, but right now, selfishly, she is glad for it. She feels anger bubbling up in her stomach.

“You were being controlled,” she says fiercely. “You didn’t do it. Someone made you do it.”

“But...part of that...part of it was still me. Since...since you all freed me, I...I remember parts of it. I remember doing it. Those were my hands.” 

Beau can practically hear Yasha’s fist tighten. She definitely feels it when Yasha hits the ground.

“If I was better, or if I was stronger, if I had broken free faster, none of that would have happened, I could have stopped him sooner—”

This time, Beau doesn’t hold back. They’re lying down, so it’s incredibly awkward, but the first thing she can think of is to grab Yasha’s hand.

She sits up, and waves it over Yasha’s face.

“But you didn’t,” she says, then falters, then wants to smack herself. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is...” Then she stops. “No, you know what? Fuck it. You didn’t break out faster. And that’s because it was a miracle you managed it in the first place. Yasha, you were being controlled by a devil. You were being controlled by the Chained Oblivion. The fact that you were even a person the first time we met—and you were a person, you were funny, you charged me money to, to, well, you charged me five gold, remember that?”

Yasha blinks. Her wrist is slack in Beau’s grip.

“I...do, yes, I remember that.”

“Right. The fact that you were a person then meant that they couldn’t keep their claws in you. Because you were strong. You were better. Better than everything they tried to make you. You kept breaking free.”

Yasha does not try to squirm away, only stays there.

“But...I needed help every time that I did escape. I never managed it on my own. First it was...it was Kord, and then you all—”

“Of course!” Beau throws her other arm into the air. “Who the fuck could do it on their own?! All that means is that when you had a chance, the second you had a chance, you were outta there. In your heart, you knew what was right. You knew it, and held onto it, even when I’m sure it would’ve been so easy to stay there, to stay in that hell and just go through the motions and lose yourself in...in grief, and loss and...and all that. But you didn’t. And now look at you.”

She cracks a goofy smile, all desperation to make what she’s trying to say heard.

“You’re an angel, Yasha. Remember?”

Yasha slowly sits up too. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, black turning white, with little blades of grass.

Beau is made painfully aware of the fact that she’s still holding Yasha’s hand. She lets go. Then she swears again, and hopes that Yasha doesn’t think it’s because of anything s—

“I am, aren’t I?”

Her gaze shoots up and Yasha's wearing a goofy smile too. Small, a bit nervous, but real and warm.

It’s getting to be familiar.

Beau snorts. She snorts so loud that it might dislodge something in her chest. She hits Yasha gently on the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t, uh, don’t let it go to your head.”

She can see Yasha nodding in the corner of her eye.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then, after a brief battle over whether or not to bring it up, “I don’t...I don’t...for the record, I’m not mad about you stabbing me. Or whatever.”

Yasha looks stricken, and Beau regrets it instantly. “Shit, should I not have reminded you of—”

“No,” Yasha sighs, and her face softens. “No. I am...glad that you are not mad at me.”

“Should we, like...go to a cleric about this?” Beau asks. “Is this going to be something that happens in, like...fights? Because if it does, it might put you in danger. Also, it’s...it probably sucks for you. Right?”

Fjord would probably have something to say about the way she’s handling this conversation. He’s not here now.

“I...don’t know,” Yasha says eventually. “It hasn’t happened before. It was only...just now. And...just with you. It...hurting you reminded me of being controlled. It...brought me back to all the times that my mind was not my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau says, because she’s not sure what else to say.

“No,” says Yasha. Beau looks up, surprised by the weight in her words. “If I am not allowed to be sorry to you, you cannot be sorry to me.”

“Ah,” says Beau. She feels a grin pulling. “In that case...I’m not sorry.”

Yasha nods, like this is sacred, and Beau can’t help but snort again. 

“C’mon,” she says. “We can...work this shit out later. Or start to. With a cleric if you want, or not, if you don’t. But I just got my ass kicked, and I’m thirsty. What do you say to some drinks? I think there’s juice. Do you like juice?”

She stands up, and sticks out a hand. 

Yasha takes it.

“Okay. I like juice.”

— — — 

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[folkloreguk]

Gold Rush (optional bias)

A/N: I honestly don’t know a lot about the middle ages, so if anyone is a history genius, pls bare with me if I write something that doesn’t make sense asfghjk PS: feedback is greatly appreciated!!

genre: optional bias (male), thief!au, strangers to enemies to lovers, medieval!au, suggestive content, reader is always ready to fight lmao, a tiny bit of angst

summary: As thieves, you both try to steal from the same royal carriage. Only it doesn’t go as planned for either of you. Will you get away before the king sentences you both to death?

words: 8.9 k  

You had been tailing the royal carriages for an entire day now. You were sure your horse was getting exhausted, but the sun was setting and you knew what that meant. Soon, the transport would come to a halt. They would find a clearing somewhere, with trees as shelter from all sides. Then, they would set up their camp for the night, only to pack up everything in the morning and travel another two or three days, until they reached their destination: the castle. Only instead of delivering the full carriages, with gold, silver, pearls and gems, a few handfuls would be missing. It would be almost nothing to them, you suspected. They might not even notice it disappeared.

To you, however, it meant existing. You had to admit, being a thief hadn’t been your first choice when it came to choosing an occupation for the rest of your life. You had tried to integrate into different businesses. You were going to learn to be a baker, a glover and even tried to keep a job helping out on a farm. But none of these professions were for you. You were tired of being commanded around by men who tried to make you their little maid or worse – ask you for your hand in marriage. The judgement was tedious. “Aren’t you too old to be unwed?” “Where is your husband?” “How many children do you have?”

You wished you could talk back. “No, I’m just fine, he doesn’t exist and none – is it any of your business, by the way?” But you had learned that arguing with elders would only get you in trouble, and perhaps your decision to refrain from living the typical life was exactly what made it impossible for you to keep a job. That was, until you discovered your talent – a sleight of hand that was invincible. Some would call it avaricious; you would prefer to describe it as a passion. It wasn’t evil, just a thrill you enjoyed chasing. The beginnings had been humble. A few coins out of someone’s pocket here and there, some food from an unsuspecting marketer; you had to keep yourself afloat somehow, right?

But the seasons went by, and you became more audacious and greedier for your beloved adrenaline. Plus, you realized that stealing from the rich had something weirdly rewarding. Maybe it was the anger you felt at the king for hoarding the wealth of the land whilst letting his people starve in the streets. Either way, stealing from those who had power made you feel a sense of benevolence. You gave away some of your stolen goods to those who actually needed them, instead of letting all the money and jewelry rot away in someone’s bag and around someone’s neck. Sometimes you hid in the shadows after your theft had been settled, only to see the reactions of your victims. It might have sounded obsessive, but it gave you assurance, when they moved on after only minutes of complaint, because you knew those few coins were miniscule to all of them.

And currently, you were on to one of your most reckless thefts. You were well aware this could get you killed. Yet you couldn’t help it, the glimmer of the jewels and the gold was hypnotizing. Finally, the carriages had come to a halt. From a safe distance, you observed how they unloaded their tents and checked especially carefully where they kept the most desired goods. The wares would stay in the carriages, probably guarded all night long. You would need to wait for the right moment.

“Good job today, my dearest Dorato,” you whispered to your horse as you tied the reins to a tree. Gently, you pat his nose. He pushed his head closer to you, demanding more affection, but your eyes were already on your objective. For at least an hour you stood, hidden in the thicket, waiting for the sun to set completely and some of the men to lay to sleep. With a hawk’s gaze you counted the men and made sure you knew each of their whereabouts. One of the wagons stood with its back opening facing you – which was perfect. It was like they were presenting the goods to you on a silver plate. To the left of the wagon, some of the men had lit a bonfire and were seated around it. Judging by their laughter and lively conversations, you doubted they would go to sleep soon. One of them was sitting on the edge of the carriage, meant to guard the inside. He, who should have been paying the most attention, however, was fast asleep. And that was your chance.

“Wish me luck, Dorato,” you whispered to your horse, running your hand over his warm neck. Then, you slowly moved towards the carriage. Outside the shielding cover of the trees, you felt you needed to act quickly. The gales of laughter were helping against your vulnerability in reminding you that the men around the fire were trusting their sleeping guard to have everything under his control. Sly as a fox, you kept your distance and approached the opening of the wagon only when the bonfire was out of sight. You pulled the fabric to the side and with a swift jump, you landed on the edge of the carriage right next to the dozed off man. It only took one maneuver and you had opened the wooden chest nearest to you.

You grinned in triumph at the jackpot in front of you. With eyes sparkling just as much as the diamonds and gems, you grabbed handfuls and transported them into your bag.

“Henry, change of shift!” someone suddenly shouted. Their voice sounded scarily close to you, and then you heard footsteps approaching. Even though you had wanted to be greedier and steal some more, this was definitely your cue to get out of there. If they saw you inside the wagon, you’d be done for. So, without second thought, you yanked the cover away and leaped off the edge.

“Thief!” the surprised man howled as you passed him. Luckily, this wasn’t the first quick escape you had ever had to make. Your feet carried you rapidly, over the grass and into the trees where your horse stood. One quick pull and the reins had come off the tree trunk.

“Over there!” a hoarse man growled. Now more voices were heard, curses and angry shouts directed your way.

“Let’s go, boy,” you said and hauled yourself into the saddle. You pushed your legs against his belly, quickly signaled your horse the way and he knew the drill already. He took off sprinting, out of the forest cover. The wind in your face momentarily forced your eyes to tear up a little and you squinted against the cool night air. But just as you thought you were getting onto the gravel road, one of the guards jumped out in front of you. The fire from the torch he was holding danced aggressively in the wind. As he pointed it high, it was a blaze against the darkness of the night sky, and Dorato whinnied in terror. He jumped and reared up, and you lost balance.

“Seize her!” a man shouted at your disoriented figure on the ground. You wanted nothing more than to get back on your feet and flee. But it was no use. You were surrounded by a number of gravely livid men, and should you try anything stupid now, it would cost you your life, probably. Somebody grabbed your shoulders and pulled you up.

“Take the horse,” one of them ordered and your eyes widened. If they hurt your best friend it was the last thing they would do, you swore in silence. But to your dismay, as the men dragged you over to the wagon, they ripped your quiver and your bow from your back. You sat still as they tied your hands and feet and hurled you into the very wagon you had just stolen from.

“There you have your gemstones,” a guard spoke. “Look at them as much as you want, because soon you won’t be looking at anything anymore.”

Giving him a gaze so spiteful it should have hurt him physically, you spit right into his face. Lucky for you, he wasn’t up for a fight. It wasn’t on him to convict you for anything just yet. A complacent smile spread on your face as he walked away, wiping your saliva out of his eyes. At least now you had a guaranteed roof over your head for the night.

You were in slight trouble, you had to admit that. In two days, you would arrive at the castle. Depending on what the king decided, your punishment could be as severe as death. But until then, it would be a while. There was still plenty of time to escape, you assured yourself.

All night long, no matter how much you forced your eyes shut, you didn’t catch a minute of sleep. The men’s chatter was simply too loud and maybe you were concerned for your safety, after all – even if you would have never confessed it to someone other than yourself. The heavy chests of luxurious items sat across and next to you, as if they were mocking you for your foolish actions. For hours you sat staring at them, cursing your greed. Only in the morning, when the carriages continued their journey, the rocking of the wagon lulled you into a slumber.

~

You awoke later that day. Judging by the dim light falling into the carriage, it must have been the early evening. Curious, you scooted to the edge, lifted the fabric that was covering your sight and checked. Your assumptions had been right. The golden sunlight of the last hour of daytime shone into your face. The wagon you were in was the last of them, behind you only the bright gravel and trees left and right. For a while you daydreamed the boredom away. You went into another world, in which you didn’t have to steal to survive. In your real life, you were either born into luxury or you had to toil each day for the rest of your existence. There was no hard work that could have transported you out of your peasant-state and into something more carefree.

Suddenly, shouts ripped you right out of your dreamworld. The wagon had halted, but when you looked out the back, nothing was there. Trying to learn what the commotion was all about, you concentrated on the chaos of voices. Had they all gotten into an argument? The men were all talking at the same time, so there was really no use but to wait and see.

“You will be delighted to have some company until you receive your sentence from the king,” a man said. Footsteps drew nearer. Someone pulled away the fabric at the end of the wagon. Before you knew it, a figure was pushed inside. It was a young man but clearly not one of the guards, as he was dressed like a peasant. With a groan, he was bracing himself up across from you.

“Enjoying the ride?” the guard outside the wagon taunted you with a sneering grin. You spat in his face. Again.

“You little-“ he snarled.

“Let’s go! We can’t lose any more time!” someone yelled and unknowingly saved you from more trouble. The man disappeared and the carriages began to move again.

You welcomed the newest addition to your wagon by staring him down like he was about to take all the gold and diamonds clearly reserved for you. When he had sat up and checked his surroundings, he noticed your look.

“Is there a problem or something on my face?” he asked.

“Were you trying to steal from them?” you asked back. “Didn’t go as planned, did it?”

“Were you not?” he replied. “My highness, we’re in the same situation, so don’t you try to aggravate me out of tediousness.”

“Don’t you mock me, or you’ll receive the same response as the guard did,” you threatened. “And you are very wrong. You are going to be brought to the castle and thrown into a prison. I will escape.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “I see you’re making great progress with getting out of these ropes. You better hurry, or I’ll get away before you do. I can carry a lot in my pockets.”

You huffed.

“The diamonds are mine,” you stated, matter-of-fact.

“Whoever gets out first will have them,” he replied. “I’m betting on myself.”

“God…could you not have chosen a different day to steal from the royals?” you asked, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was your highness’ turn today,” he said, and his smile was taunting and cocky at the same time.

“I told you to stop calling me that!” you hissed, one second from collecting your saliva in your mouth.

“What do you prefer then?” he asked. His smirk made you wonder whether he was contemplating to suggest some more stupid pet names for you. He better not, you thought.

“I don’t know…what about my name?” you said. “It’s Y/N.”

“All right, Y/N,” he said. “And would you consider sitting on death row one of the more entertaining parts of your job? Are you used to it?”

If only looks could kill, he’d be torn to shreds.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been caught,” you said. “But judging by how lightly you’re taking this, you must spend more time in jail than outside of it.”

“What can I say? The guards love me,” he said. “But didn’t they teach you to be honest? I don’t believe you. Or maybe you were a coward for so long and this is your first time actually trying to steal. What’s the truth, sweetheart?”

There was nothing you despised like people who underestimated you. And with that, you spat in his face and turned away from him. Know-it-alls weren’t going to be granted a second of your attention.

“Hey, talk to me,” he said. “We’ll be here for another while, so we might as well become friends.”

“Missed your chance,” you said. And it was the last thing you said to him for a long time. Even when he tried so hard to lure you back into a conversation. You knew if you gave in, he’d never learn.

“My name is H/N, by the way. Oh, that’s right. You don’t care. I forgot,” he said. And he was right.

~

Having to rot away by yourself in the back of a carriage was already exhilarating enough. But rotting away in the back of a carriage while an irritating young man filled your head with stupid stories you could care less about? It made hell sound inviting. Even when the guards had set up their camp for the night, he occasionally tried to get you back into conversation. Because you had slept throughout the day, you knew you’d be awake until the early morning hours, a fact that only made your situation more unbearable.

Your ears picked up the crackling of the wood as the bonfire fed on it next to the wagon. Suddenly, a guard pulled aside the curtain. Without a word, he slid a plate with a piece of bread and a bowl with some water inside and left.

“This is going to be hard to eat with my hands on my back!” the young thief in front of you shouted, but the guard only laughed.

“Nice try,” you said, eyeing the food.

“Oh, she speaks after all,” he said. “And at least one of us is trying.”

“If I had one coin for every time you’ve provoked me since we met, I could buy my freedom,” you said. And again, he was in the wrong. Obviously, you had tried hard to figure out a way to get out of the restraints digging into your skin. If only you had a sharp object or –

“Are you gonna eat that?” he asked, pointing his head at the bread. He was willing to share, at least.

“I’ll bite off half and you get the other side,” you announced and bent your head down to the plate.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, shoving you out of the way so you tumbled onto your side with a huff of surprise.

“What the fuck is your issue?” you asked, regaining you posture.

“I’m taking the first bite,” he said. “I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

“I’ll show you where my mouth is,” you snapped. The next moment you tackled him, teeth digging into his shoulder. He groaned in pain, ferociously pushing you off him. His foot hit your thigh and you realized if you had any chance of getting away, an injured leg wouldn’t make it easier. So, you trudged away slightly.

“Are you out of your mind? Did you just really fucking bite me?” he growled.

“Go ahead, eat your damned bread,” you snarled. With a sulky sigh, you leaned back against the chest behind you, shut your eyes and tried to keep your fury in check.

You sat that way for an hour, maybe a few. With time, the roaring laughter from outside had died down. It must have been the middle of the night when you opened your eyes again. The silence let you conclude that your fellow captive had fallen asleep. Finally, you bent down to where you suspected the water bowl to be and took a few gulps. Only now you realized just how empty your stomach was. But your nose picked up something. Bread. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the half of the piece he had left for you. His humble act redacted your opinion of him from 100 to 98% dickhead. Like a starved animal, you gobbled the food. When you took your place against the chest once more, even you managed to snooze off into a much needed rest.

~

When the carriage steered through a pothole it shook you out of your slumber. Surprisingly, it was completely bright outside.

“You’re just on time,” the young thief across from you announced. “We’re about to arrive at the castle.”

He hadn’t woken you up. Maybe he had earned a few more sympathy points – with emphasis on a few. Only twenty minutes later, you were lead trough the cold halls of some dark part of the castle, down into the dungeon. While the guards dragged you around, even your loudmouth shut. This was new territory and made you slightly nervous. Were you going to make it out of here? So far, nothing was decided. You dearly prayed the king would be in a fantastic mood when he convicted you.

Your whole body was sore from the hours of sitting in the same position on the hard wood of the wagon, so you almost welcomed being shoved through the uninviting halls. One of the guards cut the remaining ropes from your hands, before pushing you into a cell. Much to your dismay, your fellow wagon inmate would also join you in this prison.

“The king will tend to you lowlives when he has time,” the guard said. The loud metallic clash of the prison bars closing and the lock sliding in place sounded like your demise. Your eyes followed the guard’s figure helplessly, until he had disappeared down the dark hallway. A slam of a door indicated that he was gone. Like a nervous animal, you paced from one wall to the other over and over. Your arms were crossed in front of your body and you were trying hard not to have a nervous breakdown. You needed your brain for more vital things right now – like contriving a plan to escape this hellhole before you could be sentenced to death.

“Would you sit down, goddammit!” the young man remarked. He was leaning against the back wall of the cell, eyeing you closely. “I need to think!”

“Do you think I don’t?” you replied. The moment of panic in your voice was short-lived, but he probably noticed it either way.

“I can’t focus if you’re losing it in front of me,” he said. “If you’re already processing your inevitable death, that’s cool with me. But I’m still planning on getting out of here, so please try to process in silence.”

Your nostrils flared in anger and you clenched your hands to fists by your sides.

“You idiot!” you said. “If you hadn’t done everything in your power to make me despise you right when we met, we could have tried to flee together.”

“Last time I checked, you were the one biting me for having a sense of personal hygiene,” he fired back. “We’re stuck in here. But get it together, we’re not on death row yet.”

In disbelief you stared at him, your irritation almost drowning out the restless pounding inside your head. He held his chin high as if to challenge you. And you could have gone for it. Down here in this cold, forlorn dungeon no one would hinder you from fighting each other. No, you knew for a fact that not a single soul in this castle gave one last damn about whether you lived or died. But you were completely drained. After all the sleep you had gotten, you should have been wide awake, and maybe your body was – but your mind was in the middle of shutting down. So, even though it hurt your pride, you stopped your uneasy walking and mirrored his behavior on another wall. Arms crossed and eyebrows furrowing, you kept your eyes on the ground. Maybe he was right. Giving up wasn’t characteristic for you, so why was your head spinning from dread?

In desperate search of some sort of hope, you caught glimpse of his rather relaxed stance. If he could keep up a calm front, maybe you could too. Luckily, he wasn’t looking at you, and not noticing how you drew strength from his so simple but enheartening behavior.

~

Three days into your stay in the dungeon, you had found a daily rhythm. Your mornings consisted of pretending to be asleep for as long as you possibly could, then holding yourself back from attacking your beloved cellmate because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes. By midday your arguments had usually turned into playful bickering, because you couldn’t cope with being angry all the time. And frankly, you were bored. Even though standing his endless interrogations about your life was exhilarating, it was still better than losing sense of time and in the process also losing your sanity. Late, when darkness had fallen upon the land, a guard delivered a small ration of food for both of you. This was the part where your bickering morphed back into serious conflicts. If you were going to live on tiny amounts of food, you wouldn’t settle for the smaller ration of the two.

The fourth day was different. When you first reached consciousness, you heard nothing. Usually, he was already awake, noticing like a stalker when you awoke, only to tease you from the moment you woke up. But that day, you opened your eyes to a seemingly empty cell. Until you spotted him in the corner. His body was shaking, and his tiny, husky cough concerned you further.

“H/N?” you asked quietly. Considering the amount of loathing you’d thought you held for him, you sure worried an unnormal amount. But it wasn’t the mere thought of him being ill that concerned you most. It was the idea of having to suffer in the dark, murky dungeon all alone, day to day, until you’d have to face the king, who likely wanted you dead for your crimes. An ice-cold fear crept over you. You didn’t want to – no, you couldn’t – die lonely. Even if he was the last person you could have wished to be thrown into prison with, he was still company. This loathsome cell, the horrors of the near future, the neverending progression of time and the uncertainty that came with it – it all terrified you to the bone. Only now you realized just how much comfort he gave you, all by existing in the same space as you.

Carefully, you approached him. He wasn’t answering you, and he never not answered you. It was a heartbreaking sight. He was curled up in a fetal position, hands clenched to fists on his chest. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead. Whether he liked it or not, you sat down with him. Gently, you reached for his forehead. A second was enough to determine he was burning up.

“Get off me,” he said, slapping your hand away. His voice was so frail.

“Hush. Let me help you,” you insisted. He huffed in annoyance.

“Are you a doctor when you’re not a thief?” he asked.

“No. But improving your mentality will help your body recover faster,” you said. “And you seem to be in a very negative headspace right now.”

His mouth opened to speak, but then a shiver rippled through his body and he wrapped his arms around his knees tightly. All this time, he hadn’t even opened his eyes.

“We need to keep you cool,” you said. “Take off your jacket.”

“This isn’t the time to ask me to take off my clothes,” he said, almost whispered.

“Will you just do as I say so you can get better? Do you want to die in here?” you said, brushing off his words. Something flashed across his face. Fear? Disappointment? Aware that it could invade his comfort zone, you very carefully took his hands. Lucky for you, he let you. When his jacket came off, you noticed the sweat stains that had formed on his thin shirt.

“You can lie down on this, it’ll be more comfortable,” you advised. Without arguing, he followed your instructions and allowed you to spread out the jacket underneath him. This behavior was new, you thought. But you could surely get used it. You knew it must have been serious, if he didn’t give you a silly remark for everything you said.

“I’ll get you more water,” you said, as you retrieved the almost empty water bowl from the center of the stone floor. Set on not spilling a drop, you lifted it to his lips and watched as he swallowed the last few sips. You used the sleeve of your shirt to wipe his wet hair out of his face, as he sunk back down onto the hard ground.

“Sleep now,” you said. You didn’t need to tell him twice. He had been almost unable to keep his eyelids open, so without hesitation, he drifted off into dreamland. For hours, you sat, hugging your knees to your chest, eyes on his anguished figure. Just as you had thought you could deal with the scary ordeal of being held captive in a castle dungeon, this had to happen. Stricken with sorrow, you waited for time to pass. If only you could have slept too, it would have made all the anxious thoughts go away. But someone had to look after him, and you weren’t tired.

His slumber must had been a hag-ridden one. Sometimes, he made small sounds, like whimpers, other times his brows furrowed, and his muscles flexed from whichever terror it was that haunted him in his head.

“Shh, you’re going to be okay,” you assured him, and maybe also yourself. But his tireless stirring only became worse, his body twisting and turning on the uneven ground. He groaned in agony, and your heart clenched like a million little daggers had slashed it.

“I’m here to keep you safe,” you whispered, bending down to his level. With utmost care, you lifted his head and let him rest in your lap. You weren’t really planning what was happening, but your hands found his hands. Softly, you stroked them, waiting for him to calm down and relax his tight fists. His mumbles and quiet moans of distress continued, until you realized. He was trying to tell you something.

“I can’t go like this,” he said.

“You’re not go-“ you started.

“No! My- parents need- me,” he stuttered. By now he was grasping your hands desperately. You sighed and his eyes opened ever so slightly. The anger he had held for you was vanished. You almost teared up at the delicateness of his gaze.

“I need to help them... they’re old and sick and can’t be alone,” he added in a small voice.

“We will get out of here,” you said. You had no idea when there had first been a ‘we’, but now there apparently was. “You have to be strong now, do you hear? Then you can meet your parents again.”

He was looking almost through you. His eyes were so dark, it was like staring right into the deepest part of the ocean. You stroked the back of his hand with your thumb, whilst trying hard to keep a hopeful gaze. For him, you had to appear strong. Or else, how else was he supposed to be?

“I’m sorry- I was such an asshole to you,” he suddenly confessed. “I thought you would steal away the gold before I could. And now look where that brought us.”

“This isn’t your fault. We were both being reckless,” you said. “I’m sorry I bit you. And threatened to spit on your face. And then spat on your face.”

The tiniest smile spread on his face. Success. Any sort of positive emotion could help him now.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he whispered. “I’ll think about whether I can forgive you. You must know, I’m very vindictive.”

His grin was playful, and his eyes were closed, as if he was on the brink of falling back to sleep.

“Forgiveness hurts less than holding a grudge for the rest of your life,” you said. Who knew? Maybe even the king could show remission. All you knew was that you would crumble, would you have to encounter the king alone. Your brain had set on the need for H/N. For years, you hadn’t formed any meaningful relationships – not counting your bond with your ardently loved horse. Now, with his head on your lap and your fingers intertwined with his, you ached for more. Was it really him you wanted? Or had you denied yourself of any affection for such a long time, the smallest contact with anyone appeased your yearning? Would you have felt the same, if it had been somebody else in his place?

~

At night, the metal noise of the door at the far end of the hallway outside your cell made you lift your head. Gently, so that H/N wouldn’t be awoken, you lifted his head to lay on the jacket instead of your thigh. In impatience, your foot tapped on the ground while you stood in the middle of the cell.

“Sir,” you called the guard with a fake-soft voice. “Will it be possible to receive another cup with water? My fellow inmate has fallen sick.”

The grumpy guard unlocked the metal bars, entering with the usual small ration of food and drink.

“What does it matter if he dies now or by command of the king? Do you think I care?” he growled, not sparing you a glance. You had been almost convinced this would have happened. So, you’d have to resort to different measures.

“Please-“ you begged, suddenly stepping towards the guard, who was on his way out of the cell. Without second thought, you threw yourself onto him, making sure to look extra-devastated and helpless. What could a weak, little young woman do to a guard, other than fall on her knees, right?

“Touch me once more and you’re dead, too, bitch!” he barked. One quick move of your skilled fingers and you eagerly backed off, hands hiding behind your back.

“Sorry, sir!” you said, lowering your head in false shame and guilt. “Please consider my request.”

All he gave you was a grunt of disapproval and he stomped out of the cell, the lock falling into place in a loud crash. Feigning inferiority and intimidation, you didn’t dare move until he was out of the dungeon. Then, you spun to the young man behind you on the ground.

“Open up,” you commanded, suspecting the shouting could not have kept him asleep. Finally, you could pull the flask you had stolen from the guard from behind your back. It seemed to be almost filled to the brim, too. Perfect. He did as he was told, and you let some of the water spill into his mouth.

“I take back what I said in the carriage,” he confessed. “Only full-time thieves have a sleight of hand like yours.”

“It was my pleasure proving you wrong,” you said. “Now, drink up.”

That night, you let him have the full ration of food. For at least ten minutes, he refused to have all of it. But you were stubborn and even though he hadn’t known you for long, he knew that much about you. If you wanted to escape with him, he would need to be fit to run. You had deemed your chances small to begin with, but in his state, you estimated them close to zero. After you had emptied the guard’s flask, you reached through the prison bars and tossed the item as far away from the cell as you could. He should never assume you’d had anything to do with its disappearance. The next day, a different guard would find it there, and bring it back to him under the assumption that he had carelessly dropped it.

~

Two days passed by. In the first night of the two, you had to comfort him through another few nightmares. During the day, he was sleepy, but had enough energy to have a little conversation with you now and then – something you read as a good sign. The second night, you were able to sleep all the way through, and when you checked his forehead in the morning, it had cooled down a little. On the second day, he had regained his strength enough to be able to sit, leaning against your shoulder.

“Will you stop moving? My head’s pounding,” he said.

“Your complaints make me wonder if you’re doing well now,” you asked, smirking.

“Like I said…my head’s killing me,” he repeated.

“Drink the rest of the water,” you suggested. “I think it’s almost evening. The guard will bring a new bowl soon.”

“It’s your turn to eat tonight,” he stated.

“We’re sharing,” you said. Lucky for him, he didn’t fight back. You wouldn’t have cooperated, either way.

“It’s time to make a plan now, if we want to get out of here. What do you say?” you asked. When he lifted his head, you looked over at him. The color was back in his face, the beads of sweat nonexistent and his cheeky smile bright as ever.

“I wonder…about what your little magic hands did to that guard’s flask…could they do the same with his keys?” he suggested. The way you mirrored his mischievous grin, he knew you agreed. But it would be trickier, this time. From days worth of observation, you had learned that the guards behaved differently. Some adamantly made sure the keys remained in their clenched fists – an instance you couldn’t work with at all – while others preferred to leave them in the lock by the door. You knew you’d never get close enough to even attempt to steal them from there. What you needed was the careless type of guard. The one who snuck the keys into their pockets or left them hanging on their clothes by the keyring. All it took now was to wait and hope the king would keep you locked away for long enough to give you a chance to flee.

That night, luck wasn’t on your side. The guard kept his hands on his keys as if they were his most precious possession.

~

“Do we really have to go over this again? I told you your pacing is driving me insane,” he said. It was midday of the following day, and you were deep in thought – or you had been – until he had to interrupt you.

“What do you expect me to do? We’re jailed like animals,” you countered. “I can’t stand around like you all day.”

When you saw him open his mouth, you read in his expression what he was about to do. It was his bickering face.

“If there’s one thing I’m not in the mood for currently, it’s getting lectured by you over nothing. Come up with a topic of conversation, please,” you said before he could speak. His smirk concerned you.

“What are you in the mood for, then?” he asked with raised eyebrows. Your death glare said more than a thousand words. “Fine, here’s a conversation topic…let me think…why are you not married?”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you said in the most impassive tone you could muster.

“Oh, alright, if that’s not good enough, I’ll go back to flirting,” he said. The steps he was taking towards you made your brain activate fight mode.

“I’ve never met a man good enough for marriage,” you said.

“And what qualifies a man to be good enough for you?”

“Hm…where do I begin? I’m not a good cook, nor do I enjoy being a maid, nor do I know how to take care of children. Most men want those things in a woman.”

“You took pretty good care of me, didn’t you? But why waste your thieving talent on running a household?” he said.

“That’s where the issue lays. Men don’t favor women who sneak around the village at night and make their own money from being a criminal.”

“Nothing wrong with being a criminal,” he went on.

You laughed out loud.

“You know what? I like it this way. Why settle for staying with one man who might turn out to be a monster, when I can have them all for a night?” you said.

“Well, right now you’re not having anyone.”

“Seems like that’s bothering you more than it bothers me,” you replied in a feisty tone. If you didn’t call him out for the flirting, who would? Although you had to admit, you greatly preferred being courted to his unnerving teasing.

“Why would that bother me?” he asked. “You hate me, don’t you?”

He was right in front of you now, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that made you consider biting him again. And at the same time, something in your body – not your head – wanted to close the small distance between you two.  

“If I hated you, I would have let you die,” you said.

“I assumed you kept me alive because you need me to get out of here.”

Now you had another reason to get up in his face. You gripped him by the collar, looking into his eyes.

“Excuse me? You think I wouldn’t be able to escape by myself? If you’re only trying to rile me up, you better let me know, because I already told you I can’t stand to be underestimated,” you said.

“Alright,” he rose his arms in defeat. “After your little stunt with the guard I’m actually pretty glad I have you in here with me. Honestly, I don’t think I’d get out without you.”

“Was that so hard to spit out?” you said, self-accomplished.

“No. But you only come close to me when you’re mad or worried,” he said. By now, his eye contact was captivating in the most confusing way possible. His eyes occasionally skipped to your lips. “And since I’m not sick anymore, I had to opt for the former.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said. Unbelievably handsome, your brain added. And yes, maybe he was. Perhaps it wasn’t so much his beautiful face, but the way he spoke, understanding, even encouraging your lifestyle. You had just forced him to be honest with you. So, maybe it was time to stop holding back the truth from yourself, too.

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked. It’s time to give in, you told yourself. Therefore, rather than telling him, you showed him. With a sudden rush of hunger, your lips crashed against his. Momentarily, he seemed taken aback and let out a surprised groan. But within seconds he caught himself, hands grabbing your sides desperately. You thought addictions needed more time to develop, but the feeling of his mellow lips on yours already seemed like one to you.

You had never kissed anyone who had truly made you feel things. Now, your knees were weak in an instant when his tongue grazed yours only for a moment. After so much arguing, it was hard to believe your hands clasping the fabric of his shirt couldn’t be a product of you cursing him but derived from mere want. The way he claimed your mouth silenced even your most invasive thoughts. It was a serenity you had wished for ever since you had gotten caught a few days ago. A moment to breathe freely, make whichever noises you desired and be as close to him as you could.

You pulled him along, stumbling backwards until you hit the cold stone behind you. Being trapped in a dungeon was horrific – but being trapped between his body and the wall left you feeling safer than you had felt in a long, long time.

But the peace didn’t last long. You suddenly heard the all too familiar metal noise from the distance. Alarmed, you sprung apart. As the unexpecting guard walked down the dark hallway, you smoothed out your clothing hastily.

“Congratulations! Your time in here will be over. Tomorrow the king will see you,” the guard announced. You shot your fellow inmate an alerted gaze, which he returned. Silently, he nodded at you. It was time to do something. The guard was now opening the door, bringing inside your food. His key was in his hands – this was going to be an issue. He set the plate down in the front of the room, and was in the process of spinning around, when H/N spoke.

“Sir, may I attract you to a magic trick?” he asked the guard. “I have been practicing it for so long, and it would be a shame if I had to die before I could ever present it.”

“Go to hell,” the guard said.

“I have a coin here,” H/N added. The guard raised his head. “If you win, you get to keep it.”

“Give it to me,” the annoyed man said.

“That’s not how it works. First, I will need both of your hands,” H/N explained. You smiled slightly when the guard sighed. He complied, letting his keys disappear into his oversized pocket. Retrieving them would be child’s play for you.

“Stick up your hands ahead of you. And keep your eyes locked on the coin. Be quick, or you’ll lose it,” H/N said in his dramatic voice. As he lifted his own hand with the coin in it, the guard followed and looked upwards. This was your time. Like a cat, you tip-toed around the guard’s back, not even paying attention to what H/N was doing anymore. Ever so swiftly, your hand slid into his pocket, fingers closing around the chill metal. As quickly as you had approached him, you stepped away, the key sliding into your sleeve and out of sight.

“Incorrect!” H/N called. “But you know what? I will grant you the coin either way. By tomorrow, I might not need it any longer.”

The guard even went so far as to laugh – even if it was a gloating sort of laughter. The only thing left to do now was hope he wouldn’t discover his missing key. But luck was on your side. Without another word, the man stepped out of the cell, shut the door, and walked off. The tune he whistled became smaller and smaller, until it faded out completely.

“Guess who’s getting out of here?” you asked, triumphantly revealing the key.

“You did it!” he exclaimed. You weren’t sure whether it was a spur of the moment decision, or maybe he was just too ecstatic to stop himself, but he flung his arms around your frame and squeezed you tightly.

“Hey, hey, you can’t crush me so close to my escape,” you laughed.

“Our escape,” he smiled. “We need to act fast. He could notice the missing key any second.”

Nodding eagerly, you grabbed half of the bread and downed half of the water bowl. You weren’t going to leave that behind. After all, you never knew when your next meal would be.

“If we make it to the stables, we can get a horse,” he announced. “I saw them on our way here. They’re to the west. The sun should be setting now, if my sense of time is still correct. Let’s hurry, or else we’ll be out of directions.”

“Dorato!” you exclaimed. “They took my horse!”

“The black horse that was tied to the carriage when we came here? I saw him,” he noted. You nodded, swearing you would leave here without Dorato only over your dead body.

~

Ten minutes later you had successfully exited the cell and approached the door at the end of the hallway.

“Out there it’s on both of us to keep running, okay?” you whispered.

He only nodded. “Towards the setting sun.”

The second you had slipped past the door you were spotted by a maid.

“Prisoners!” she yelled. Your plan to slip away unnoticed had gone down the drain quickly. With one last glance at the young man next to you, you both took off. The way out of the castle was still burned into your brain from when you had been brought inside. Back then, you had already planned to get out, so you had payed an extra amount of attention. When you reached a turn, you barely had time to think about the right way. By now, two guards were after you and you were forced to trust your intuition. H/N was a little ahead of you. The sudden exercise after being refined to a tiny cell for so long made your chest burn in exhaustion after only such a short while. But the adrenaline drowned it all out easily.

You knew you had to be close to the outside, it was a feeling. But then, all of a sudden, a guard cut off your path in front of you. H/N was racing far ahead, so that he could get away. You, on the other hand, had no time to overthink your actions. Before the guard could catch you, you had ducked under his outstretched arms. Now, sprinting down an unfamiliar corridor over the marble flooring, your sense of direction was gone, but your will to survive vigorous as ever.

For minutes you ran, collecting a horde of guards behind you the longer you kept going. When you turned a corner, you were greeted by another long corridor. Only this time, it was a dead end.  Nevertheless, you kept up the speed. What else could you have done? By now, your calves felt like they were on fire, breath coming in short gasps. You suddenly took notice of the precious paintings and statues that adorned the hallway. Maybe this was the answer.

Without slowing down, you took hold of a stone vase. Just for a moment, you gathered all your might. Then, you dashed it forward, against the window at the very end of the corridor. Your body followed shortly after, but it was enough time for the glass to shatter before you. In a protective manner, you folded your arms over your chest and shut your eyes tightly as your figure flew through the opening.

When you had passed the window, your eyes opened, and you ducked. Soft grass caught your body as you rolled onto the ground. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs momentarily. But within seconds you were back on your feet. Aggressive shouts from behind you only motivated you to keep going. Faster. Just a little longer. Dawn had broken in, but the sky was still a bright blue to your left. That’s where you were headed. A market place close by acted as the perfect cover for a while. You barely had time to watch out, crashing into people’s shoulders and knocking over bowls and baskets. An enraged shout followed you, but you were already far gone.

And he had been right. Your nose picked up the scent of hay and animals. You had to be close. What if he wasn’t there? What if they caught you again? A short panic bubbled up inside of you. Stealing might could have been forgiven, but for your current deeds no king would let you live. The wooden stables were in sight by now.

You could barely breathe anymore, but something inside of you kept you up and going nonetheless. Every breath burned as you entered, stalls of horses and other animals to your left and right. But no sight of H/N. Nor of your horse. Did he leave without you? Had he assumed you had been caught and tried to save his own life, at least? Your head spun as you scanned the animals one last time. Then, the men’s deep shouts caught up with you. You needed to get out, or else this stable would turn into a trap.

When your feet hit the cobblestone outside, you spotted the mob of angered men and women coming at you. They were holding spears, torches and pitchforks and were livid.

“Y/N!” someone suddenly yelled from your right. The sound of his voice had never sounded better to you. He was on your horse, careering towards you. One last look at the furious crowd of peasants and guards, and then you only focused on him. Only a little more strength, and you could get out of here.

The second he was close enough to you, you started running again. Like you had done so many times, you hauled yourself onto Dorato behind him. Your hands caught his shirt and you pulled your body flush against him. You needed no words. Now, you only needed to trust your horse to get you out of here. Just for a moment, you closed your eyes in exhaustion and took a few, consciously deep breaths. In lightning speed, you raced across the grass and towards the archway out of the courtyard.

And you made it. He shouted in a boisterous tone, and while at first you laughed, you couldn’t help but join his happiness loudly.

 ~2 months later~

 The rough bark of the tree was digging into your back, but you couldn’t have cared less. Not when he was all over you. Not when his scent was so intoxicating, and his busy hands made you forget about any other sensation on your skin. It took no time. You had escaped together, thinking it was your time to part ways after what you had gone through with him. Now, each day you hung on his every word and couldn’t even bear to be away from him for minutes at a time.

Not far from you, your two horses stood, grazing on the grass by their feet. Meanwhile, the two of you, supposed to be on the lookout for your next target, had found another occupation in the cover of the trees. The market close by wasn’t exactly your goal – it was the nobles who would arrive in their carriages like every weekend to spend time by the beautiful lake. While they had their picnics and gossiped about each other, there was enough time for you two check for some gifts to retrieve from their carriages.

You sighed happily as he kissed your neck ever so softly. In him, you hadn’t just found a partner in crime. He was your muse, your comfort and your home. His family was your new family and finally, you had someone to tell all your most unbridles stories and dreams to – someone who could actually reply, with no offense to your horse. Going out stealing was as exciting as hiding between the sheets with him. In such a short time, he had learned to read your face and knew every curve of your body like it was a part of himself, and you had no problem with that.

Suddenly, he pulled away. He looked over your shoulder, gaze changing from tranquil to fierce.

“There they come,” he announced. That moment, you heard the sounds too. Hooves and the crunch of gravel under wheels. Smiling in excitement, you turned to check the situation as well. But you had to be honest, he was much more entertaining to look at. Like in so many cases, you found yourself tied to his gorgeous features and the way his jaw clenched when he was plotting.

“Eyes on the prize, sweetheart,” he said, not peeling his look from the carriages.

“Don’t you know, I’ve already won the best prize there is in the world?” you asked, hearts in your eyes and a cheeky smile on your face.

[thinkingaboutyoungroyals]

Falling For You But You Are Worlds Away: Chapter 1

Summary: After a close call with a reporter that resulted in Simon getting hurt, Linda makes a difficult and heartbreaking decision. Meanwhile, Wilhelm returns to Hillerska, hoping to at least rekindle his friendship with Simon, only to find that even that was no longer possible.

Title inspired by Taylor Swift's "Come Back, Be Here."

Note: So... after several weeks of obsessing... I finally did it... I finally wrote Young Royals fanfic. And, I really shouldn't because I have Grad school and a part-time job and I barely have time to breathe.Speaking of that, I probably won't have a consistent update. There might be times when I disappear for several weeks. Please be patient and understanding with me, I'm still trying to balance school and work.

AO3 link

It was supposed to be a normal day of running errands – a trip to the grocery store, dropping off mail at the post office, and maybe getting ice creams as a treat on the way home. But, no, Simon should have known better than to think that his life would somehow go back to normal during Christmas. After all, the prince had denied his involvement in the viral video and Simon had broken up with him to give both of them some space. This all happened only a week ago.

But, even after all that trouble and heartbreak, here he and his family were, being chased down their own street by paparazzi with their stupid cameras and fake sympathy.

“Simon, won’t you tell us your side of the story?”

“Is Prince Wilhelm lying? Are you in a relationship?”

“Mrs. Erikkson, how did you react when you found out your son may have been involved with the prince?”

“Don’t say anything,” his mother hissed in Spanish, clutching Simon and Sara’s arms tighter against her side.

The plastic bag of groceries was digging into Simon’s skin and he wished he could adjust his grip but he didn’t dare slow down. Those hyenas at his heels could catch them and he didn’t want to give them that satisfaction.

But, then, Sara let out a startled scream. A reporter had grabbed her arm, making her drop the groceries. Clementines rolled out of the bag and onto the pavement.

And, just like that, Simon saw red.

“Let go of her!”

He ripped his arm from his mother’s hold and lunged at the reporter, pushing him away from his shaking sister. The reporter, a middle-aged man who had probably been doing this for a long time, released Sara. But, before Simon could pull her away to safety, searing pain exploded at his cheek. He tasted the blood before he even realized what had happened.

His mom and Sara screamed.

The other reporters began to yell at the first one. Things like “What is wrong with you?!” and “Fuck, you can’t touch our sources like that! We’re gonna get sued!”

His name was being called. It sounded like Sara.

But, Simon, feeling dazed and tired, just stared up at the bright blue sky. He didn't even realize he had fallen to the ground. It was a nice day, though.

It should have been an ordinary nice day.

 .....

“Thank you, officer, we really appreciate your help.”

“Just doing our job, ma’am. Please don’t hesitate to call us over if you see any more suspicious individuals around your home. We’ll send someone over, immediately.”

“Thank you.”

Linda bid the police officers a good day and shut the door. With them gone, she finally lowered her mask and allowed the weariness of the day to manifest in her bones. She leaned back against the closed door, letting out the breath she had been holding.

No matter how many times she had dealt with the police, it never failed to make her exhausted. She should be used to this by now.

When she and the kids still lived with Micke, it wasn’t uncommon for neighbors to call the cops to complain about her ex-husband disturbing the peace. Mostly because he was yelling at her and the children. Sometimes, even hurting her. (He never touched the children. Linda never let him. The one and only time he almost laid a hand on Sara was finally when Linda finally gathered her children, important documents, and a few meager possessions and fled into the night.)

Linda believed that they were past all that. That in this new life she built for herself and her children, they would never have to call the police to their home or worry about their safety ever again. But, after what happened to Simon today, she could no longer hold on to that dream. Not for the time being.

She knew what she had to do to keep her son safe, even if it hurt her. Even if Simon would resent her. She hoped he wouldn’t. That he would see that she was doing this for him.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, Linda straightened her shoulders, lifted her head, and began to make her way back to the living room, where she could clearly hear her children bickering on the couch.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sara asked her brother.

“I’m fine,” Simon answered, sounding annoyed. “He didn’t even hit me that hard.”

“You could have hit your head!”

“But, I didn’t.”

“You should have left him alone.”

“He touched you!”

Sara pressed her lips together and looked away as she dabbed ointment to her brother’s bruised lip. Simon flinched, which made his sister’s lips quirk to an amused smile.

But, despite her children looking seemingly okay, joking around and teasing each other the way they always did, Linda couldn't stop looking at that dark mark marring her son’s handsome face. 

Clearing her throat, she stepped into the living room.

“Mi amor, how are you feeling?” she asked, sitting on Simon’s other side.

“I’m fine, mama,” he replied, immediately. “It’s just a scratch, it will heal in a few days.” He grinned. “It makes me look badass though, right?”

Sara snorted. “More like reckless.”

“A reckless badass.”

“Mi amor,” Linda interrupted, gently, not wanting them to start bickering again. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Simon straightened up, looking serious. Linda’s chest felt heavy as she took his hand in hers and stroked it. Sometimes, she wished her children were still small and had no other care in the world except for what candy they could get at the grocery store that week.

“It’s about school,” she began.

“I’ll transfer back to Marieberg,” Simon said, misunderstanding where the conversation was going. “I don’t mind. Sara can stay at Hillerska, she has friends there now, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Besides, Rosh and Ayub are excited to have me back.”

Linda shook her head. “I don’t think you should go back to Marieberg either.”

At that, Simon’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? I should go to another school? There aren’t any others close by.”

Linda sighed as she looked her son in the eye. “When the… video… first came out...”

Simon flinched and looked down at his feet.

“... I thought about how to… protect you. Especially after what happened today-.”

“Mama, I can handle it,” he interrupted, still unable to look at her. “I was fine today.”

“No, you weren’t,” Sara interjected. “You got punched.”

Simon glared at her. “They’re just reporters, I can handle them.”

Linda squeezed his hand. “It’s not just the reporters, Simon. It’s also… the others. Remember that boy from the other day? He followed you home! He could have hurt you!”

Simon's eyes flashed in anger at the memory. “But, he didn’t, you drove him away. And I would have been fine, I could take him.”

“That doesn’t stop me from worrying!”

Linda ran a hand through her hair, frustrated and cursing her son’s stubbornness. Unfortunately, that was one thing he inherited from Micke.

“Anything could have happened and I can’t protect you! Not at school, not at the grocery store, not even here at home! And do you know what that does to me?! I worry about you every time you’re out of my sight, Simon!” 

Unbidden tears brimmed at Linda’s eyes but she refused to let them fall. She had to be strong. She was making the right decision.

“A few weeks ago, I called your Tia Elena. She already knew what happened, the news reached them...”

“Oh, God!” Closing his eyes, Simon groaned and fell back against the couch.

“… and she actually suggested that… you go to live with her for a while.”

Almost immediately, Simon’s eyes snapped open and he sat up. “What?”

“I wasn’t sure, before, because I don’t want you to be away from us. But, after what happened with that boy from the other day and the reporters today… I think this is the best thing for you.”

“To send me to America?! That’s the best thing for me?!”

Simon pulled his hand away from her hold and stood up, presumably to stalk off to his room.

Linda tried to blink away the tears. “Simon, mi amor, please! This is the only way to keep you safe!”

“You’re sending me away! From you and Sara and my friends! My whole life is here!”

“It’s only until this all dies down, I promise. You can transfer back to Marieberg next school year. But, just for this term. Please, Simon.”

She watched Simon’s stiff back as he processed her pleas.

“W-What about a visa?” he asked and the hope in it broke her heart. “Don’t I need one of those? And they take time, don’t they? By the time they process it, school’s gonna start and I still have to travel and-.”

“You have an appointment with the U.S. Embassy the day after tomorrow,” Linda interrupted. “Your Tia Elena took care of everything. She even sent some money along to help with the fees.”

“Oh.” Simon’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “W-Would they even have room for me?”

“There’s only her and Ana now ever since Ricardo left them. And she says you can work at her store to earn some extra money, if you want.”

From the corner of her eye, Linda spotted Sara, who was unusually quiet. Her daughter was staring at her brother, her face unreadable. It was difficult to read Sara these days. But, Linda hoped that her daughter understood why she was doing this.

Sara didn’t want to leave Hillerska and that was fine, she had gone ahead and applied for that Grant to be a resident. But, even if Simon applied for a Grant too and became a resident, he would still get chased by reporters. He would still get recognized and followed by creeps and people who wanted to do him harm in Bjarstard. But, in America, with Linda’s older sister, he could be safe from the scandal.  

“Is there really no other way?” Simon asked, softly.

Getting to her feet, Linda moved towards her son and wrapped him in her arms.

“Mi amor, I know this is difficult for you. It is for me, too. I want nothing more than for you to stay here in Sweden with me and your sister. But, I want you to be safe. I want people to stop stalking you and bothering you about something so… traumatic. You don’t deserve that. You deserve to go to school and live your life in peace. In America, no one knows who you are. You can live normally again, go to school, and even… date someone new.”

Simon flinched in her arms and she regretted her words.

What Simon had with Wilhelm was truly special, something for the books, the kind of love story you often watch on T.V. and read about in books. She had never seen Simon as happy as he had been when he was with the prince, even if they thought Linda didn’t know. (Of course, she knew! She was his mother!) It was only a shame that their story ended in a tragedy that not only broke her son’s heart but also brought negative and unwanted attention onto his life.

“Simon, please,” she begged. “Just for a few months, I promise, mi amor. And, then, you can come home and life will be back to normal, I’m sure. Please.”

Time felt like it was slowing down as they stood there in the middle of the living room, Simon slowly breaking in her arms and Sara only watching helplessly.

Finally, her son let out a breath. “Okay,” he said in a soft voice. “I’ll go.”

Linda burst into tears and buried her face against the fabric of Simon’s orange sweatshirt.

Despite her own heart breaking into pieces at the thought of being away from her son, she was also so incredibly relieved.

 ......... 

The Christmas break was too long, in Wilhelm’s opinion.

He spent most of it making required public appearances, sitting in on council meetings, and attending royal parties. He went about his duties like a robot, his emotions numb and something in him broken. His mother thought he would get over it if she threw enough things at him to keep him busy enough to not think of Simon. But, obviously, it didn’t work.

Simon was the first thing on his mind when he woke up in the mornings and the last thing he thought of before he slept at night. He had tried texting but his texts went unanswered. His calls would result in just ring after ring after ring until voicemail picked up. He spent many hours just scrolling through Simon’s Instagram, not seeing any new posts. Rosh, Ayub, and Sara had all blocked him so he couldn’t even see any posts of Simon, if there were any.

During the yearly Christmas party hosted by the Royal family, it was normally Erik who had to socialize and make nice with all the nobility and distant relatives who came. But, this year, Wilhelm had to do it. And it was fine, at first. He managed to remember some names and those he didn’t remember, he managed to sidestep with a polite “sir” or “ma’am.” But, then… But, then!

His mother introduced to him the daughter of a Duke whose name he couldn’t remember. With the way his mother smiled and practically pushed the girl to his side, Wilhelm knew exactly what she was doing. It ruined the rest of the party for him, as well as that poor girl’s Christmas. Wilhelm was so annoyed that he ignored her when she tried to make conversation. Eventually, he caused her to break into tears when he bluntly said that he didn’t care who designed her dress.

The Queen tried to scold him, called him a disgrace, and demanded that he get himself together. Wilhelm only shot her a blank look, excused himself, and left the party.

There were no more attempts at setting him up after that.

So, when Christmas break ended and it was time to return to Hillerska, he was relieved. He dutifully packed his things, including the small Christmas gift he got for Simon. He was hoping that even if they couldn’t restart their relationship, they could still be friends. Wilhelm would take anything Simon was able to offer him right now, even if it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Your Royal Highness,” Malin called through the door. “You’re supposed to be at the church in ten minutes.”

“Thanks, Malin!” Wilhelm called back to her.

The prince looked over his appearance in the mirror one last time, making sure his school tie was tied properly and his jacket free of lint. Not that Simon would care about those, but Wilhelm wanted to look his best, for once. He even got a haircut over break. He wondered if Simon did, too. He couldn’t wait to see him.

Feeling the anticipation brimming inside him, Wilhelm made his way out of his room. He joined the others in leaving Forest Ridge to head to the church. Ahead of him, Henry and Walter waved, pausing to let him catch up to them.

Despite their initial impression on Wilhelm, they really did mellow out the more he got to know them. And when the video came out, they were the only ones who didn’t look at him weirdly (at least, not blatantly to his face) and never once asked about the video. They even texted him a Merry Christmas over break. He would take their company over August’s.

And, speaking of the devil, there was his traitor of a cousin now, pushing through the other boys to get to him. Wilhelm quickened his steps, not wanting to get caught in a conversation. He had successfully avoided him during the Christmas party at the palace after giving firm instructions to Malin and Johan to ensure that he didn’t get close to Wilhelm.

Luckily, his bodyguards were most likely doing exactly that as Wilhelm made it to the church and slipped into a pew without August catching up to him. Henry and Walter slid in after him, chatting about their holidays.

“Wonder what they’re singing this time,” Walter wondered aloud.

“Hope it’s something good,” Henry added.

Wilhelm only smiled, his annoyance at August finally melting away and replaced by excitement to see Simon and hear him sing again. Christmas break was too long.

Finally, the whole church had filled up and the Headmaster signaled for everyone to be quiet.

The choir entered.

Wilhelm spotted Felice and gave her a small wave. She had remained a great friend to him throughout the break.

As the choir began their song, Wilhelm scanned the heads, looking for that familiar head of curls. Someone else was doing a solo this time, a girl he didn’t know and her voice was nice but it wasn’t Simon. Why wasn’t Simon doing the solo?

Wilhelm couldn’t even hear the song or decipher the lyrics. His eyes desperately scanned all three rows but he couldn’t spot Simon.

Where was Simon?!?! Did he miss the first day of school?!?!

But, Sara was just a few pews ahead. She wouldn’t leave home without her brother.

The excitement that had earlier filled him turned into fear.

Did Simon quit the choir?!

Not caring about how it looked, Wilhelm scanned the pews across from them and the pews behind him, trying to spot those curls. But… he couldn’t see them. Not one strand.

The choir had finished singing now and the Headmaster had stood up to welcome them to another semester, go over the rules of the dorms, and list the school administration’s expectations from their students.

All of it went over Wilhelm’s head.

And, finally, they were dismissed to go to their first class of the day.

Wilhelm shot up and, muttering apologies to Henry and Walter, made his way out of the pew. He ignored the “hello’s” sent his way and hurried to the front.

Sara and Maddie were chatting with each other as they made their way down the aisle, all excited smiles and talking about how wonderfully Felice sang.

“Sara!”

The girl slowed down and froze upon seeing him. He saw the anger flash in those normally calm eyes. Then, she turned her gaze away and walked past him.

Wilhelm was not giving up.

He turned around and gave chase. “Sara! Sara, wait! I just need to ask you something.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Prince,” she seethed, not stopping.

He hated to do it but he gently grasped the arm of her school jacket. “Please, I need to ask you. Where’s Simon?”

Sara pulled her arm away, glaring at him. “Why do you ask?”

Wilhelm swallowed. “He didn’t sing with the choir. And I can’t find him anywhere and I just-.”

“He doesn’t go to Hillerska anymore.”

Wilhelm’s heart stopped. “What?”

Sara shrugged, turned on her heels, and walked away. Maddie shot Wilhelm a pitying look before hurrying off after her.  

His chest felt tight. And it seemed like there wasn’t enough air for him to breathe.

Simon... left?

[just-come-baek]

get in, loser 3

Pairing: Taeyong x female!reader

Themes: smut | mafiaboss!taeyong | streetracer!reader | carthief!reader

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: Taeyong has another assignment for me, and though it seems quite simple, I could not foresee these complications. Also, why do actions have consequences? Somebody should’ve warned me before!

Warnings: mentions of murder | alcohol consumption | assault attempt | roofied drink | police negligence | drug smuggling | drug usage | poor stress management | drop dead goregeous men | foul language | 

A/N First of all, special thanks to Ally for supporting me through ko-fi! 🥰 Also, sorry for not updating it sooner, I’ve been busy with work and college, the next chapter will be probably around New Year, since I’d like to write something christmasy. 🎄Enjoy~~ 

There’s something unexplainable about Taeyong.

He’s a living paradox; on one side, he’s a ruthless mafia boss who won’t hesitate to attack people who had dared to wrong him. However, on the other, he’s a caring leader that is ready to go out of his way to protect his loyal associates.

Though it was, give or take, two weeks since I got to know him personally, I could deduct this much. There was nothing he valued more than loyalty, and I made a mental note to myself to never let him down, especially in this department.

Despite witnessing him murder Haechan and Jisung, I felt oddly safe in his arms, and it was alarming as fuck. Only God knows how many red flags I decided to ignore this night for the sake of his warm embrace. Perhaps it was stupid and reckless, but I didn’t care.

I was scared, and it provided me with warmth and comfort. Taeyong was the one who inflicted the wound on my mind by making me torture Haechan. However, at the same time, he was helping me to treat it with his support.

I didn’t do anything wrong. However, according to Taeyong’s twisted sense of justice, it should be me to punish them – an eye for an eye and all of that bullshit.

As soon as Taeyong led me out of the basement, he leaned in. His whisper tickled my sensitive skin as he ordered me to wait for him in my new car. With a slight nod of my head, I exited the mansion, awfully glad he let me go. Though I tried to forget it even happened, my mind was replaying all of the events from the last hour, making me sick.

The cold fresh breeze hit my face, making me shiver. Wrapping my arms around my torso, I made my way to the vehicle. Once inside, I turned on the music player, looking through for my therapy playlist.

The first song on the playlist was “Don’t Cha” by The Pussycat Dolls, and I nervously began tapping my fingers against the steering wheel in the rhythm. At some point, I unconsciously started singing my heart out, and it actually helped me calm down my nerves.

Unfortunately, the sensation was short-lived. As soon as Taeyong sat down in the passenger seat and closed the doors, I once again became a nervous wreck.

What did he want to discuss with me in private?

“Your opponents didn’t make it easy for you, did they?” Taeyong asked with a mischievous smirk upon his face after he saw the current state of the car.

“It’s just a couple of scratches; it’s no big deal,” I stated, trying to brush it off. Though it pained me, I knew Doyoung would gladly help me fix the vehicle in exchange for a fancy bottle of booze. (And some free ride coupons if he happened to be extra whiny.)

“So…” I cleared my throat, trying not to seem overly intimidated by his presence. “What did you want to talk to me about?” I asked, avoiding his dominant gaze. Under the influence of Taeyong's penetrating eyes, I’d most likely agree to anything in a heartbeat, and that’s not what I wanted at the moment. I had to be assertive and stand my ground.

“First of all, where is the money you won tonight?” Taeyong inquired, and I tilted my head toward the glove compartment, where I had stuffed all the cash I had won in the race. With a playful smirk, Taeyong reached in, pulled out the bag, and looked inside.

“You made me really proud tonight,” he commented, staring at the money before he put his hand into the bag and threw a handful of cash on my thighs. “That’s the tip, spend it wisely,” Taeyong added, and I smiled sheepishly, having no idea what I could spend this money on.

“Thanks,” I answered out of courtesy.

“I know you must be exhausted, so I’ll be quick,” Taeyong started, and I smiled, glad he understood my state. I had survived a couple of terribly tiring days, and right now, I just wanted to return to my tiny apartment, crawl under the covers, and sleep to my heart’s content.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Next Saturday, I have a business to tend to, and I’ll be needing a driver,” Taeyong explained vaguely, and I nodded my head, making a mental note of it. “Normally, I’d ask Lucas, but we’re a bit understaffed right now, so he’s going to be pretty busy.”

If I wasn’t half-asleep by now, I would be outraged. Ever since I had stolen Taeyong’s vehicle, I put my blood, sweat, and tears into proving I could be a legit gang member. And now, they were looking for recruits, the nerve! Partially, I might’ve been an indirect reason they were understaffed at the moment, yet it still managed to anger me.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll do it,” I replied dismissively, not even bothering to ask for any additional information. The case seemed too easy; there must’ve been a catch, but at this point, I didn’t care. I just wanted this conversation to be over with. Taeyong wouldn’t assign me to this task if he didn’t believe I could pull through, so I naturally agreed, hoping I wouldn’t regret this negligence.

“Someone will text you more details sometime next week until then, get some rest, you look like you need lots of it,” Taeyong spoke teasingly as he once again eyed me from head to toe. I could only guess how awful I looked with the bruises, the eye bags, and an unimpressed frown on my face.

“Gee, thanks for that,” I jested, making Taeyong smirk in response.

“See you soon, doll,” having leaned toward me, he whispered before pressing a delicate kiss in the corner of my mouth, confusing the hell out of me.

What the hell was that?

***

Though at first, I was doubtful, I somehow managed to get better over the week. I still had a vivid picture in my mind of the crime scene unfolding in front of me, but it didn’t bother me as much as it had earlier. Also, I didn’t feel like throwing up out of stress when I thought of Taeyong. As time passed, all the intensity seemed to wear off, and I was glad because I wasn’t ready to take in any more stress.

Right now, I felt great.

Most of the bruises already healed, and I slept to my heart’s content and even went to the fitness club for some yoga classes. Last night, Doyoung and I had a sleepover at my place with classic 90’s movies, unhealthy snacks, and fruity face masks.

Life’s beautiful, I’d say.

Just as Taeyong had said, someone had texted me the details about the next gig. It was Lucas, and as much as I liked hearing from him, I’d much prefer a face-to-face encounter. He was hot as fuck, and though out of my league, I would love to appreciate his ethereal beauty in person instead of imagining him in yet another gorgeous outfit. I just couldn’t help myself; it was his fault he looked like his place was on the cover of Men’s Health.

His message was short, but it provided me with a lot of information, and in all honesty, I was glad he didn’t give me too many details. All I had to do was to escort Taeyong and his friend to a nightclub outside the city and drive them back to the mansion. The car would await me in Taeyong’s driveway, and I should arrive about half an hour before the departure. Oh, and of course, what the dress code was – nightlife extravaganza.

I had no idea what business they were to tend to, but I decided it was for the better. The less I knew about Taeyong's dirty dealings, the less trouble I was getting myself into. If I knew what they were about to do, I might’ve found myself in yet another one stress-heavy episode. It seemed like the only reasonable option to stay the hell away from any possible stress factors.

“How do I look?” I asked Doyoung as I stepped out of my bathroom, letting him check out the outfit. I was wearing a black two-piece, consisting of a cropped top with straps around the waist and a pair of high-waisted leather skinny pants. With ankle strap red high heels, a matching quilted purse, and sharp make-up, I felt sexy and empowered.

“You look like a badass CEO, is this the look you were going for?” Doyoung stated after carefully judging my outfit. Sighing, he put one leg over another. “I like it,” he smiled, giving me thumbs up. “Top it off with that leather jacket, and you’re good to go.”

“The black one or the red one?” I asked, looking at the jackets, wondering which would suit me better, ignoring ‘the really???’ look that Doyoung was giving me. “OK, never mind, sorry I asked,” I groaned, throwing the black jacket at Doyoung’s face, putting the red one over my shoulders.

“Mr. Bad Boy won’t be able to take his eyes off of you,” Doyoung remarked in a snarky manner, and I stuck my tongue out, trying to ignore the verbal jab. Very sophisticated conversation between two best friends, I had to admit.

“I won’t even reply to that,” I sighed and went to the mirror to check out if my make-up needed any retouch. Doyoung must’ve really thought I was trying to impress Taeyong with the outfit, and to be honest, it was the least of my worries. Though we barely spoke with each other, Taeyong didn’t seem to understand the meaning of personal space, so I doubted he cared what I was wearing. As long as I’d let him take it off, he would be satisfied.

Not that I thought about letting him do that…

I was a professional, and sleeping with my boss, or even thinking about it isn’t at the top of my priorities. I’m a skilled car racer and a thief, and that’s what I’m planning on focusing on.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Close the doors when you leave, okay?” I told Doyoung, and he smiled, lying on the couch, reaching for the TV remote.

“No worries, I’ll just watch the game, clean up the mess you made, and leave,” he said before he stuffed his mouth with a handful of potato chips. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

***

Punctually, I parked my cute Fiat on Taeyong’s driveway right next to a big ass black Hummer. Having got out of my tiny vehicle, I made my way around the monster truck, seeing Lucas in the driver seat, setting up the navigation system. I knocked on the window, and the man turned his head around in a second, sending me a playful smirk.

God, he’s ridiculously hot. My memory didn’t do him justice. With his hair swept back, in a loose red jacket and a low-cut black t-shirt, he looked mesmerizing. A minute later, he exited the vehicle, and I saw him in all his tall glory, and for a brief second, I forgot how to breathe.

It was the effect® Lucas had on regular people.

“The keys are in the ignition, the location already typed into the GPS system. Taeyong and the other guy should be here in a few,” Lucas said, and I nodded.

Who’s the other guy?

Not even Lucas knows his name?

Strange…

“Hello to you, too,” I spoke, smiling at him. Taeyong was nowhere to be seen, so I cleared my throat before firing a question, initiating small talk. “How is recruiting going?” I inquired, genuinely curious about the progress he must’ve made.

“Nothing much yet, but I’m full of hope,” Lucas answered honestly, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, you inspired me to broaden my horizons,” he added, and I cocked up my eyebrow, wanting him to continue. Did I inspire him? Wow.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve done some impressive shit,” Lucas confirmed, and I blushed at the compliment. “I’ve figured we need more women in our field, and I’ve talked to two best female candidates I could find. Right now, we discuss terms of recruitment,” Lucas explained excitedly, and I was positively shocked to hear such news.

Did someone hit him in the head with the feminism manifesto, or what?

“I don’t know what to say…” I whispered, trying to wrap my head around the newest revelation. Having experienced the treatment I received from most of them, it was hard to believe it took them so little time to change their mindset. I mean… it was just Lucas for now, but the change was already visible. “I’m happy to hear that; I can’t wait to meet them,” I added, turning my head to the side upon seeing Taeyong and his friend.

“Meet who?” Taeyong asked in confusion as he didn’t know the full context of our conversation.

“We were just talking about new recruits. I fill you in as soon as I have everything confirmed,” Lucas spoke. Taeyong nodded his head in comprehension, not even half as interested as I was. “Have a safe trip. I’ll get going,” he excused himself before walking away to a white Lamborghini Huracan.

“Missed me, doll?” Taeyong asked with a suggestive smirk decorating his face, as he bit on his bottom lip, glancing at me from head to toe. Yikes! It was unprofessional, and I wanted to scold him for being such a caveman. However, on a second thought, I decided to straighten my back to assert my confidence. Taeyong just wanted to express his appreciation for my fantastic outfit. Even though he chose the creepiest way of doing it, I chose to ignore it with a subtle eye roll.

“Is he always this nasty with you?” The mysterious man asked me as he walked past Taeyong, stretching his hand, greeting me like a regular person. “Pardon him, I’ve told him many times to work on his manners, but it’s like talking to a wall,” he added, and I chuckled, respecting the man already. He was talking shit about Taeyong in his presence – it was admirable.

“Who’s nasty? Speak for yourself!” Taeyong yelled, but his shorter friend just brushed it off.

“I kind of got used to it,” I replied casually, trying to give him a neutral answer.

“I’m Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, but since no one can pronounce it right, everybody calls me Ten,” he introduced himself, and I replied with my name, hoping he would use it instead of yet another infantile nickname.

“Nice to meet you, Ten,” I answered, smiling at the man politely.

“Should we get going?” Having cleared his throat, Taeyong asked, urging us inside of the vehicle. Following Taeyong’s order, I smirked, thinking of his ridiculous behavior. It was the first time when I didn’t give him my full attention, and it was evident it bothered him.

It was new and refreshing, and it was kind of cute of him.

“Yeah, sure, get in, losers, we don’t have all night,” I added, growing a little bit impatient with their slow movements.

“You really have to stop calling me that,” Taeyong whispered in a low voice as he put his hand on my thigh and gave it a firm squeeze.

“And you really have to fasten your seatbelts, or we’re not going anywhere,” I teased with a big, artificial smile, scraping his hand off my thigh. “Those rules apply to you, too,” I added, looking into the rearview mirror, catching Ten sitting comfortably, ignoring seatbelts.

“Is she always like this?” Ten asked, yet obediently following my instructions.

“No. Usually, she’s way cooler,” Taeyong answered, pouting slightly.

***

A little over an hour later, I parked the Hummer in front of a night club. Apparently, all types of shady dealings were meant to be discussed over strong liquor and with a half-naked lady sitting on their laps.

“Good luck, boys,” having turned off the engine, I spoke, sounding awfully like a mom, dropping her kids at another soccer practice.

Annoyed, Taeyong smirked. “Oh no, you’re going with us,” he added, and I cursed under my breath, displeased that Taeyong managed to ruin my plans of staying behind and not getting involved in whatever business they were about to discuss. The less I knew, the better, and Taeyong was really making it difficult for me.

Trailing slowly behind them, I entered the club.

“Get anything you want. We’ll be back in a few,” Taeyong whispered into my ear as he slid his platinum credit card into my palm. “Don’t cause any trouble,” he added before they both walked away to the booth at the back of the establishment.

I still could see them, though they were outside my earshot. It couldn’t get any better. I wouldn’t have to worry about hearing anything that wasn’t meant for my ears. However, at the same time, I could appreciate their natural beauty, fashion sense, and confidence in their original habitat.

I was a designated driver tonight (duh), and it was more than irresponsible to buy myself an alcoholic drink – especially with my ridiculously low alcohol tolerance. Leaning over the counter, much to the bartender’s dismay, I ordered a virgin Mojito.

Having checked whether or not the bartender spat into my drink, I picked up the glass, wrapped my lips around the straw, and took a sip. Though it was delicious, I’d much prefer it to have some alcohol in it. Maybe next time, perhaps tomorrow on my day off, I told myself as I spun on the barstool to have a look at Taeyong and Ten.

They both looked gorgeous, though they didn’t fit the typical mobster description.

Taeyong had his now baby blue hair styled down, a white suit jacket, a baby blue T-shirt, and light pants that made him look like some lawyer on a business trip. Ten, on the other hand, with his messy parted bangs hairstyle, an olive bomber jacket, black hoodie, and a pair of black cargo pants, resembled a lost college student.

The men, who they were meeting, were a completely different story, though. All of them seemed like lethal mobsters with their short hair and all leather outfits. I knew for sure I wouldn’t like to stumble upon them in a dark alley. Without any doubt, they had guns on them, and I was fearful enough to turn my head around and return to my drink.

Not knowing how much time it would take them to discuss all terms of whatever agreement they wanted to sign on, I decided to text Doyoung to pass the time. Unfortunately, before I managed to pull out my phone, my drink got knocked over by a very drunk girl sitting on the barstool next to mine.

“Hey, watch it!” I shouted as I jumped off my stool, not wanting to get all wet. In a matter of a few seconds, the bartender rushed over, helping me wipe off the counter.

“I’m really sawwy,” she said in a drunken haze, and I rolled my eyes, not really wanting to start an argument with an intoxicated person. When drunk, I also tend to be more clumsy than usual, so I simply decided not to hold her accountable for such a minor mistake.

Having apologized for spilling my drink, she excused herself, leaving her date at the bar alone. A good-looking man ordered another round of cocktails for him and his date. I cocked my eyebrows at his behavior. She was already drunk; another drink wouldn’t make her any good.

In a minute, the bartender placed two cranberry vodkas on the counter, putting it on the man’s tab. At first, I wanted to mind my own business and not attract any unnecessary attention. However, when I noticed the man slipping something into the woman’s drink, I knew I needed to intervene. He wanted to hurt her, and I just couldn’t let that happen.

Sighing, I jumped off the barstool and marched to the bathroom, wanting to warn her. Thankfully, she was standing in front of the mirrors, washing her hands when I found her.

Casually, I stopped next to her and pulled out my lipstick to reapply it.

“Are you alright?” I asked her, watching her wobble in her ridiculously high stilettos. She was barely standing on her feet – she was in no condition to have yet another drink, let alone a drink spiked with some type of drug.

“I feel funny. I had one drink, yet I feel like I had five,” the woman commented, placing her purse next to the basin, searching for cosmetics to touch up her make-up. “It must be because I barely ate today, I was so stressed about this date, so I only had breakfast,” she added, but it didn’t calm me. If anything, it made me even more alert.

“Is it your first date with him?” I inquired, trying not to sound intrusive. She seemed a bit naïve, and I wanted to look out for her. If I could prevent her from getting hurt, I had to try.

“Yeah, he asked me out yesterday in a coffee shop next to my building. He’s so romantic,” the woman explained dreamily, and I refrained from groaning in distaste. What kind of dudes did she date in the past to think this guy was romantic?

That was all I needed to know to figure out that he just wanted to get laid and toss her aside. He just wanted to use her body without even earning her consent. No matter how good looking he was – it was unjustifiable. I couldn’t let her go to him and become a victim. I had to try and prevent her from getting hurt.

“Are you sure you want to go back to him in this state? If I were you, I’d reschedule,” I commented, trying to talk her out of continuing this date.

“What is your problem?” asked she, her tone laced with anger and irritation. “I’m on a date, and you keep ruining it. What’s your deal?”

Wow, that was rude.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She couldn’t be for real, right?

“Listen–” I started, trying to defend my case, but she, once again, interjected me.

“No, you listen! I’m on a date with his hot man. You may try your luck somewhere else. I can bet you’ll find someone willing to fuck you but buzz off from me, and my man,” she hissed, and I just blinked a couple times, trying to comprehend what just happened. Though she was annoying the hell out of me, I still had to help her. Perhaps she didn’t fully deserve my saving, but I had to try. Friends or enemies, she didn’t merit to be taken advantage of.

Trying to flee the scene, she grabbed her purse and turned around to storm out of the bathroom. Fortunately, I managed to wrap my hand around her wrist before she made her way to the doors.

“Get a grip, woman!” I shouted at her, hoping she would listen to my loud voice – especially when she didn’t seem to particularly enjoy my calm and worried tone. “He roofied your drink and wants to take advantage of you. You better get yourself a ride home and leave.”

She looked at me, and I looked at her, having an intense stare contest. She must’ve been weighing her options before she tore her arm from my grasp.

“I can take care of myself,” she added before leaving the bathroom.

I tried, I told myself, but it still made me uneasy. She didn’t listen to my warnings, and she was about to get hurt, and it made me feel remorseful. I didn’t do my best. I still could prevent her from getting assaulted.

Heaving a deep sigh, I left the bathroom, determined to stop the man from drugging her even if I had to swallow the poison myself.

They were sitting by the bar as earlier. She was laughing at his joke, and he had his hand on her thigh. They seemed comfortable, but I knew enough to realize it was superficial.

Slowly, I approached them, stumbling over my legs, pretending to be shitfaced drunk. Once the drink was within my reach, I fake-tripped, spilling the alcohol on the man’s laps.

“You bitch,” he yelled in absolute anger. Apparently, he didn’t like it when his plan fell through. “Look what you’ve done!” He jumped to his feet, trying to wipe off his jeans.

Unfortunately, his furious outburst brought lots of attention to us. Instinctively, I turned to look at Taeyong. He was staring at me, mouthing, get out.

It was my much-awaited cue, so I gave this gross man some half-ass apology and left the club without any second thoughts. I had enough of this drama; I’d rather wait for them in the car.

Patiently, I waited for Taeyong and Ten to return. Time flew by quickly as I browsed my social media feed, forwarding the funniest memes to Doyoung.

Maybe thirty minutes later, Taeyong knocked on the window, wanting me to open the trunk. Two huge men with heavy leather jackets and gold chains around their necks threw four enormous black bags into the trunk, shutting it close with a loud thud.

I had no idea what the cargo was, but it didn’t sit right with me. Whatever it was, it must’ve been illegal, and it made me jumpy.

“What’s in the bags?” I asked carelessly, regretting my questing the second it left my mouth.

“Do you really want to know?” Taeyong challenged, and I vigorously shook my head in firm denial. Chuckling, he added, “Just samples.”

“Right,” I answered, dismissing the topic. Quickly, I turned on the engine and drove away, wanting to get back to the mansion as fast as it was lawfully possible.

Unfortunately, not talking about the cargo didn’t make me stop thinking about what’s inside the bags. Taeyong’s business has many branches, varying in dozens of illegal activities. Regardless of what was sitting in the trunk, we would all go to prison if caught.

“What kind of trouble did you cause when I specifically requested you didn’t?” Taeyong asked somewhat throughout the ride. His hands were squeezed in fists, resting on his thighs as he waited for my answer.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I genuinely apologized before I began pleading my case. Hopefully, with proper justification for my actions, Taeyong would understand. He was a human, after all. “I just couldn’t stay idle and watch this nightmare unfold in front of me. I had to help this girl out, even though she didn’t seem to appreciate it."

“Jaehyun was right about you,” Taeyong whispered mysteriously, making me raise an eyebrow in confusion. What kind of prejudice Jaehyun held against me? “You’re way too nice for this job,” he added, and I took a deep sigh, expecting a much worse response.

Though it pained me, it was understandable that being good was a bad thing in this line of business. Typically, I’d be glad to hear such a compliment, but under these circumstances, it made me upset. I wasn’t a saint, but I had some sort of a moral backbone.

“I wouldn’t necessarily put it that way,” I trailed off, thinking of the best way to present my abilities in the most fitting way.

“It was admirable if you want some second-hand opinion,” Ten interjected, pretty amazed with my attitude. “You should’ve punched him in the face, though. I’d love to see that,” he added, and I giggled, picturing my fist colliding against his jaw.

That would be a very nice picture.

“Can you drop me off at the Moonlight club? I’d like to meet with a friend of mine if that’s not a problem?” Ten asked, and I hummed in agreement, punching the club location into a navigation system. It was on our way, so it really wasn’t a nuisance.

“Sure thing,” I added, returning my focus on driving. Unfortunately, as soon as I shifted my attention to the front of our lane, I saw a car overtaking the Hummer. A second later, it flashed red and blue lights right, mentioning for me to stop the vehicle on the side of the road.

The police cruiser.

FUCK.

It was impossible. After doing so much illegal stuff, it was ironic to get caught when properly driving. It was a bad sign, and in a matter of seconds, I turned into an anxious ball of stress.

What a lame way to the end of my career!

OK, you gotta keep calm. Normal women can bullshit their way out of getting a ticket, so you can do it, too! I tried to psych myself up, though it didn’t help much. My mouth was still dry, and my hands were all sweaty. They’re about to discover I’m hiding some illegal stuff in the trunk. I couldn’t go to prison – orange is definitely NOT the new black.

“You can do it, doll. Don’t lose your cool,” Taeyong whispered, giving me an encouraging squeeze on the knee. Admittedly, it didn’t work.

“Yeah, don’t even think of all the drugs we have the trunk stocked up with,” Ten added, and I angrily turned back to yell at him for giving me info that I did not want nor need.

“Why would you say that?!” I shouted, trying to collect my thoughts. Cool, cool, cool, cool. You got this. You’ve survived worse. “If we make out of this alive, I’m gonna kill you,” I warned Ten before I straightened my backs, rolling down the window for the policeman who approached the vehicle.

“Good evening, Mr. Officer,” I beamed innocently, trying to read the policeman’s surname off the uniform, yet in vain. “I didn’t go too fast, did I?” I asked, batting my eyelashes in a poor attempt at flirtation.

Yikes, so much cringe!

“Driving license and vehicle registration certificate,” said the police officer coldly, completely ignoring my pathetic wooing. Unwillingly, I handed him the documents, praying to all the gods for him not to investigate the trunk. “Please, step out of the vehicle,” he added, and I followed his orders, ready to cooperate if he was willing to overlook the car inspection.

Obediently, I entered the backseat of the police cruiser, awaiting the interrogation.

“I’m an experienced driver. Did I make a mistake?” I inquired, waiting for them to give me the reason for pulling me over. My driving skills are mastered to perfection. I was really interested in what lame-ass excuse they were about to conjure to give me a ticket to fund the city’s budget.

“It’s just a routine checkup,” one police officer spoke dismissively, checking my data in their database. “All cops were asked to do routine checkups. Apparently, tonight some gang was doing drug drop-off, yet we stopped dozens of suspicious cars, and nothing came out of it. It must’ve been a false lead.”

What the fuck?

How, on Earth, did the police find out about this? Even I, who was a part of the drop-off, didn’t know what was inside the bags until two minutes ago. Was there a mole in the organization? Or maybe the police sent an undercover agent?

Thoughts were running through my head at a ridiculous speed, my gears were shifting swiftly as I tried to make any connection. Unfortunately, I didn’t connect shit. One thing was sure, though. If, by any chance, they let me go without investigating the car, Taeyong wouldn’t be thrilled to hear the news.

“Really? Drugs? And here I thought I live in the safe neighborhood,” I commented, feigning my cluelessness. Surprise, surprise, it actually sounded natural. Almost as if I was born to be a benighted dumb-dumb. “You better catch those smugglers.”

“We’re doing our best, miss,” the other policeman chimed in, and I tried my best not to roll my eyes at his for this evident negligence. They had culprits right under their nose, and it seemed they did not suspect me.

How could a dumb chick like me be involved in such a shady operation, am I right?

As much as I felt the urge to prove them wrong, I decided not to. As tempting as it was, it was extremely unbeneficial. I just wanted to get the hell out of the cruiser, drop the guys at Taeyong’s mansion, get my paycheck, and go home.

“Where were you going at such a late hour, miss?” The policeman asked, handing me back my documents after not finding anything worth further investigation.

“My friends were at the bachelor party in the club outside the capital, and they got really drunk, so I drove all the way there to pick them up,” I explained, though I got a feeling they weren’t listening to what I was saying.

“Uh-huh,” one of them muttered, quickly writing a messy note of the routine checkup, handing me back my documents. “That would be all, thank you for your cooperation,” the cop added, and I politely smiled, bolting out of the cruiser.

Phew!

Having fastened my seatbelts, I drove away. I just wanted to get the hell away from them, hoping they wouldn’t change their mind and order a thorough vehicle inspection. Taeyong and Ten must’ve had a dozen questions; however, I just turned up the volume of the radio, ignoring their concerned glances.

“Get out,” I barked when I abruptly stopped by the Midnight club. Perhaps it was rude, but I didn’t care. I’ve had a very stressful night, and politeness wasn’t on my mind.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow; good luck with miss grumpy,” Ten spoke before he jumped out of the vehicle, almost as if he was afraid I was going to talk back to him.

“What’s with the attitude?” Taeyong casually asked, and I sighed, trying to calm myself down. “I get you’re stressed, but you shouldn’t take your annoyance on us. Besides, if you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. I’m your boss, and Ten is my close associate.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized before I revealed what exactly happened in the police car. Truth to be told, Taeyong didn’t seem particularly surprised.

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve heard today,” Taeyong whispered, looking at my profile. “Jungwoo from Busan division called me today. Some of Yuta’s men crossed the border. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate our little prank,” he explained, and I grew speechless.

Karma was getting back at me.

Why do actions have consequences?

“That’s not good,” I answered, unable to form a coherent response. I was royally screwed, yet at the time, I was overwhelmed by the revelation.

Why couldn’t I just wait for Taeyong to put an ad on Craigslist, for fuck’s sake?

“Hey, look at me,” Taeyong ordered, and I obediently tore my eyes off the road to gaze into his eyes. “Don’t think too much about it; it’ll be fine,” Taeyong promised, yet his words didn’t make me feel assured. “You’re one of us; we’ll protect you.”

“You better,” I added, clutching my palms around the steering wheel in yet another stress-fuelled episode. There better be a professional health care program for Taeyong’s employees. Otherwise, I may need a therapist. Stress factors don’t stop coming, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to carry on much longer.

“Do you want to hang out?” Taeyong inquired, taking me by surprise. He, the mafia boss, wanted to spend some time with such a peasant like myself. That concept was wild, and it actually made me wonder. I couldn’t really say no. Some people would die to get a chance to wander around his big-ass mansion with Taeyong himself. “We can order some take out and just chill. What do you think?”

“I’d love that.”

***

Since the police knew the registration number, Taeyong ordered me to park the vehicle in a large garage under his majestic mansion. Having turned off the engine, we got out of the car, and I handed him the keys, lifting some heft off my shoulders. It was a nice car, but the memories it held were terrible. I’d rather forget that I even drove that thing.

“Give me a sec,” Taeyong said, taking a handful of samples, stuffing his pocket with them.

“What are these exactly?” Having creased my forehead in contemplation, I asked.

“These? Oh, it’s a new type of drug. It’s called the punch,” Taeyong explained, showing me a single dose of the drag. It was nicely wrapped like candy, and inside it looked like a mint. “It’s like LSD had a baby with shrooms,” he commented casually, winking at me. “And it tastes like bubblegum; you want to try some? The first batch is in the house.”

“Maybe later,” I answered dismissively, not really keen on having my first trip with Taeyong. But on the other hand, who was a better candidate to do drugs with? “I’d rather have some take out first if that’s not a problem,” I added, hoping he wouldn’t press me into doing anything out of my comfort zone. Not that I expected Taeyong to force me to do things against my will. I didn’t. After all, he was a really considerate man.

“Sure, what cuisine are you craving? I’m thinking… maybe something spicy. How about Mexican?” Taeyong proposed, and I vigorously nodded. Either he was my soulmate or really was able to read minds. “I’ll order something delicious.”

This time around, his mansion felt odd.

It was still majestic and glamorous, yet at the same, it was quiet. Back then, it was packed with Taeyong’s minions, but right now, they were in hiding, giving Taeyong his much-needed privacy. Following behind him, roaming around the spacious corridors felt like being guided through a museum during a private tour.

Once settled in the day room, Taeyong walked up to the bar, brought two glasses and a bottle of tequila, and set them on the coffee table.

“You want some? You look like you need a glass or two,” Taeyong offered upon seeing me all tensed up and anxious on the leather couch, nervously scanning the room.

“I’d rather hear some good news, but the alcohol will do,” I answered, reaching for the glass, downing it in one go, only to regret it a second later. “Pour me another one.”

“Take it easy,” Taeyong suggested, yet obediently filled my glass before turning on music, letting me know what type of songs he was into. Apparently, for late night’s chilling EDM hits were his to-go playlist.

With some liquid courage, it was easier to relax at Taeyong’s place. I took off my shoes and stretched on the sofa comfortably, all unpleasant and stressful occurrences slowly fading away. Unfortunately, these feelings were about to come back in the morning.

Twenty minutes later, the food was delivered, and it was absolutely mouthwatering. Fresh corn tortillas, spicy ground beef with a ridiculous amount of cheese made a perfect combination, tasting orgasmic. If I had less self-control, I’d moan at the foodporn laid out on the table for us to devour.

“So… how did the meeting go? Was it a success, or did I fuck it up with my shenanigans at the bar?” I inquired, narrowing my eyes, carefully watching his reaction.

If I could make out an emotion that his eyes were conveying, it was amusement.

“We will see,” Taeyong whispered, reaching into his pocket, playing with a single sample in his hands. “I only distribute the goodies. I gotta check first if this innovation is worth my time,” he added before popping the substance into his mouth like candy. “Is ‘no’ your definite answer?” Taeyong questioned, looking like a cute innocent hamster with the pill dissolving against the inside of his left cheek.

After a few tequila shots and delicious Mexican take out, I was much braver. However, at the same time, I became a way less assertive version of myself. Consenting to his kind proposition was too easy. Besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen? His mansion’s probably the safest place in the country.

“Fine, gimme,” I gave up, reaching out for the pill.

At first, nothing happened. A few minutes later, still nothing, and I even began to think Taeyong gave me a sample from a faulty batch. It was until it hit me good.

The couch melted like milk chocolate swallowing me in its soft waves before I crashed through the floor of nonexistent colors splashes.

[radioduo]

peregrinate || dsmp become human

word count: ~1,600

notes: peregrinate; to travel or wander from place to place

first // prev

Tubbo looked around nervously as he and Tommy approached the city. Lights blinked, and signs flashed on the different storefronts as the android and the boy wandered through the rain, and had he not been on the run, Tubbo might have taken time to appreciate the scenery. “Do you have any idea where you're going, Tommy?”

Tommy scoffed at the deviant, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. “Of course I fuckin’ know where I’m going, Tubbo, who d’you think I am?” he rolled his eyes. Softening his tone a bit, he said, “You trust me, right?”

“Well, yeah, of course, I trust you,” Tubbo replied immediately, adjusting his step to keep up with the taller boy, “but I also know that we need to be careful. You can’t be reckless like you usually are,” he warned. Tommy only grunted at him, and the two kept walking. They passed by stores and restaurants, hoping to find some help or a place to stay, but no luck. The window of every store had a sign that said "no androids allowed," and Tubbo knew that his LED would be a dead giveaway.

As the two were about to lose hope, Tommy's face suddenly lit up. “Oh, hey, look!” He exclaimed as the duo crossed the street. He pointed a finger over Tubbo’s shoulder. “That’s a motel over there, innit?” He asked, picking up his pace enthusiastically. “We could get a room for the night, sleep a little and get our shit together, huh?” He nudged Tubbo’s shoulder. “How 'bout it, bee boy?”

Tubbo rolled his eyes at Tommy and tilted his head.

X Keep looking

O Stay at motel

“Are you sure there aren’t any other places around here?” Tubbo asked, eyes drifting over the rest of the town in search of a different option. “It looks too out in the open to be safe. Someone could easily find us,” he murmured, anxiously rubbing his hands together.

Tommy shrugged. “I just know that I don’t want to be sleeping in some fuckin’ dirty car or something all night. Let's just check it out, okay? What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

Tubbo made a mental list of all the outcomes but decided to keep quiet.

O Stay at motel

“Alright,” he conceded. “We can try it out, but it’s your fault if we get turned away or caught,” Tubbo huffed. “This stupid LED isn’t doing us any favors.” Tommy ignored him and crossed the street towards the motel, Tubbo close on his heels.

----------

“Can you believe we got the room?” Tommy whisper-yelled to Tubbo as he fiddled with the room keys. “That lady at the desk didn't even ask us any questions! I think my masculine energy intimidated her,” Tommy boasted as he swung open the door. He set his bag down on a bed and flopped onto the sheets with a loud sigh. Meanwhile, Tubbo looked around the space for a bathroom and some tools. “Tommy, did you bring anything sharp?” he asked. “Like, scissors or something.”

The other boy sat up and rummaged through his sodden bag. “I have my sewing kit with me but no scissors,” he said, frowning. “I hope nothing happens to our clothes," he said, most likely to himself. "I won't be able to fix them." Tommy returned to laying down, facing away from Tubbo with a huff.

Tubbo grimaced and entered the small bathroom. Was it worth changing his hair if he was unable to remove the LED? He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked a right state, he thought disappointedly. His hair was wet and matted to his forehead from the rain, and he wore a dirt-smudged shirt. He pulled a lock of wet brown hair over his eyes and stared at it. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to change up his appearance a tad.

O Blond

X White

He pondered his options for a bit, flipping back and forth between the two choices. If he was going to change his look, he was going to do it right.

X White

The android watched as snow-white pigment seeped through his once dark hair. A few wisps of brown were noticeable at the roots, but most of his hair had become pale as the moon. He blinked, pleased with himself, and wandered back into the bedroom where Tommy laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “What d’you think, bossman?” Tubbo asked, gesturing to his new hair.

Tommy glanced over and let out a snort of laughter. “What’s up with your ‘ead?” he asked jokingly, heaving himself into a sitting position. “Looks good, but why?”

Tubbo shrugged and sat on the bed opposite the human boy. “I dunno, I guess it might help us stay disguised,” he said, tracing the pattern on the bedsheets. “I’m eager to get rid of this LED, though.” A silence fell between them as the sounds of the city drifted into their room. Cars honking horns, people shouting, and wheels rolling through puddles filled the duo’s ears as they sat quietly in the room. “We can’t stay here for long, you know,” Tubbo said at last. “We should leave in the morning. Maybe find somewhere to go,” he suggested. “Is there anywhere else that’s safe? Maybe a different state or something?”

Tommy pulled out his phone, typing something. “Most states have some laws against your kind,” he said slowly. “I think our best bet is to head north, yeah? New York, Maine-”

“Canada?” Tubbo interrupted excitedly. “Yeah, I remember reading one of Wilbur’s magazines a while back! Canada doesn’t have any anti-android laws. If I get a bus or train ticket, I could be up there in at least three or four days!” he said with a grin. “I’ll have to leave you behind, though. It'll be alright! You won't need to be there anyway. It's my problem to solve.”

Tommy spluttered disbelievingly, setting his phone down. “Wha- the fuck are you on about, Tubbo? I’m coming with you, you can’t just take a train by yourself! Phil and the others will be fine without me, but you need someone to keep you out of trouble.” Tommy crossed his legs and smiled. “Enough about that,” he said, changing the topic. “I’m tired as balls, man, we’ve been running through the rain all night. I’m heading to sleep, alright?” he set his phone on the nightstand between their beds and turned off the lamp. “Night, Tubso.”

Tubbo laid back on his mattress and closed his eyes. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

----------

The two woke up early the next day, pulling on their still-damp clothes and heading out the door. They agreed to take a bus to the northern part of Detroit, hoping to find tickets for a train heading north.

“Couldn’t you have found a better bus stop, Tommy?” Tubbo griped. “This one is next to the dump, the smell of garbage is pretty fucking ripe,” he said, waving a hand over his nose.

“Well, ex-CUSE me, Mr. Supercomputer,” Tommy retorted, “You’ve got so much knowledge in that noggin of yours, and you used none of it to find a better bus stop. Don’t start blaming me for this, I asked you multiple times if there was a closer one but you didn’t respond, that’s not my faul-”

“Wait, wait, wait, shut up for a second,” Tubbo demanded, cutting through Tommy’s ranting.

“Shut- don’t tell me to shut up! I’ll do what I damn well please, you b-"

“No, seriously, Tommy, be quiet,” Tubbo said, slapping a hand over the taller teen’s mouth. “Do you hear that?” The two stood silently for a moment before Tommy pried Tubbo’s fingers off his mouth. “What am I listening for?” Tommy asked, annoyed.

Tubbo didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace to a light jog and hurried over to a nearby garbage truck. “It’s coming from here,” he muttered to himself. Hoisting himself onto the back of it, he peered into the open back of the truck. Ignoring Tommy’s protests, he leaned into the truck and surveyed the bags of trash. His eyes landed on the thing making the noise.

An android. A child android, to be specific, making croaking noises. Tubbo felt a pang in his heart, and he leaped into the bags of garbage to get a closer look. The child had messy brown hair that covered most of his eyes and no LED. Where skin should have been covering his face and hands, there was nothing, just glossy metal. One of his eyes was missing, and he sounded like his speaker box was damaged. “What happened to you?” Tubbo murmured to himself, pulled the android out from the piles of rubbish. The child didn’t fight against him, clinging to his arm as the two hopped out of the truck.

“What are you doing?” Tommy whispered angrily. “You can’t just go takin' shit from the trash!”

“He’s not shit, Tommy, he’s an android. I think he was going to be thrown into the dump, probably going to get crushed for scrap metal,” Tubbo squeezed the child’s hand tightly, heart softening as the boy clutched his pant leg in return. “I can’t leave him here. You know that,”

“Well, we can’t take him with us either, Tubbo! We’ll never have enough money for three train tickets, and it’s obvious he’s not human. We’ll get caught for sure!” Tommy protested. “You have to leave him here.”

The android’s chest tightened as he stared at the small boy hugging his leg. On on hand, needed someone to take care of him, and perhaps Tubbo was meant to be that person. On the other, it would be dangerous walking around with something that would get them caught so easily.

X Rescue him

O Leave him

[joyrose-fandomer]

Please, don’t fall for me (Sanders Sides fantasy school AU) Chap 3

Relationships : Future (Prinxiety, Intrological, Mocite, Platonique Moxiety and platonique Analogical)

POV : Virgil

TW : Water, Manipulation

Previous<<

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

Virgil couldn't focus on anything after that.

He kept looking at the pamphlet and the folded paper on his laps. 

The pamphlet showed a picture of a big white building. It looked like a bad copy of Harvard. 

It was named "Pine hills High school and College of art, sport and science" which was long for nothing and boring like literally any school.

But most importantly, it looked pricy. So Virgil looked around the pamphlet but he couldn't find any price anywhere. 

Tss, of course, they wouldn't.

It said on the pamphlet that the school had good infrastructure and good results in every sportive, artistic and scientific field. That it had 100% chance for the student to have a diploma and list several students that became important.

Virgil didn't know any of those names and most importantly, never heard of that school.

  On the other hand, the folded paper was a lot less fancy. There was no picture only a name and a few commentaries.

It didn't look official in any way. In fact, it was very obvious that Remy had written everything.

But it gave a strange feeling, like the ink and paper weren't normal. Like it could disappear at any moment if Virgil stopped looking at it or if anyone else looked at it.

He knew it didn't make much sense, but he could swear that he saw the words glitter from time to time.

"The Argus school" was the name written on the paper. 

"School for young magical creatures to learn how to control their powers in safety."

So, like a school of magic? When did Virgil step into Harry Potter?

  It was so cliché and suspicious, Remy was surely messing with him. 

What if it was all an elaborate prank?

What if it was a kidnapping technic and Virgil was falling straight for it?

Should he call the police?

Would they believe him?

But what if it was not a joke?

It was so unrealistic but it explained so many things...

That day when school ended Virgil didn't directly go home.

He went to the pool.

"Hello, do you have a ticket ?"

The young women at the entrance asked.

Oh. Well, he needed to confirm that too eventually.

The high school boy took a deep breath.

"No, I forgot...sorry"

Her voice was suddenly a lot softer.

"It's ok, I can give you one. It's 7$"

Alright, he won't have to meet her again, he could do it.

He took off his mask and hood

"I'm sorry miss. I forgot to bring money"

She blinked like she was trying to adjusted her eyes after being flashed with a stong light.

"Alright, I will take your name and you can pay later"

"Wait really?" Virgil exclaimed, not expecting the woman to actually let him get away with it so easily.

The woman smiled. "Yes, but don't tell anyone, I'm not supposed to do that. So what's your name ?"

"Virgil Apkallu"

"That's an interesting name could you spell it ?"

Virgil spelled his name like he always did. Before remembering an important fact.

"I don't have my swimsuit!"

She laughed. Virgil couldn't blame her, he really didn't think that through.

"Do you want to go home to pick it up?"

If he got home it would be too late, his father wouldn't let him go back out again.

He looked up at the women. Making eye contact with someone for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"If I go home I don't know if I would be able to come back..."

She froze and thought for a bit before walking away and coming back with her wallet. 

"Here, go to the dispenser and get yourself a swimsuit"

"Wha- but it's your money, I can't"

"It's fine kid, it's just 2$. Now go before we close"

Virgil sighed and bought simple black shorts. He thanked the woman and she let him get in.

He felt guilty. He knew he didn't ask her to do all that and she was the one who insisted. But he couldn't help but feel like he manipulated that woman.

But it's what he was trying to do, didn’t he ?

The pool was empty. It was late and during fall it was too cold to go swimming.

The pool attendants weren't here, probably thinking that no one would come at that hour.

So Virgil had the water for himself.

Time to get it over with.

The good thing with being an anxious mess like Virgil is that you end up collecting techniques to get rid of disillusions.

Often the biggest disillusions were the hardest to get rid of. It's the ones that make the less sense. 

Like thinking everyone you meet want to kill you, or that your parents were secretly robots.

But the good thing is. The bigger they are the easier it is to prove your brain wrong.

If you don't turn into a wolf under the full moon, you're not a werewolf.

If you don't have magic powers you're not a witch.

And if you can't breathe underwater you're not a siren.

A normal human can't survive underwater for more than 5 minutes, a trained diver can stay at best 12 minutes.

Virgil only had to stay underwater until he felt the huge to breathe.

If he could stay underwater for longer than that without needing to go out to breathe then... haha no, it was stupid last time he was just confused because he fell into the pool in the middle of a panic attack. 

He will be out in a few seconds.

He slowly went down the stairs. The water was colder than he remembered.

It was probably reckless to test that alone but at least no-one was here to stop him.

Once he was in, the cold was a lot more bearable. In fact, it was numbing pleasantly.

The only swimmer went around the pool using the border to hold himself. But he didn't really need it, it was mostly the lack of confidence.

Eventually, he let go of the side of the pool and swam to the center of the water.

He felt free. Like floating in space. Swiming was so easy, it was second nature.

Virgil set the timer at 0.

And go !

He let himself sink.

The echoes of the empty room, the lapping of the water, the far-away cars.

It all dissolved into silence.

The golden hue of the sunset reflected all around, slithering in the water like hundreds of glowing vines.

Virgil was still holding his nose under the water but he didn't feel the need to breathe. Actually, he was already breathing. 

He brushed the side of his neck. His skin was taking off but it didn't hurt.

He breathed in.

Water entered the gap in his neck.

He breathed out. 

Water went out of the gap.

Gills.

He never had gills. Since when did he had gills?

He let go of all the air he was holding in a string of bubbles. 

He watched them float away. Reflecting the sunlight, making them shine the away fairy lights would.

Bright and clear.

When he tried to breathe through the nose, the airway seemed blocked and he ended up breathing by his Gilles again.

He was breathing underwater. He could see underwater.

He could see and breathe better than on land.

His hair fell on his face.

He could see his own eyes reflecting in them like a mirror and his eyes reflected his hair the same way.

This was new. Usually, they were both jet black. 

He swam to one of the Hublot around the pool.

His hair reflected the pool around, perfectly merging with the water like they were trying their hardest to disappear. His eyes were hardly any better. They were glossy and blue with gold lights just like the water around.

Usually, his eyes were so dark he could barely see his pupils well now that his eyes were different... He still couldn't. Apparently, his pupils also got this mirror effect.

This one was probably not a new thing. The boy could remember every time someone had the great idea of pointing a flashlight at him only to scream because his pupils were shining like a wild animal.

The confused boy swam around. 

It was so simple, like taking a walk around the park.

So peaceful,

So comfortable,

So pretty,

So safe,

It felt like home.

Virgil didn't know how much time he spent here. He didn't want to look at the timer. 

He didn't want to walk. He didn't want to choke on air. He didn't want to feel the pressure of the world.

This was where he belonged. He was happy.

He didn't want to go.

He looked up. The golden light turned silver.

It was night. He needed to go home.

With a sigh, the half siren swam out. Posing the timer but not looking at it.

Everything was so heavy out there. Virgil dresses up slowly and difficultly. His clothes stuck to him and made moving even harder.

Taking a deap breath of his inhaler and dragging himself away from the pool.

The woman looked surprised that he was still here but she still waved him goodby with a smile.

The cold autumn wind gave him a headache, the boy hid his wet hair in is hood and walked.

By the time he arrived home, his body was freezing.

His mind bearly felt anything.

"Do you have any idea how late it is? 

I was so worried! Where were you ?!"

His father immediately yelled when he opened the door.

Virgil stayed silent. He didn't feel guilty, just, empty.

He walked around mindlessly, working only on muscle memory. His father still yelling behind him but he couldn't hear anything.

When he took off his hood his father went silent and stared at him wearily.

"Virgil, why are you soaked ?"

His son took a deep breath and locked eyes with his parent with a serious expression.

"Dad. Who is my mother ?"

***<>============<>***

Sorry, the story didn’t advence a lot this chapter, I really just wanted to right water again ! (^u^’)

Tag list : @angstysunshine @sander-sides-fics 

@moments-of-selves @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes (I still don’t know if you want me to tag you or not so if you want me to stop just tell me ok ? (^u^))

[lostbbygorl]

REVERSING EACH DAMAGE (LEVI X F!READER):

Mr. Ackerman frequently visited the Magaths home after that afternoon. Isabel would sometimes accompany her elder brother, but Levi came alone most of the time. Levi and Y/N were getting closer and closer, and unknowingly, Y/N had fallen for Mr. Ackerman! She didn’t understand these new feelings at all, but she did know that no matter how difficult they were, she liked them.

One day, Mr. Ackerman decided to bring his aunt, Ms. Katrina de Lancey and her daughter, Amanda with him, much to Y/N’s annoyance. Ms. Katrina was a nosy, snobby elderly woman. She and Y/N had met in Shiganshina previously when Y/N had gone to visit Nifa and cousin Elias. Lady Katrina had tried her hardest to belittle Y/N, and force her to answer her interrogative questions, which Y/N didn’t give her the satisfaction of succeeding with. Never having been denied anything in her life, Lady Katrina was flabbergasted and decided that Y/N was someone she deeply distrusted and disliked.

“ Ms. L/N, meet Amanda, my daughter”, Lady Katrina introduced. Y/N smiled politely at Amanda. Amanda was a very thin girl with her braided brown hair and square glasses. She was dressed in different shades of brown, and she was awkwardly fidgeting with her fingers. She didn’t smile or say a word the entire trip to the Magath’s household, and occasionally whispered to her mother. Never before had Y/N met such a plain, boring girl!

“ Amanda is engaged to my nephew. They’ll be married by next summer”, Lady Katrina said, staring intensely at Y/N for a reaction. Lady Katrina had figured out that Levi was in love with Y/N, and that unlike the first time they met, Y/N now returned Levi’s feelings. To say she was furious would be an understatement! How dare Levi fall for a poor, rude girl whilst engaged to her daughter (who had no desire to marry Levi either)? Levi winced for a fraction of a second and Y/N remained calm even though her mood just got spoiled. Why was she bothered by this news?

“ That’s terrific news, my lady. I congratulate both Amanda and Mr. Levi. I’m sure they’ll be ever so happy together for the rest of their lives. I can’t wait for the invite, Mr. Ackerman”, Y/N murmured.

Suddenly, the door to the fireplace burst open and an apologetic Mrs. Magath made her presence in the room.

“ Y/N, read this quickly!”, she said out of breath, handing a letter to Y/N.

“ A letter, at 9.00 PM? It must be urgent”, Mr. Magath said. Y/N’s hands trembled as she finished reading. She threw the letter at the wall, and an inhuman shriek left her mouth! Lady Katrina held onto Amanda, and Levi rushed to her side.

“ Stupid, selfish, foolish girl!”Y/N screamed.

“ What happened?”, Uncle Magath queried in a concerned voice.

“ It’s that idiot, Sasha! She went to Yarkcel with the Forsters. The group noticed she was missing for a whole day when a letter notified them of her whereabouts' ', Y/n said, fully crying now.

“ And where is Sasha?”, Uncle Magath asked.

“ In Ragako, miles away from Yarkcel, engaged to Mr. Yeager who she plans on eloping with! Sasha has eloped!”, Y/N loudly completed, breaking down in Levi’s arms.

“ Ragako isn’t that far from here! Theo, grab your coat and your horse this instant! You must find our niece”, Mrs. Magath ordered.

“ Don’t need to tell me twice”, he replied getting up.

“ I’ve been ordered to go home immediately”, Y/N sniffled.

“ I’ll arrange a carriage for you, ma’am”, Levi comforted.

“ I’m deeply sorry for this unexpected fiasco. I assure you that your journey back to Trost will be safe and comfortable. It’s the least I can do”

“ Mr. Levi, I can’t thank you enough!”

“ Don’t mention it, ma’am”.

The scenario back at home was incredibly messy! Mrs. L/N was sobbing on the couch out of worry for her youngest daughter, and the L/N sisters clutched onto their mother. Christa was back from Ermich, and Mr. L/N was out searching for Sasha in Ragako. Christa and Y/N shared a look. The entire night, nobody got a wink of sleep. Mikasa tried getting her mother to eat, whilst Ella fanned her. Ella wasn’t entirely shocked at the news of her sister running off. Sasha was a reckless, mindless flirt! She was desperate to snatch a handsome officer, and now she’d been seduced! Y/N had confided about Mr. Yeager’s true nature to Christa only.

“ He’s a notorious womanizer, Christa, and Sasha had to run off with him of all people! God, I swear I’ll behead that man when I see him next!”, Y/N snarled. Christa stroked her back, attempting to calm her down.

“ You’ll do nothing of the sort. Calm down, we’ll see what happens”, Christa soothed.

“ You’re right. I must divert my mind from all this”, Y/N sighed. She then implored Christa about her time in Ermich, which excited her.

“ Oh it was marvelous for the most part. Remember those letters I sent to Mr. Smith? Well, it turns out Marceline isn’t a true friend! She hid them from him. Mr. Smith reached out to me by himself and apologized for leaving me so suddenly. We spent so much time together!”, Christa giggled. Finally, some good news, Y/N thought. The two sisters chattered all night before falling asleep together. In the morning, they awoke to hyper shouting! At once, they ran downstairs to see what the commotion was all about.

There she was, grinning from ear to ear and dressed in a posh whiter gown: Sasha L/N! She was holding hands with a serious looking Mr. Yeager, and Mrs. L/N was stroking her cheeks and talking hyperly to her. As one track minded as ever, Mrs. L/N was just glad that Sasha came back home married! Rita, the maid, served lunch at the table. The atmosphere in the room was tense. Papa and the rest of the sisters didn’t say a word. It was only Mama and Sasha who spoke. Papa interrogated Mr. Yeager. Sasha finally switched her attention from Mrs. L/N to Y/N, who she was seated beside.

“ Isn’t my husband handsome?”Sasha poked. She was under the impression that Y/N loved Mr. Yeager, and that she had stolen away the heart of her much more popular elder sister’s object of affection. Y/N nodded coldly, not wanting to discuss this imprudent match at all! She made no eye contact with Sasha, and was too busy fearing what events would lay out in the future. Mr. Yeager didn’t love Sasha at all, and he was only after money. Y/N internally winced at the heartbreak Sasha would experience should Mr. Yeager not ditch his womanizing ways.

“ Our wedding was intimate, but my god, it was heavenly!”Sasha gushed.

“ I looked like a goddess in my wedding dress, If I do say so myself, and Mr. Yeager was as handsome as ever. Oh, silly me, I call him Zeke now. Anyways, only Uncle Theo and Auntie Magath were present, along with the priest, Mr. Nick, and Mr. Ackerman. Of course, me and Zeke too”. Y/N’s head shot up at this news. What was Mr. Ackerman doing at Sasha’s wedding?

“ What was Mr. Ackerman doing there?", she questioned.

“ Oh, Mr. Ackerman searched for us everywhere before we got discovered in our hiding spot: a quaint little inn on the outskirts of Ragako”, Sasha began.

“ Who do you think paid for the wedding? Mr. Ackerman had us married at a small church the very next day. But you mustn’t tell anyone, promise you won’t!”Sasha instructed.

Later on that afternoon, Y/N cornered Mr. Yeager. She tried so hard to get her anger under control, but she couldn’t.

“ Listen to me, you blasted buffoon from hell”, she started with a look so vicious Mr. Yeager flinched and took a step back.

“ I know of your true nature, and I know of your drama with Isabel Ackerman. I’ve been enlightened about all the lies you spit”, she continued. Subconsciously, Y/N neared Mr. Yeager’s face.

“ If heartbreak of any sort ails Sasha, and I discover that you’re the root cause of it, nobody will ever hear from you again”, Y/N threatened.

“ I’ll expose every dirty secret and lie of yours. Moreover, if word about the little fiasco between you and Isabel gets out, you’ll be met with the same fate. You’re so fond of playing with the adolescent feelings of 15-year-old girls and leading them on, now you must keep your promise to Sasha. Never again will you court or seduce any other young girl, as Sasha is now your wife who you claimed to be so enamoured with back at Ragako. Have a nice life”, she spat before stomping off to her room. Christa sensed Y/N’s disapproval and anger the second she slammed the library door shut and dashed upstairs to her room. Christa entered the room tentatively, horrified upon witnessing the sight of her dear sister sprawled on her bed, weeping into a pillow.

“ Y/N? Y/N? Oh, do answer me, darling. Are you still dismayed about the wedding after threatening Mr. Yeager?”, Christa urged, gently shaking Y/N.

“ Not only that”, Y/N sniffled. She finally sat up and wiped her tears.

“ Remember when I told you that Mr. Ackerman proposed to me? Well, it turns out ages after that little event, I’m hopelessly in love with him”, Y/N tearfully confessed.

“ Mr. Ackerman paid for Sasha’s wedding and all the commissions and all that. I’m not entirely sure, but I think he was behind your rekindling with Mr. Smith too”, she finished.

“ All of that is great. Why do you cry?”, Christa probed.

“ It’s because I have a strong feeling he’s fallen out of love with me! I’m much lower than him in rank socially, and I’ve rejected him once in a horribly rude manner, and now with this whole elopement tosh, I’m from a family ripe with scandal”, Y/N sobbed, her figure shaking so much even the bed creaked.

“ Why would any man of birth as noble as Mr. Ackerman still love me? He’s over me, and I’ve just learned to love him”, she finished, her voice laced with bitter regret and sorrow. Christa pulled her into her chest in a hug.

“ If he truly loves you, he’ll overlook all of this”, she assured.

“ If he didn’t truly love you, he wouldn’t have gone as far as to search for Sasha and secure her marriage. If your hunch is right, as they always are, and he’s urged Mr. Smith to contact me again, then that’s not for my happiness, it’s for yours. Don’t you see, Y/N? He’s doing everything in his power to win you over! He’s fixing all his mistakes”, Christa explained, her expression one that said: “ How does someone of your level of intelligence not realize the things I just enlightened you about?”

Y/N smiled at her sister. She realized how stupid she had sounded 2 minutes ago.

“ Christa, what would I do without you? All you’ve said makes so much sense to me now. I just wish there was a way for me to meet Mr. Ackerman now. He’s the person I most wish to see as of present. And oh how I wish to wed him. But alas, that could never be”, Y/N sighed.

“ Why not?”, Christa inquired.

“ For he’s engaged to another woman against his will. And worse, she seems to be highly uninterested in him, and he has never been interested in her".

[scaryscarecrows]

Will Trade Soup for Intel

Potential Gotham Knights ‘verse. For those who did not see the trailer: Bruce is dead (pfft, suuuuure he is), Jim Gordon is dead (Jim, no!), the Court of Owls appears (this is gonna be bad), Batgirl and Robins 1-3 have guardianship of Gotham. For this piece: Penguin is also dead. Dove has his operation. And the flu. :p

***

Tim’s not sure where he thought Jason was going to take him. Honestly, because it’s Jason, he was sort of thinking, ‘seedy hole in the wall where retired hitmen go’. Or something. Or maybe an orphanage, or an under-the-bridge camp; the Alley Kids don’t throw bottles and needles at him, unlike the others. They demand rides.

(Yeah, it’s funny but also scary to see the Red Hood, known for his duffle bag of heads, giving a little girl a piggyback ride.)

This is not one of those places. This is some apartment building in midtown with a doorman and everything. And, y’know, it’s daytime, which...they don’t operate in the daytime that much unless they’re undercover, and they don’t appear to be. Jason told Tim to dress like a real boy and stick his domino on in the elevator, but he’s wearing what he always does; jeans, hoodie, heavy boots. And he’s carrying a brown bag that smells like soup. No helmet in sight, and Tim knows he won’t wear a domino now. They bug the scar*, he says.

“Where are we?”

“To see an old friend. I’m out of other ideas.”

“What, are they a conspiracy professor or something?”

“No.”

The doorman waves them through and they wait for an empty elevator. Jason presses the third-floor button and settles in, adjusting the bag in his arms. For all the crap they give...gave...Bruce about theatrics, Jason’s no better. He lives for building the suspense. Tim had nearly murdered him again for that stupid monk joke. Asshole. Ten minutes from his life, and for that? Humph.

A cotton face mask whaps him in the chest while he’s adjusting his domino and he frowns.

“What.”

“You’re fragile, and she’s got the flu, which is why we’re here in the daytime. I’m basically immune after my, um, upgrade points got cashed in, but you are a Victorian maiden who'll probably turn it into tuberculosis and die and I can’t deal with Dick after that.”

Huh.

…

Whatever. You lose one spleen…

He puts the mask on, too, making sure Jason sees his glower, just as the elevator dings to a halt.

Tim starts to suspect they’re not invited, exactly, when Jason shoves the bag at him and drops down to pick the lock. Though he does knock and call, “Don’t get up!”, so.

“There. Give me that before you spill something...hey, Miss Marquis! I brought soup!”

…

Jason couldn’t have just told him this, why?

There’s furious coughing in the other room, followed by movement, and a minute later Dove shuffles out, wrapped in a blanket and wearing what appear to be bunny slippers. She looks terrible.

“For the tenth time, I don’t care how immune you think you are, you’re going to get sick and I can take care of myself.”

“Haven’t gotten sick yet,” Jason says cheerfully. “‘Sides, it’s, like, partly a bribe.”

Dove doesn’t look convinced. Tim’s not convinced, either. Jason, when left to his own devices, can and will out-mother-hen Dick. He’s just usually scarier when he does it. More like Alfred.

Before any further argument can happen, Dove starts coughing again and winds up clutching the doorframe with one hand and holding the other up to keep Jason at bay.

“Thought you were gonna take Theraflu,” Jason says sulkily. Dove reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I will take it if I need it, Hood.” Tim sympathizes. Theraflu tastes like sadness. At least Robitussin is nice. “I promise this isn’t my first flu, I am fine. ” This is not a battle she’ll win. Tim knows. Tim has tried and failed. Jason had loomed at him and told him, oh-so-nicely, that he would take the Theraflu or that it would breach his defenses. “What do you want.”

Jason holds up the bag.

“Fridge or bowl?”

“Fridge, please.”

“Tea?”

“If I say yes, will you settle down?”

“For now.”

She sighs and totters over to an armchair.

“Fine.”

“What kind.”

“I’ve got some sort of zinger tea in there, that would be very nice.”

Jason vanishes into the kitchen. Dove sinks into her chair, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders, and waves at the couch.

“Siddown, Robin.”

“Sorry we broke in,” he says, because Jason won’t. Dove just shakes her head.

“This isn’t the first time or the last time,” she says. “At least you used the door...if you need a drink or somethin’, help yourself.”

Jason comes back, steaming mug in his hands.

“I’ll get it,” he says. “Bird boy here shouldn’t touch the kitchen.”

Slander.

“Nightwing’s worse.”

“Still. Here y’go.”

“Thanks, honey.” Dove leans up to take it before shooing him back. “Now. Why are you here.”

Jason settles onto the couch next to Tim and leans forward, worrying at his lower lip.

“This is going to sound crazy.”

“Well, that’s interesting.”

“Do you know anything about the Court of Owls?”

Dove snorts, coughs, and takes a sip of her tea.

“What?”

“You know…beware the court of owls that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed. Speak not a whispered word of them--”

“Or they’ll send the Talon for your head, I know the rhyme.” She takes another sip. “It’s a scary story to keep kids in line, you know that.”

“We thought so, but.” He shrugs. “”Had a run-in with...something...last night that, um. Looked a little dead. But not dead like me, dead like...I don’t know. It was like it wasn’t human anymore. Or ever. I don’t know.”

Well, that’s a surprise. Tim wonders if Jason just straight-up admitted what happened or if Dove got it out of him or from some other source.

“Croc’s not human, either, kid.”

“No. This thing...I didn’t...I broke its neck and it fucking twisted it back into place.”

Dove frowns.

“You’re sure?”

“Uh-huh. And before that I emptied literally twelve bullets into this thing and it didn’t even flinch. I’m telling you, something wasn’t right and it was wearing an owl mask.”

Tim nods.

“There have been four murders committed with daggers that have owl insignias on them,” he says. “We think these two things are related.”

“Owl daggers?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can I see one?”

“I brought a picture. The daggers are police evidence.”

“Like you boys didn’t borrow one,” she says, but sits up when Jason comes over with the phone. “I’ve seen something like this before.”

Well, that was unexpected.

“When?”

“Years ago, now. Penguin had one that he got from who-knows-where. It went missing one night-we chalked it up to Catwoman and let it go-but we did have people offer to buy it a few times. Generous offers, too.”

“He wouldn’t sell?” Odd. Penguin loved money almost as much as his pet birds. “Can you remember who offered?”

“Rich men, you know the type. They like...oddities.”

Tim does know the type. During Dick’s stint as Batman, he’d stumbled upon an auction house that specialized in some nasty things, including a very particular crowbar.

(Jason, as far as Tim knows, has no idea about this.)

“Did he say anything about it?”

“No. He put it in his office, in a little case, and honestly, I sort of figured someone had tried to kill him with it. He was funny about things like that.”

That’s an understatement. Penguin had been very proud of the bottle in his eye, among other things.

Dove starts coughing again and ends up setting her tea on the end table. Jason’s halfway over there when the coughs turn to sputters and she manages to wheeze out a, “Fine. M’fine.”

“This is why you should take Theraflu.”

“Honey…”

“I can make--”

“Hon.” He shuts up. “I’m okay. It’s just the flu, give me another week and I’ll be back to normal.” She takes a shuddery breath and picks up her tea again. “I promise. Now. I don’t.” Another shuddery breath, but no coughing this time. “I don’t know anything else off the top of my head, but. Little fuzzy.” She tugs at her blanket until it’s closed around her neck, just under her chin. “If anything comes up, I’ll let you know-ow- shit --”

The coughs don’t stop this time and she winds up bent nearly double, arms curled up to, presumably, brace her ribs. Ouch. When they finally wane, she’s red-faced and wheezing and looking fairly well miserable. Tim’s just about to nudge Jason when she stands up, clutching her mug in white, shaky fingers, and says, “I am going back to bed. Lock up behind yourselves.”

“Can we do anything?”

“No, hon. But thanks. You boys.” A finger goes up and she sort of... hics ...but nothing happens. “You boys stay safe. Don’t do anything. Anything reckless.”

Reckless? Humph. They’re not reckless. Adventurous, is Tim’s preferred term. So one time he leapt off a building knowing his grappler wasn’t working. Dick caught him, like he knew he would. It was leap or be eaten, and being eaten was by far the uglier choice.

“Reckless? Us?” Jason mock-gasps. “Thanks. Soup’s in the fridge. Want me to make you a Thera--”

“ No. Thank you.”

THE END

*I’m debating on whether or not that scar is Joker-related (could be an aborted Glasgow?) OR Batarang-caused: maybe Bruce hit his face rather than his throat in this version of UtRH. Either way, ow.

[something-tofightfor]

2020: a Recap

My timeline’s going to be filled with these today, so this is mostly for me as a way to wrap things up (I’ll be doing a separate writing recap later, so this is going to have very little to do with writing... read at your own risk).  2020 has been a lot of things for a lot of people, and most of them haven’t been great. We all know all of the BS that’s going on in the world, and have all had our struggles and challenges and week after week where we felt useless and scared and overwhelmed with everything. 

But I’m not going to talk about any of that, because I want to focus on the good things.  Some of these are stupid. Some of them are really insignificant to anyone but me. But they matter - and so do the tiny things that happened to everyone else that have them even the briefest moments of joy during this year. So here’s a list of the top 10 moments of 2020 for me. 

10. My pepper plants thriving for the first time. We’ve never had good luck growing peppers for whatever reason, and this year,  we managed to get consistent harvests from 7 different kinds of peppers well into October. 

9. I got to see two friends get married (safely). Spending almost an entire year away from 90% of my baseball friend group was really difficult. In the middle of October, two of them got married in a beautiful outdoor ceremony, and it was the first time we were all in the same place since last September. 

8. I learned how creative I can be. Resin pouring, bracelet making, ornament-making, writing... with all of this extra time to myself, I’ve taught myself some new things and had a lot of fun doing it. 

7. Getting to rewatch all of my favorite shows (and some new ones!) I’m 95% sure that I finished Netflix, Hulu and Amazon Prime Video this year. I rewatched favorite shows (Lost, The Punisher, Westworld, It’s Always Sunny, Daredevil and Parks and Rec to name a few) and found new shows (The Boys, Great British Baking Show, season 2 of The Mandalorian, Yellowstone). I watched a lot of TV this year, and I don’t regret it.  6. I played literally 300 hours of Animal Crossing: New Horizons. This might sound excessive, but there were a couple months where I played for a few hours a day. This game calmed me down, gave me a chance to focus, and was fun without there being any stakes. I would have been bored out of my mind from March - May when it was still cold out and I was stuck in my house without it.  5. I got a tattoo. I waited until I felt absolutely safe going into a shop (October) and got a very simple - but meaningful - tattoo. Ideally, I would have gotten at least one other (much larger) one this year, too, but that fifteen minutes with Dylan Yeehaw was the most normal that things felt for me in a long time. (No one has asked about this or made a comment, even though it was clearly visible in a picture I posted a while back)

4. I taught myself to cook a bunch of new things. Sourdough (still waiting on Jake Gyllenhaal’s response to my DM), macaroons, poached eggs, french onion soup, the perfect seared scallop ... I got really adventurous this year, and I can’t wait to try more recipes out this winter. I still need to try a carbonara, and I really want to make my own soft pretzels. 3. I got to see humpback whales in person with my own two eyeballs. We went whale watching last September in LA, and saw jack shit. That was not the case in Massachusetts. We saw 8 or 9 different whales, got absolutely SOAKED and had a blast. I’ve never seen anything so majestic in my entire life, and there were tears in my eyes from the second we first saw the whales until we were heading back into the harbor. Whale watching has been on my bucket list for YEARS and now that I’ve gone once and seen them, I just want to go again and again. I want to see Orcas and a blue whale. 

(The entire trip to Boston/Salem was a highlight of the year, and the only time I didn’t feel safe was in a backwoods PA Sheetz on our way home when we had to stop for gas and pee and there were a million and a half people inside of the building)

2. I got to meet @the-blind-assassin-12 and @malionnes in person. After the initial plans to travel and meet up in Vegas had to be put on hold, we came up with something closer and much safer, and I got to spend a weekend on the Jersey Shore in a house with them (No joke we were like two blocks away from the ACTUAL Jersey Shore house). All of us were very safe before and after we met, and I know people probably think it’s really reckless, but none of us would have done it if we hadn’t felt like we were all healthy. It was another short period of time where things felt normal, even though they weren’t. 

1. I was gifted a one-on-one with Ben Barnes by @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​. I never thought I’d actually have the chance to speak with him, let alone have FIVE WHOLE MINUTES uninterrupted with him. It was a video chat, but it was head and shoulders more personal and private than speaking with him at a table would have been, and I am forever grateful that she made it happen. I got to ask him some fun questions, made him laugh TWICE, and got a picture “with” him. Now that my nerves are out of the way, when I get to actually meet him in person, I won’t be as anxious.  And, since I’ve never posted the picture here: 

There you go. It was a million and a half degrees in that bedroom, and my time slot was an hour behind and I was so damn nervous, but it was worth every single second, and I won’t forget it (literally, because I recorded the whole ass thing).  I hope that you guys have found things to look back on and be proud of or happy about in 2020. Ideally, I would have gotten a sunburn at a baseball game, or won a bunch of money in Vegas, or gotten to travel and see more places and people. I would have not been out of work for the last 7 months, and feeling really useless a lot of the time. We would have gotten to spend holidays with our families and not lost anyone due to a virus that could have been contained much more effectively than it was. 

But we have to make do with what we’ve got, right? And all things considered, there were a lot of ok moments in 2020. There were some alright moments, too. And there were even a few almost perfect moments.  If you’re still reading - thank you. Thank you for taking the time to interact with me throughout this terrible, unending year. Thank you for being another bright spot - comments and messages and reblogs and art and producing things of your own. Thank you for everything, and I hope that 2021 brings health, happiness and a better time than we all had this year.  Be safe. Take care of each other. Don’t be an unreasonable asshole.  Happy 2021. 

[monchikyun]

30. bet you’ll love me

Everything is new to Connor. He is still finding pieces of himself in various places, trying to build himself up as he’s learning more about the world around him. A world that isn’t bordered by a code or defined by his mission. It has been an intimidating notion to be considered a human, he’s felt overwhelmed and lost, at times, but as months passed, the initial awkwardness of being new among other real people has washed out, leaving only the wonderfully mundane stuff behind, like doing chores and finding out that he maybe has a crush on one of his coworkers.

The people who used to fear him and project their hatred by proxy are now more or less becoming his friends or at least casual acquaintances. This of course includes detective Reed, the one person who might have probably been scared of him the most. They are more or less ignoring each other nowadays, but sometimes Connor catches the man stealing glances at him, which is not exclusive only to Reed. Because Connor watches too, whenever he has the opportunity to. Maybe he subconsciously tries to impart his inner-most feelings to him, tries to create something between them that isn’t there. It’s very unproductive and he cannot find a rational explanation for this, but he has been told that’s more than normal when one is not a flawless machine. So he accepts it as it is without trying to solve the mystery it carries around with it, just enjoying the fact that he’s able to experience such a natural thing. The pain that comes with it is just a necessary evil.

But the longer he allows those emotions to course freely through him, the more his overall mood worsens. He doesn’t know what the most correct course of action in this particular scenario would be, and he most certainly won’t find out by dwelling on it inside his overwhelmed mind. There is of course the internet at his infinite disposal, but he tries not to rely on it so much. It feels like cheating, like he’s robbing himself of organic development. So he opts to ask one of his friends, despite the embarrassment he’ll suffer from due to divulging a personal sentiment such as this. The person he chooses ends up being none other than Gavin’s own buddy Tina, and not only because her insight has the best chance of proving to be the most helpful. Connor simply likes talking to the sharp-tongued young woman. She doesn’t keep sweet with him, doesn’t act like he’s any better than the rest of them. He gets grounded by her blunt words, and that’s just what he needs right now.

 “No fucking way. Talk about coincidences.”

Connor partly hopes that this means just what he suspects it would. The other part of him, the one that is readying him to bolt is convinced that it’s a completely unrelated statement.

Tina’s interest has perked up when he confessed that he maybe, possibly likes detective Reed for some weird reason. Honestly, it is more like an itch he can’t scratch, mildly infuriating and begging to be dealt with.

“Do you think I should talk to him about it?” He can’t imagine how that conversation would possibly go, and he isn’t sure he’d really like to find out.

“Absolutely not. It would be a terrible idea, trust me on this.”

Her voice drips sincerity and he loses all grounds not to do what she says. His heart sinks to his stomach, though, despite the small surge of relief that came over him right after he’d got his answer.

He is stupid for believing this would lead anywhere good. Utterly foolish for thinking that there is someone for whom he meant something, something other than just becoming friends with the most advanced android in existence.

So he goes on with his days, pretending like this doesn’t faze him. Days turn into weeks, and he still can’t get rid of that weight inside of his chest. Whenever he finds himself in detective Reed’s proximity, the man’s stress levels rise and his pulse elevates. Either he’s afraid of Connor, or… but there is no “or”, there can’t be, no matter how much he wishes for the detective to like him back, it’s never going to happen.

It’s Friday, an unusually slow one, for which he’s thankful. Connor is in low spirits, counting the minutes remaining until he can go home. Three hundred thirty-nine and counting. He looks at detective Reed for the fifth time this morning and when nothing out of the ordinary happens as a result, he decides to go make a coffee for Hank, since his attention is slipping and he caught him closing his eyes for longer than it would be deemed safe was he driving. He isn’t, luckily so, but his list of transgression is lengthy enough as it is.

He stands in front of the coffee machine, hypnotised by the steady flow of liquid that is filling the plastic cup, not paying attention to his surroundings.  

That’s why he doesn’t notice the figure joining him in the break room, why he’s oblivious that someone is creeping behind him like a silent assassin.

“Connor.” His name gets called in that terrifyingly familiar voice, which is a first. A wonderful first.

He turns around, attempting to present himself as casually as he’s able to, to hide his traitorous nervousness.

“I like you.” 

Reed says it like he’s talking about the downpour behind the windows, like it doesn’t concern him at all. And before Connor can react in any way, he’s gone, leaving the android in an utter state of shock. He can’t be sure it really happened, that it wasn’t just his overactive imagination preconstrucitng indulgent scenarios on its own.

Still, he forgets about the coffee and runs back to the office, not being surprised when he finds Reed’s desk empty. Connor catches him outside just as he’s about to unlock his car. The few moments they spend in the rain are enough to soak them, making them look like they went for a swim without taking off their clothes.

 The detective gives him a look that betrays vulnerability and verifies the truth of his statement.

And Connor can’t help himself anymore.

“I like you, too,” he shouts through the onslaught of raindrops, to make sure the other man hears him properly. A boulder has been lifted from where his heart lies, and he feels like crying. But it wouldn’t be fair for him to do that, so he lets the sky do it for him instead.

“Okay, great. What now.” Not the response he expected, but at least Reed doesn’t flee, which is a success on its own.

Even if Connor knew the answer to that, it’s not like he could afford to do anything at this moment. He’s still on the clock, after all.

“You should go now. But call me sometimes after six, if you want. I know you have my number.” To that, the detective nods and hurriedly enters his car. Connor watches as it speeds away and gets swallowed by the drenched city.

-

“It was a bet.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Tina bet me to say those words to you before you would.” Gavin exhales and wishes that his corrupted soul escaped together with the released breath.

“Oh. You won, then.” And Connor sounds so hurt he wants to scream. At himself mostly, for being such a terrible person and causing the broken sound being spilled from Connor’s lips.

He’s glad he can’t see the android right now, that at least he’s spared the opportunity to touch him. But he wants to do just that, more than anything else in the world.

“No, I didn’t. I… don’t want that money, not anymore.” He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines that he’s someone who has the right to say what he’s about to because there is nothing that would stop him from doing so.  

“I meant it, Connor. I do like you, maybe even more than that.”

 It wouldn’t take much to fall in love with him if, he’s painfully aware of that.

“Is this just a part of that challenge?”

“No, of course not. I realise I have no right to ask you to trust me, not after all this shit, so I won’t. Just know that I’m really, truly sorry. For everything. And I know you deserve-“

“Shut up. I meant it too, you know. I still do, even though I fucking mad at you right now. And at Tina.”

“Didn’t know you were allowed to swear. It’s kinda hot coming from you.”

“Don’t push it.”

Yeah, he figures. It’s just that he has a nonexistent impulse control.

“Will.. will you forgive me?” He gives up on concealing his anxiety, the self-loathing caused by his recklessness. His voice has its own say and there is not much he can do about it.

“We’ll see. Depends on how you’ll behave from now on.”

His absolute best. Gavin can’t do anything but bet Connor’s affection on it.

@convinseptember thank you very much for this challenge! I’m glad I was able to participate ♥ 

[scribbles97]

Left Behind - Chapter 33

PART 1 / PART 2

Chapter 22 / Chapter 23 / Chapter 24 / Chapter 25 / Chapter 26 / Chapter 27 / Chapter 28 / Chapter 29/ Chapter 30 / Chapter 31 / Chapter 32

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It wasn’t new to Scott any more, having Hugh Creighton-Ward sat in the infirmary keeping vigil over their mother. He trusted the man, knew that his mother did care deeply about him, and that she would appreciate his company when she did finally wake. 

 Because she was going to wake up. 

 Scott had to smile at how much busier the island had become, Hugh was there basically full time, Penelope flitting in and out between trying to find further leads on Gaat and her socialite lifestyle. Kyrano was much the same, trusting Kayo more with Island security as he focussed on hunting down the brother that had dared to hurt his family. 

He feared for Gaat when Kyrano did find him. The man was quiet in nature, but it hardly made him any less deadly. 

 “How is she?” He asked as he slid the infirmary door closed behind him, the question open to either man in the room. 

 Eli looked up from the holo-tablet he had been studying, “Your mother’s brain activity seems to have settled since we arrived on the island and got her comfortable.”

 “She knows she’s home,” Hugh murmured, glancing up from the bed, “We did the right thing bringing her back.”

 Scott nodded as he took her fingers in his, avoiding the bandages further up her hand. He hadn’t doubted they were doing the right thing bringing her home, none of them had except Uncle Lee and he had vanished off of the face of the earth. 

 “Can she hear us?”

 Eli shook his head, “It’s impossible to say.”

 He knew he would have talked regardless either way, it felt right to at least try and keep her updated even if she couldn’t do much about it. 

 “John and Ridley are going to go up to Five to start the retrofit,” He murmured, perching on the edge of the bed, “I’ll leave it for you to decide if that’s a good idea or not.”

 Across the bed Hugh smiled gently, “I somehow doubt she will mind. As long as you’re all safe.”

 Scott was going to reply, was going to admit that it was his brother’s safety that he worried about most of all, it scared him to think that if one of them got hurt it could be his fault.

 “Sco-ott!” Alan’s sing song voice stopped him before he could speak, “Virgil’s hurt and won’t admit it.”

 “I’m no--”

 “Save your breath, V.” Gordon cut him off, “John showed us your body cam footage.”

 He was standing immediately, all his freshest fears coming to the fore as he watched his four brothers enter the infirmary, Kayo tailing them, arms folded and face like thunder. The glare in her eyes was focused only on one of them though, Virgil still suited up, clearly walking more gingerly than Scott had seen him earlier. 

 “What happened?”

 It wasn’t him that spoke first though, Eli was already stepping forwards, grabbing a medscanner from the counter as he did. 

 “Some stupid stunt is what.” Kayo growled, “The hell were you thinking Virgil?”

 The venom in her voice had Scott frozen in place, not daring to rile her more by getting in the middle of whatever was going on. He had seen Kayo angry before, but never like this, this was different. The intensity was new. 

 “The guy fell from the basket, how else was I meant to save him?”

 “I’m going to put money on by not throwing yourself out of your ship and then using your ship to catch you whilst falling at terminal velocity.” Gordon chipped in. 

 Eli was across the room, medscanner on and attached to Virgil’s baldric. 

 “My suit has padding.” Virgil shrugged, “And the rescue was a success.”

 Eli scoffed as he stepped back, “This thing says you have multiple contusions. You’re getting a full scan before you’re cleared for duty.”

 Scott grinned over the doctor’s head, watching as Virgil visibly deflated with another protest that he was fine. 

 “Bruising does not equal fine.” Scott disagreed, mind racing at exactly what else could have gone wrong.

 “I agree.” Kayo muttered, “You took an unnecessary risk. I’d expect it of Scott but not of you.”

 The comment was obviously meant to sting Virgil, but Scott couldn’t help but wince at the reminder. She had a point too, he probably would have done something equally or more reckless. 

 “Guys,” Hugh murmured softly, glancing between them all, “Let’s see what the full scan says huh?”

 Scott turned back, hand once again finding his mother’s fingers as he realised Hugh’s true point. If she could hear them, it wasn’t the kind of thing she needed to know.

 “The man is walking and talking,” Hugh continued gently, “He might be a bit sore tomorrow, but he’s okay.”

 “I couldn’t let the kid lose his dad.” Virgil murmured, his baritone soft, “I know it was a stupid risk, but I know what it’s like to not…”

 Scott didn’t need him to finish the sentence, they all knew, they all understood. It was what had made them all so determined to do what they did. 

 Turning back to his younger brothers, he shook his head, trying to find the words to say.

 “I didn’t realise how close we were to the ground until I’d grabbed him. By then it was either get caught by Two or get smushed on the grass.”

 Scott felt his stomach lurch and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he was going to lose his lunch or not. It sounded close, the picture in his head painted it as closer than it probably was. 

 “I should have given you the readings,” John sighed, shaking his head, “If I’d have--”

 Virgil straightened, wincing as he did, “No, that’s not your job here John you don’t--”

 “As of twenty minutes ago it is.” Scott countered, looking to his red haired brother, immediately after answers.

 “No.” Virgil turned to Scott, “Don’t start on him this wasn’t… I didn’t know he was actually meant to be doing that. If I had I wouldn’t have cut him off.”

 Scott blanched, his glare dropping to match Kayo’s, “You what?” 

 “He was being a bug in my ear,” Virgil shook his head, “You know what it’s like when dispatch constantly go on like a little…”

 “I know.” Scott sighed, sinking down to perch on Mom’s mattress, more than part of him wishing she could give him all the answers. 

 What would Mom have done? Apart from tear Virgil a new one. Scott had been on the receiving end of those lectures often enough, he knew the routine by now. There was a procedure, a debrief to identify the problems and figure out what to do in similar situations in future. 

 Except Mom always managed to paint it as a dressing down, Scott wasn’t sure he could say quite so much to his brother without sounding like a hypocrite. 

 “Your Mom isn’t going to give you the answers Scott.” 

 He looked up at Aunt Val’s voice as she squeezed in between Gordon and Alan to lean on the table at the foot of the bed.

 “Nobody said we were having a team meeting.”

 Alan glanced around them all at her point, but pursed his lips and stayed silent, shrinking slightly on the spot. Scott could guess that the youngest was only hoping that he wouldn’t get kicked out. 

 “I took the liberty on catching myself up on what actually happened out there.” Val nodded, looking around to Virgil and pointing, “You, young man, screwed up royally.”

 Virgil’s eyes had dropped and his shoulders sagged at the reminder. Scott knew his brother, and knew he wouldn’t be taking it easy on himself. None of them were stupid, all of them knew when to own up to mistakes, Mom and Dad had spent their lives drilling it into them. Aunt Val didn’t need to drive the knife in deeper, not when they’d all already given him a lashing. 

 “But,” She held a finger up as Scott opened his mouth to speak, “Why was that? What were you missing in order to do better?”

 Virgil looked up, eyes darting to Scott and back to their Aunt, “I guess I needed to know how far we had to fall and how long we had before we hit the ground.”

 She nodded, eyes fixed across the room, “John, could you have given him that information?”

 A single nod was all the response he gave. 

 “What information were you giving Virgil instead?”

 John wilted, eyes darting to Virgil as he sighed, “I told him to move faster, that the man had fallen and--”

 “You panicked.” Val cut him off, head tilting, “If you want the job John, you’ve got to focus on the stats and information. You did it at NASA, question is can you do it for your family?”

 “I--” John stumbled, glancing from Virgil to Scott.

 “Of course he can!” Alan stepped forward, “John you can do anything.”

 He caught the way their Aunt smiled at the pair as she nodded, “I don’t doubt that Alan. I don’t doubt that this team can be the best it ever has been, but testing new ways of working whilst on call isn’t going to save lives. Out in the field you have to know where you all stand and what you all do.”

 Scott looked to their Aunt, catching her eye and giving a small nod of thanks, pep talk received loud and clear.

 “I’m not commander of this team,” She shrugged, “But if I was, I’d be looking at figuring out exactly how this is going to work and a week of training so everyone’s up to speed.”

 He nodded quickly, “Yeah, definitely.”

 “Now,” Just like that their fun-loving aunt was back again, eyes dancing as she watched Virgil, “You, medscan. The rest of you, dinner, before your Grandmother decides to cook something.”

 The others all filed out, even Hugh got chased away by their aunt leaving Scott shaking his head as Virgil began to peel off his suit. 

 “Hey, Scott?” Virgil murmured as he set his baldric down on the bed. 

 Scott looked up, eyes drawn away from Mom as Virgil pursed his lips.

 “I’m sorry.” He shrugged, eyes still looking past him, more focussed on their mother, “What I did was stupid and I didn’t think about…”

 Scott could guess the end to that sentence too, something far bigger than could be put into words, the fear and pressure that was on his shoulders alone to keep his baby brothers safe. The last thing he needed was them throwing themselves out of their ships and into the face of death. 

 “I couldn’t fail her though,” Virgil continued after a moment, “I just wanted to make her and Dad proud.”

 Scott sighed, shaking his head as he squeezed his mother’s fingers, “They’ll be proud no matter what V. Don’t forget that.”

 “I won’t.” Virgil cleared his throat, “I’ll be better in future, more careful.”

 Looking across to his brother Scott smirked, “You’d better be, or else you’ll be buying the dye for me when I go prematurely grey.”

 Virgil smiled, tilting his head slightly, “I thought you were already dying it?”

 Scott glared, “Go and get your scan, then I know if I can hit you or not.”

 Both laughed, each shaking their heads as Virgil stepped around the bed and headed for the back of the room where Eli was quietly fiddling with the machine. 

 Swallowing to himself, Scott shook his head and looked to Mom. Her face had a bit more colour to it, the scratches scabbed over and well on the way to healing. 

 “Come on Mom, I’m not sure I can keep this up forever.”

[dumb-hat]

LFRP - Evander Winsome

Evander wakes up every day with a very difficult decision at the forefront of his mind: ”How bored do I want to be?” He’s always waffling between trying to luxuriate in idleness and trying to combat a sense of nearly existential boredom with dangerous adventures and risky schemes. Luckily, hedonism can pull double duty and keep both impulses at bay.

THE BASICS –––

Name: Evander Winsome

Age: 25

Nameday: 12th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

Race: Midlander Hyur

Gender: Male

Alignment: Chaotic Good, though he’s not convinced of the “Good” part.

Marital Status: “Why, are you asking? You could at least buy me a drink first!”

Server: Balmung

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE –––

Hair: Sandy brown

Eyes: Amber

Height: 5′9

Build: Evander has a swimmer’s physique: Long, lean, broad-shouldered and tapering to a narrow waist. Given his lifestyle, he might have trouble maintaining that as he gets older, but for now he’s gifted with a metabolism that lets him get away with precious little intentional maintenance.

Common Accessories:  An old, battered flask full of something fancy; a silver coin, etched with the symbol of Oschon on one side, Nymeia on the other; that stupid hat; a domino mask; a pendant in the shape of a swan; a decoy coin pouch full of rocks; more money than sense

PERSONAL –––

Profession: Evander used to be pretty upfront about not having a job, until he noticed how many questions and hassles that invited. If pressed about it, he’ll say he’s something like a procurer or a finder, that he makes a living locating things for people that are hard to come by or difficult to find. He’ll never refer to himself as an adventurer, but if someone else calls him one, he won’t usually argue.

Hobbies: First and foremost, Evander likes to indulge. He wants rich food and richer drink, and typically, more of it than he can safely handle. Beyond that, he often finds himself wasting as much time as possible, until the boredom finally overwhelms him and he has to throw himself into some harebrained scheme. Though he doesn’t advertise it, he’s an avid reader, an occasional tinker and if you catch him in the right mood, far too willing to engage in stupid wagers for even stupider stakes.

Languages: He only seems to be fluent in Eorzean common, but he loves picking up bits and pieces of other languages wherever he can.

Residence: He has an apartment in the Goblet, but it’s under constant renovations. He’s half-considering moving back to Limsa Lominsa, but every time he seriously considers it, something tells him not to.

Birthplace: Limsa Lominsa

Patron Deity: If you ask him, he’ll tell you Oschon. If you get enough drinks in him, he’ll tell you that he’s always personally felt a stronger connection to Nymeia, but feels like it’s his duty to venerate Oschon. Asking him further just makes him drink further.

RELATIONSHIPS –––

Spouse: “Wow, you’re really focused on this, aren’t you?”

Children: “Nope.”

Parents: “Never knew ‘em.”

Siblings: “I was raised by my brother. Shame he’s not here, you’d have liked him.”

Other Relatives: None that he knows of.

Pets: Evander takes care of Doctor One. It’s not quite clear whether he’s a therapy sheep, or a therapist sheep, but he’s well cared for regardless.

TRAITS –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION –––

Smoking Habit: He doesn’t smoke if left to his own devices, but if you put something in front of him, yeah, he’ll probably smoke it. Drugs: Yes.Maybe not everything, and maybe not all the time, but yes. Alcohol: Drinking plays a prominent role in Evander’s life, for better or worse.

RP HOOKS –––

Miserable Youth:  When he was growing up in Limsa Lominsa, Evander was part of a gang of orphans. Were you a criminal? A fellow orphan? Just someone who spent a lot of time in the bad parts of town? You might recognize him.

Easy Mark:  Whether it’s his easy demeanor or something about his appearance, people often expect Evander to be a gullible rube. While it can be frustrating, he’s found it occasionally useful to be underestimated. Feel free to try and rope him into your cons and schemes!

Old Habits Die Hard:  Evander wants to be a good person, he really does… But that’s hard when you’re this bored. It won’t take much to pull him back to his old life: just the promise of something exciting and the suggestion that the only victims are probably deserving.

I don’t have a drinking problem except when I can’t get a drink: Need a drinking buddy? So does he.

Yeah, Okay: Evander tends to be very agreeable. Catch him in the right mood. and he’ll roll with almost anything, It’s not that he can’t say “no,” so much as it’s just that “yes” is often the more interesting reply.

People Person: At the end of the day, Evander just likes people. He likes meeting people. He likes getting to know people. He likes liking people. Hell, he even likes not liking people. So feel free to pull up a chair and have a chat.

CONTACT INFORMATION  –––

If you see me in game, absolutely feel free to walk up and say hi, or just shoot me a tell. I’m almost always happy to RP, and even if you catch me when I’m not, I like to think of myself as a pretty friendly person. Come say hi! Outside of game, feel free to reach out to me here on tumblr! Admittedly, I don’t really know what I’m doing here yet, so please be patient if I don’t get back to you immediately or if I screw something up.

I have discord and I like to use it both to RP and just to chat, but I’d probably like to get to know you before I give it out, and I’d definitely like our characters to have a chance to meet in game before we RP there.

Finally, I don’t have the most convenient schedule. I’m US-based, central time zone (yaaay midwestern life), but I work the night shift. So you’ll often find me online at weird times. I’ll be on through the night if I have the night off, and I’m usually on early in the mornings, right after I get off work. Sometimes you’ll find me on in the evenings, before work, but that’s pretty iffy, to be honest. But any time you see me, feel free to say hi!

[affable-reprobate]

LFRP - Evander Winsome

Evander wakes up every day with a very difficult decision at the forefront of his mind: ”How bored do I want to be?” He’s always waffling between trying to luxuriate in idleness and trying to combat a sense of nearly existential boredom with dangerous adventures and risky schemes. Luckily, hedonism can pull double duty and keep both impulses at bay.

THE BASICS –––

Name: Evander Winsome

Age: 25

Nameday: 12th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

Race: Midlander Hyur

Gender: Male

Alignment: Chaotic Good, though he’s not convinced of the “Good” part.

Marital Status: “Why, are you asking? You could at least buy me a drink first!” 

Server: Balmung

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE –––

Hair: Sandy brown

Eyes: Amber

Height: 5′9

Build: Evander has a swimmer’s physique: Long, lean, broad-shouldered and tapering to a narrow waist. Given his lifestyle, he might have trouble maintaining that as he gets older, but for now he’s gifted with a metabolism that lets him get away with precious little intentional maintenance. 

Common Accessories:  An old, battered flask full of something fancy; a silver coin, etched with the symbol of Oschon on one side, Nymeia on the other; that stupid hat; a domino mask; a pendant in the shape of a swan; a decoy coin pouch full of rocks; more money than sense

PERSONAL –––

Profession: Evander used to be pretty upfront about not having a job, until he noticed how many questions and hassles that invited. If pressed about it, he’ll say he’s something like a procurer or a finder, that he makes a living locating things for people that are hard to come by or difficult to find. He’ll never refer to himself as an adventurer, but if someone else calls him one, he won’t usually argue. 

Hobbies: First and foremost, Evander likes to indulge. He wants rich food and richer drink, and typically, more of it than he can safely handle. Beyond that, he often finds himself wasting as much time as possible, until the boredom finally overwhelms him and he has to throw himself into some harebrained scheme. Though he doesn’t advertise it, he’s an avid reader, an occasional tinker and if you catch him in the right mood, far too willing to engage in stupid wagers for even stupider stakes.

Languages: He only seems to be fluent in Eorzean common, but he loves picking up bits and pieces of other languages wherever he can. 

Residence: He has an apartment in the Goblet, but it’s under constant renovations. He’s half-considering moving back to Limsa Lominsa, but every time he seriously considers it, something tells him not to.

Birthplace: Limsa Lominsa 

Patron Deity: If you ask him, he’ll tell you Oschon. If you get enough drinks in him, he’ll tell you that he’s always personally felt a stronger connection to Nymeia, but feels like it’s his duty to venerate Oschon. Asking him further just makes him drink further.

RELATIONSHIPS –––

Spouse: “Wow, you’re really focused on this, aren’t you?”

Children: “Nope.”

Parents: “Never knew ‘em.”

Siblings: “I was raised by my brother. Shame he’s not here, you’d have liked him.”

Other Relatives: None that he knows of.

Pets: Evander takes care of Doctor One. It’s not quite clear whether he’s a therapy sheep, or a therapist sheep, but he’s well cared for regardless.

TRAITS –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION –––

Smoking Habit: He doesn’t smoke if left to his own devices, but if you put something in front of him, yeah, he’ll probably smoke it. Drugs: Yes.Maybe not everything, and maybe not all the time, but yes. Alcohol: Drinking plays a prominent role in Evander’s life, for better or worse. 

RP HOOKS –––

Miserable Youth:  When he was growing up in Limsa Lominsa, Evander was part of a gang of orphans. Were you a criminal? A fellow orphan? Just someone who spent a lot of time in the bad parts of town? You might recognize him.

Easy Mark:  Whether it's his easy demeanor or something about his appearance, people often expect Evander to be a gullible rube. While it can be frustrating, he's found it occasionally useful to be underestimated. Feel free to try and rope him into your cons and schemes!

Old Habits Die Hard:  Evander wants to be a good person, he really does... But that's hard when you're this bored. It won't take much to pull him back to his old life: just the promise of something exciting and the suggestion that the only victims are probably deserving.

I don’t have a drinking problem except when I can’t get a drink: Need a drinking buddy? So does he.

Yeah, Okay: Evander tends to be very agreeable. Catch him in the right mood. and he’ll roll with almost anything, It’s not that he can’t say “no,” so much as it’s just that “yes” is often the more interesting reply.

People Person: At the end of the day, Evander just likes people. He likes meeting people. He likes getting to know people. He likes liking people. Hell, he even likes not liking people. So feel free to pull up a chair and have a chat. 

CONTACT INFORMATION  –––

If you see me in game, absolutely feel free to walk up and say hi, or just shoot me a tell. I’m almost always happy to RP, and even if you catch me when I’m not, I like to think of myself as a pretty friendly person. Come say hi! Outside of game, feel free to reach out to me here on tumblr! Admittedly, I don’t really know what I’m doing here yet, so please be patient if I don’t get back to you immediately or if I screw something up.

I have discord and I like to use it both to RP and just to chat, but I’d probably like to get to know you before I give it out, and I’d definitely like our characters to have a chance to meet in game before we RP there. 

Finally, I don’t have the most convenient schedule. I’m US-based, central time zone (yaaay midwestern life), but I work the night shift. So you’ll often find me online at weird times. I’ll be on through the night if I have the night off, and I’m usually on early in the mornings, right after I get off work. Sometimes you’ll find me on in the evenings, before work, but that’s pretty iffy, to be honest. But any time you see me, feel free to say hi!