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rainplaysswtor · 4 years ago

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SWTOR: New Player Combat/Survival Tips

If you're familiar with SWTOR, these are things you probably know backward and forward. Think back, though: when you first downloaded and started playing, were they all so obvious - particularly if you didn't play similar games/MMOs before? Here are ten things I wish I'd known when I started playing SWTOR. If you're a newbie, hopefully they will help you too. 1. Take a picture of your abilities bar.

There are several bugs in various areas that will inadvertently unlock your abilities bar, sending your carefully arranged abilities scattering in all directions. You may accidentally unlock the bar yourself, or forget to lock it again after adjusting something.

Take a photo of your characters' abilty bars. Use the screenshot function in the game. Use CTRL+Print Screen on a PC. Take a photo of the screen with your phone. Whatever works. That way, if a character's abilities go floating, you will have a reference guide to put everything back in its proper place.

2. Kill the healers first.

In a lot of fights, there will be medics or other NPCs who heal their colleagues as you're fighting. Needless to say this can complicate your fights.

Sometimes the medics really will have nameplates that say 'medic.' Other times they won't. You have to learn to pick them out of the crowd. They usually hang toward the back of the mob, as opposed to the other NPCs who will charge at you. They are also often weaker and don't have gold or silver tags. You may spot them fiddling with a scanner device in their hand or casting Force healing toward whoever you're fighting. Look at what your own healer companions do, and learn to recognize it - and then take out the healers first.

3. Learn what your interrupts are.

Every character is given at least one 'interrupt.' This is an ability that, as the name would suggest, can interrupt a cast or an action being taken by an enemy NPC. If you use this skill, you stop the enemy from doing whatever it is trying to do to you.

How do you find out what your interrupt skill is? Click P. Now click on the first entry, and scroll down the list to browse your abilities. Click the second and do the same. If you mouse over each ability, you will get a text box that tells you what they do.

Every class and advanced class has their own interrupt(s), and the icons often have different meanings with different classes - so do read the descriptions.

Once you have found your interrupt, make sure it's on your ability bar. How? Unlock your ability bar with the small padlock on the left. Put your cursor over the skill you want (you can only do this with abilities that are NOT marked as "passive"). Put the skill on the ability bar. Lock it by clicking the padlock again.

I tend to keep my interrupts and stun breakers on the far right side of the bar so I always know where they are immediately.

4. Learn what your stun breakers/cleanses are.

Every character also has at least one 'stun breaker.' This is an ability that will break a hold that an enemy NPC has on you or cleanse a negative effect they've given you. you want to know what this is and have it on your abilities bar ready to go.

How do you find your stun breaker (s)? See above.

5. Learn what your stuns are.

As the name would suggest, these are skills that momentarily stun or incapacitate an enemy so they stop fighting you. If you're having trouble in a fight, stunning them for a second can help you take a breather.

Find them and put them on your ability bar by following the instructions above.

6. Know if your character has heals, and what they are.

Some advanced classes, notably Marauders, really don't have any good ways to heal themselves in battle. Others, like Sage and Mercenaries, have a lot of heals for themselves and others. Find them. Add them to your abilities bar.

For the characters that have a lot of heals, like Sorcerers, Scoundrels and Operatives, I find that it helps to keep them all in one place - in my case, on the left hand abilities side bar.

7. Use your Heroic Moment.

Heroic Moment is a special set of abilities you can call upon. You can get eight of them in total. They are awarded when you finish each class story for the first time. They include an orbital strike, a kick, Force lightning, and more. You will also be slowly healed for the entire two minutes the Heroic Moment is active. The abilities will appear in a special bar above your regular abilities bar - use them as you will.

If you're having trouble in a fight or fighting a boss, do not feel shy about calling on your Heroic Moment. You can only use it once every five minutes. If you have a boss fight coming up, don't feel bad about hanging back for a moment to let it cool down.

8. Repair your gear whenever you can.

Your weapons and other gear get damaged as you fight. As it wears down, it's less effective at both offense and defense, and your fights will become more difficult and longer. Repair it whenever you can. You will know if you need to repair your gear if the "repair all" button is lit up when you are interacting with a vendor. Invest in the Legacy repair perks, which allow you to summon a field repair droid. Buy the Legacy perk which places a repair droid on your ship. As you are out and about, remember just about any vendor can repair your gear, not just the ones marked as medical droids.

8. Make friends with at least one companion.

Your companions can be set to heal, tank or go on the offense (damage). The higher your influence is, the more effective they will be at any role. IMHO it's really worth it to work on getting at least one favored companion to influence level 50. Or as high as you can.

You can raise your companions' influence by giving them gifts they like, getting approval (or even disapproval) from them in conversations and cut scene choices, and sending them on crew skills missions. There are two Legacy perks - Legacy of Altruism and Legacy of Persuasion - that will raise the amount of influence you get from conversations and gifts. IMHO they are worth buying.

8. a. Use Presence stims

Let's say you have a required companion for some content - something that annoyingly happens more and more. Let's say your influence with that companion is low. Buy a Command/Presence stim from the nearest medical droid. They're usually pink. These stims raise your presence level so your companion(s) will temporarily be more effective.

9. Get some datacrons

Datacrons are little magical cubes that you can find here and there on SWTOR's many planets, moons, and even the Fleets. Each datacron will permanently bump up your Mastery, Endurance or Presence stats slightly for all your characters and give you some XP and a lore entry, and those things are always helpful.

If you've read the guides for the datacrons you might be intimidated. It's true that some of them are so hard to get that you may spend hours trying. When I started playing SWTOR I didn't even try to get the datacrons because I was intimidated.

However, some of them are so easy to get that you literally just walk up to them. No jumping, no grouping up, no fancy tricks. Thus even if you do not have the desire to go on an ambitious datacron hunt, do try to get the ones that you can stroll over to or access easily.

10. Change your camera angle.

If you look at videos of SWTOR gameplay you will notice that people play from a variety of angles. Some are close to their characters, some are not. Different fights and area of the game may call for different angles. Play around and figure out what works best for you. Sometimes the right camera angle can help you see something that's making a fight tough and show you how to resolve it.

#rain plays swtor #swtor #new player help

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falling-pages · 4 years ago

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A bird? A bird: Hikaru x Haruhi

in which drunk Hikaru is a mood.

Hikaru Hitachiin x Haruhi Fujioka

Enemies to lovers, non-host club au, aged up au.

TW: Drinking

The disgust lingered in the back of his throat like iron, like a bad pill you swallow but not fast enough. He fumbled the chaser to his liquor, and now he was stuck with the gross aftertaste. The refuge of his office, where he gulped down air like water, could only last so long. He couldn’t even go out in the common area, break room or restroom without having to see her--and for that, for taking away his freedom and social butterfly antics, he hated her.

Every time he saw her cute little snarl and tight little bun and stiff black skirts enraged him, filling his blood with a heat he didn’t know how to deal with. Despite her short height, she held her nose in the air as she worked, the only way she could look down on everyone like she so desperately craved. Always propping up her law degree, well this and actually that, ruining any jokes he made with a deadpan stare. She messed with his head, distracted him from his work, and for that she must go.

As much as he had tried to get her fired--and he had tried--nothing made the boss budge. He tried pulling rank, as the head of the software department; he tried using his parents’ names; nothing worked.

She’s doing a stellar job, the bossman had said. And, she’s our lawyer. If we did fire her for no reason, she would sue us into the ground.

I do have a reason, Hikaru retorted. She annoys me.

It wouldn’t hold up in court, but it seemed good enough for him.

Hikaru inhaled deeply through his nose, grounding himself by gripping his desk. Surrounded by all his trophies and achievements, he still could only think of her. He had to handle this, or else he’d go insane, but he had no idea where to start.

Kaoru. Kaoru would know what to do.

He rose from his chair, taking one last look behind him at the stained glass city through his clear glass window. Despite it only being mid-afternoon, the city was pulsing and alive with color, birds dive-bombing for food, vendors hawking at passersby, tourists mixing and bumping into natives. Tokyo was loud, and crazy, and alive, where he knew he belonged and longed to be. Even nature was straining at its leash for the workday to end, eager to celebrate the Friday night.

He turned back and shut the lights off in his office, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked. His department was rather quiet, having given his employees the afternoon off. If Haruhi knew, she would chide him, but they were so far ahead of schedule that he couldn’t risk them burning out.

Once up the stairs and around the corner, he heard his brother’s voice laughing and chatting and speak of the devil, she’s here.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Karou and Haruhi were surprisingly great friends; he tended to mellow her out, help her unwind from the stick up her ass. He just had that calming effect on people.

As soon as he saw her, Hikaru spun a 180 and turned right back around the corner, and Haruhi would have let him, but Karou intervened.

“Hika! Come over here!” he waved, a bright smile splitting his face. “Haruhi was just telling me how much she liked you!”

Haruhi seethed, switching to a guarded pose as soon as she saw him. “I certainly was not.”

“Oh, right, my bad, she was telling me how much she liked your latest game patch,” Kaoru apologized, but it was the furthest thing from sincere. “Tell us about how you came up with it. Haruhi would love to pick your brain.”

Hikaru smirked, testing the waters as he approached. “Is that true, Fujioka?”

She frowns, pushing her bridge up her glasses up her nose. God, those glasses. She looked so dumb in them, making her eyes seem so wide, so innocent, so...pretty. All he wanted to do was pluck them off her face and laugh as she jumped for them, reaching and whining.

“I mean, it’s original, for sure,” she said. His cheeks warmed at the praise, even as she squirmed. “And it should market well, and you didn’t infringe on anyone’s copyright this time.”

That wasn’t my fault. He took the compliment with a grain of salt, biting back, “Still in the whole get-up, I see. Not much for casual Fridays?”

As amber eyes raked down her body, Haruhi concealed the shiver that ran down her spine. “No, actually, because I didn’t go to law school to wear jeans every day at work.”

“You didn’t go to law school to become a smartass, either, but here we are.”

“OKAY!” Kaoru exclaimed, jumping up between them. “Friday afternoon, yeah? Any big plans for the weekend?”

Both instigators ignored him. “That’s the uniform, you know. We tend to be pretty laid back around here.”

“Lawyers can’t be laid back. Laziness and a laissez-faire attitude is how we get sued.”

Hikaru stretched, rolling his eyes. “Woah, woah, pardon your French.”

Haruhi shook her head, and a few mismanaged strands of hair fell from her bun to brush against her neck. Her pink lips perched in contempt, and she looked so fragile, squinting behind her thick-framed glasses, that he couldn’t help but notice how tight her shirt was, tucked into a pencil skirt that hugged so tastefully over her--

“Hika!” Kaoru suddenly exclaimed. “Honey wants to know if we’re still down for drinks tonight.”

His saving grace. “Oh, my God, yes,” he moaned, salivating already at the thought of tequila burning down his throat. Washing the week away was just what he needed, especially with the way this conversation was going.

And then Kaoru did the unthinkable: With his award-winning smile, he turned to Haruhi and asked, “Would you like to come?”

Hikaru could have strangled him.

But God heard his prayers, and the resident buzzkill shook her head. “Thank you, but sorry. I don’t drink.”

“No surprise there,” Hikaru murmured.

Kaoru definitely heard that, but if Haruhi did, she didn’t react. He shot his twin a look, a be polite etched into the lines of his brow.

“Sad,” Kaoru said. He bent over to pick up his work bag, stuffing his bento within and waving to Haruhi. “Maybe next time? We can go out for boba or something.”

Haruhi smiled--Hikaru didn’t think he had ever seen that before. It did something to him; suddenly, he felt as if his body was shaking, like his throat was full of needles, like he had taken one too many to the head.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she said, and the smile disappeared when she looked at him. She gave them both a quick nod. “Have a great weekend.”

“Thanks.”

“See you Monday!”

Hikaru waited until they were out the door before punching his twin in the arm, hard enough to make him yelp.

“Dude, watch it,” Kaoru snapped, brushing over the mussed fabric of his cardigan sleeve. “It’s cashmere.”

“Stop flirting with her.”

Kaoru stopped in his tracks. A cloudy sky obscured the smirk on his face. “Woah, what’s got you so worked up?”

Hikaru kept stomping towards their subway stop, too lost in his own anger to notice who he had left behind. “‘M not worked up,” he retorted. “But you’re dating Kyoya. You shouldn’t be flirting with a girl.”

Kaoru skipped to catch up, joining him as they descended the stairs. “Kyoya said it’s fine if I flirt, as long as I come home to him every night.”

It took everything in Hikaru to keep him from shoving his brother into the sad, drab gray stone walls. He couldn’t put a finger on the irritation nettling just below his skin, or why the first layer of his heart seemed to simmer whenever he caught them talking to each other. All he could figure out was that it burned, and it made him hate her even more.

When he stayed silent, Kaoru knew he was right. He preened as he dug around for his subway card. “Boba isn’t a date.”

“Of course it is.”

“Then maybe you should ask her out on one.”

By then they were at the platform, waiting for their train. As the whistle signaled its approach, Hikaru very seriously considered pushing Kaoru onto the tracks.

“Tch. Over my dead body.”

“Then you can’t be jealous.”

“I’m not--”

Hikaru threw a punch when the train approached, distracting him and allowing Kaoru to live to see another day. As they hurried on, Hikaru couldn’t get his mind out of the gutter--or off her.

Jealous. Pshhh.

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

“I dunno, senpai, she just….she makes me feel something. Whenever she talks to me it’s like my hands are on fire, and my head hurts, and I feel like….like she’s stabbing me. There’s something going on in my chest, like a, like a--a bird. There’s a bird or a butterfly or something with wings in my stomach, and I don’t like it.”

Hikaru knocked back a shot and signaled for another one, eyes bleary as he tried to find the bartender. There were three of them, or maybe that was just how blurry his vision was, but he didn’t care; as long as one of them saw him and passed him another round, he’d tip them the moon.

Mitsukuni watched his friend wave to no one, the effect of one too many fireballs in the span of just two hours. He hadn’t seen Hikaru this hammered since college--and now, at 27, it just looked more like a cry for help than an occasion to let loose. And without Kaoru, who had already gone home with Kyoya and the rest of their friend group, on babysitting duty, Mitsukuni was the one left to make sure he got into a cab.

“A bird?” he asked, watching as Hikaru swung his head in confirmation.

“A bird.” A bartender came back with another shot, handing it to the redhead and giving Mitsukuni a questioning look. He waved at him, confirming he was the babysitter, and the waiter turned back around.

“Tell me about that.”

Hikaru gripped his cup, tonguing at the rim like a sippy cup. “It’s fluttering around, Honey. It’s--hiccup--like, moving. Whenever I see her or talk to her my heart just begins to pound.”

Mitsukuni bit back a smile. His vodka cran lay forgotten on the bar, but this experience was just too amusing to violate with alcohol. “And what do you think that means?”

“Means she’s gonna kill me.”

“Kill you?” His eyebrows shot up. “Why is that?”

Hikaru slurped the shot, spilling some down his chin, and Mitsukuni was fairly sure it was just plain water. “Because. She’s mean, senpai. She looks at me like she’s studying, like she’s gonna slice me in half. Like...I dunno. Like I mean something to her.”

Mistukuni twisted his wedding ring, inching closer to the discovery. He’s almost there, almost recognizing what the rest of the friend group has known for months. “And if you mean something to her, why does your heart flutter?”

“Acid reflux.”

“No, Hikaru.” He gently swatted the other man’s hand down before he could ask for another drink. “It sounds like the beginnings of love, to me.”

Hikaru gaped, not a thought behind those eyes, until it hit him like a wrecking ball. His fist fell to the bar, thudding, but he felt no pain. Only existential dread and a rocketing realization.

“Oh.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh, fuck.”

If you like what I write, please considering buying a coffee :)

#ouran high school host club #hikaru x haruhi #hikaharu #hikaru hitachiin #haruhi fujioka #enemies to lovers #ohshc

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omgkalyppso · 4 years ago

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The Unforgotten King

A Dimimari drabble that fits into Fae's post canon.

The icy winds pouring down from the frigid Fraldarian mountains were starting to upset the horses with how cold they were. Many roads this far north were impassable for carriages; even the main roads, which in many cases were the only option, were made to constrict the approach of enemies and allies alike, venturing to and from the historically chaotic northern border, and the capital to the south.

They had come first by boat and then followed the trade routes carved out by the fishing villages on the eastern coast.

Marianne held her scarf against the chill, wincing and shaking her head about Dimitri, with his scarf pulled down around his smile as he spoke about his homeland. He'd long ago let his hat fall back around his shoulders, secured by a cord about his neck, and his bound hair was a tangle as a result of the gales. He was going home, and it was as clear in his person as it was in his temperament. His nose and cheeks were pink and frozen, and his beard was gelid with frost, but the Faerghan climate suited him. Marianne even suspected that the temperature might have been harsh on another man's injuries, but Dimitri was only livelier by the mile.

Some might have said he was as a boy gone to the fair, but she knew him too well now, and could see the flit of his eye as he watched the forests. He was fighting his hauntings and his memories of war, and trusting her and their guard with his insecurities. A vast improvement when compared to the dreary state of his heart and mind during the year or two past.

Marianne had worried that despite Dimitri's growth, that returning to Faerghus was going to upset him and his friends, when he and they found him without the crown, without the armour and attire one expected of a king, and with the continued trauma of never having achieved his vengeance. She was overjoyed that it was nothing so simple.

"Do you see how the trees have turned from green to blue here?" Dimitri asked, gesturing to the evergreens, brightening as Marianne nodded. "They say the Goddess took pity on the verdant evergreens of Fodlan after her first ice storm, and blessed all the trees north of Conand River with a piece of her home on the Blue Sea Star, that they might from then on weather the storms."

Marianne held her scarf from her face as she replied, "They're quite beautiful. I hear they house wildlife too? I would have expected we'd only find migratory birds out in these temperatures."

"It would be wonderful to hear an owl at night," Dimitri mused. "You are right, though. There are a variety of creatures in the underbrush."

"As stubborn as any Faerghan," Marianne joked. "Although I suspect, in regards to your tale of a blessing, that similar accounts are told of the seas themselves, rather than only of Faerghan forests. Anything blue."

Dimitri had blushed and laughed awkwardly at Marianne's initial declaration, knowing that it was true that sailors in Faerghus were revered and worried perhaps even that he had misremembered his own short yarn, but then he'd smiled and contributed softly, "It is a color dear to my heart."

"Because of your house banner?" Marianne asked as if to confirm, offering Dimitri no space to argue. "Perhaps a square or kerchief could be sewn in one of your pillows? Or some other secret space? I am sorry that you're only clad as one of my guards."

Dimitri shook his head. "An honor. I am glad to ride beside you, Mari— my lady, and ... maybe with the right materials, I could try to award myself with the gift you suggest. It would be a small and challenging project for a man of my extremely limited skill."

Upon their arrival at the manor in Fraldarius, they were escorted to the entrance hall, where Dimitri embarrassed Rodrigue with a bow and an embrace.

"Dimitri," Rodrigue said softly, as a reprimand and a prayer, testing the name, free of title and ornamentation. "It is good to see you again. If Felix had not seen you himself, I would have assumed a ruse or extortion." He pulled away, a hand still on his once and fallen king's shoulder. "To bury you, would be as burying another son—"

"Rodrigue—" Dimitri said, meaning to interrupt.

"Humor me," he begged. "Hear me. Not only am I proud to host you, in secret, in public, but should you ever need a home in Faerghus, we will never turn you away." Rodrigue swept a tear from his eyes, "Hm. I think you'll find my lack of decorum is your fault, for hugging me first—"

"My sincerest—"

Rodrigue chuckled. "Don't apologize. Just know that I intended to be more reserved, for the sake of Lady Marianne, if not for that of my son."

"Where is Felix?" asked Dimitri, as a door to the entrance hall opened at the top of a far stair, and Felix, Annette, Sylvain and Ingrid rushed out of it.

Although Felix had been to visit him in Margrave Edmund's territory three times, Dimitri could not suppress his joy at his friend's reveal, and after Rodrigue's admission, he could either hope that Felix too thought of him more fondly, or else worry that he needed to apologize to the younger Fraldarius for what he'd inspired in his father. "Felix!"

Dimitri spared a glance for Marianne, who waved him off delicately so that he could rush to his friends at the base of the stair. She shared a far more respectable greeting with Duke Fraldarius.

"Wait—!" Felix started to object, but too late or with too little conviction to keep Dimitri from fitting his arms around him and Ingrid and squeezing them to his chest.

Ingrid laughed happily, and Felix scoffed when Sylvain was greeted with only a joined hand and a clap on the shoulder, though Annette then jumped into Dimitri's arms.

"I half worried it was an exaggeration," Dimitri said softly. "That you all could make it."

"Mercedes and Dedue's boat is expected tomorrow," Sylvain said to assure him.

"Ashe won't be here for a week," Annette lamented as her feet hit the floor, "but I hear that will be long enough to see you?"

"I won't leave before," Dimitri promised. "It would break my heart if his journey from Gaspard was fruitless."

"Did you know that he needed to wait for Linhardt to take up residence in Gaspard?" asked Ingrid. "To deter the Adrestians from overreaching — even now."

"As well as general rebellion," Felix supplied. "Things aren't exactly settled that far west."

"You're helping him?" Dimitri confirmed, and a part of his heart stirred to be able to have this conversation with Felix in person, rather than over a period of days by letter.

"Fhirdiad's helping him," Felix said and then frowned when the others around Dimitri looked at him more directly, and corrected himself. "Yes, I'm helping him."

Fhirdiad had been Felix's home and his charge these past few years. He had taken up the title of Archduke and wielded his role with purpose. He always intended to return to Fraldarius, imagining that there would be an opportunity to suggest another lord be honoured with the capital region, but some days he worried he had sealed his fate. His father, and Sylvain, were less subtle in their matching inquiries about his return, but it seemed all others were slowly becoming accustomed to him sitting in that place of kings in the more temperate south.

"I appreciate it," Dimitri said carefully.

"There'll be plenty of time to worry about the shadow of dissent tomorrow," Sylvain said, looking to change the subject. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh," Dimitri said in surprise, looking down at himself, dressed as a Leicester soldier in wool and armour.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Annette, turning over a side of his cloak to assess its thickness.

Dimitri chuckled. "I'm plenty warm, I—"

"How many layers is that?" Ingrid inquired critically.

"Do the rest of Marianne's escorts have hats like this?" asked Sylvain, propping Dimitri's upon his golden hair.

"Four. No, most have wool lined leather caps."

"Four? Like this? That's not enough," Ingrid worried.

"We'll warm him with drink and games," Sylvain suggested. "Maybe dancing if Annette feels like singing?"

Annette squeaked in protest, but Felix spoke first.

"You're being ridiculous. Dimitri's had a long ride—"

Dimitri's lips tightened to hear Felix call him by name, and he spoke gently, worried he might break this simple spell of friendship when he spoke in favour of Sylvain's suggestions, "I think it would be nice to drink with everyone, but I might like to bathe first. I fear as soon as I loosen my collar my sweat will thaw from where it's frozen upon me."

Three exaggerated tongues of disgust extended in sympathy.

"Do you want to stay inside?" asked Felix. "Wood fires can heat baths in the lower levels."

"Oh, no, lets show Marianne the hot springs," Annette said, as if pleading with Dimitri, though he would have agreed without any provocation.

"I would like that," he agreed, looking at Felix for permission.

With an expression of vague annoyance, Felix nodded, and then he and Dimitri each glanced to where Marianne continued her conversation with Rodrigue.

There was a social element to the hot springs that Marianne feared, but Sylvain made a joke that set her at ease, and challenged her to try the new experience.

Dimitri half expected Felix to return home after dutifully guiding their group to their destination, and thanked him for his continued company and conversation, such as it was, while they sat together in the steaming water. Sylvain was kind and assertive, inspecting Dimitri's right side as he stretched his arm and took advantage of the heat, to massage strong fingers into his shoulder.

Elsewhere, Ingrid and Annette had Marianne giggling as the trio raced from the spring to the snow and back again each time they grew over-red from being boiled together.

Later, they drank and reminisced, and Ingrid pulled Dimitri aside, to reaffirm that she would have been his knight and protector ... and that she still would, if he wanted to pursue his place in Fhirdiad. She saw no reason to defer to the law in Garreg Mach when Faerghus could still have its own king, and if not that, then at least he could be recognized, as the rest of them were, within Fodlan's nobility.

The shock that overtook Dimitri frightened her, when she had only meant to offer him his ancestral home, and the respect many had died to get him.

Sylvain and Felix were in listening distance, and Ingrid had known that; the four of them looked to Marianne, weaving Annette's hair in a five strand braid, while they spoke of seals and bears and other creatures that plagued the harbours.

Felix hissed about how Ingrid would throw them from one war into another, reminding her that Dimitri was hidden away precisely to avoid what she was suggesting: that there would be people willing to die for their rightful king to reclaim his place in Fhirdiad.

Everything would change if Dimitri returned, and they'd lose the trust of the Adrestians, especially Ferdinand, when they had already been caught in another lie.

"You can't come back," Felix said to finish his argument. Aggressive, nervous, cruel.

"Dimitri should be given a choice now that he's recovered," Ingrid said, firm.

"He's recovering," Sylvain insisted.

With a great expression of self control, Dimitri maintained his volume as he declared for his friends' forgotten benefit, "I am right here." He waited for the shame to silence them before he went on. "And things are not ... how I envisioned them — how I wanted them? My mind and upbringing feel ... wasteful, at times; and yet I have been consulted," he sighed, "on strategy and trade, customs and etiquette — by Felix and Marianne both. My input is heard in Faerghus and Leicester, and if I willed it, I am sure that Garreg Mach is within my reach ... even Almyra."

Sylvain raised his tankard in salute as he walked away then, seeing that a fight wasn't about to break out, and that Dimitri had their conversation well in hand. He complimented Annette's hair, and strove to further distract the ladies from the dark turn of that other corner of the room.

"If Faerghus was threatened, I would find my way back here, lance in hand. But I trust the peace that's been building. And the crown, as it was, only invited duplicity and massacres. Faerghus will thrive without me." With one arm he embraced Ingrid, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And Sylvain is right, I have been recovering. I would not risk all of Faerghus' progress, all of your work," his eyes drifted to Felix for a moment, "because I could not accept the truth of what a minister said. I still struggle. I am more comfortable with smaller challenges ... and I would appreciate your reassurance of our friendship as I am."

"Of course, Mitya," Ingrid insisted.

"Thank you."

"I miss you," Ingrid clarified. "I miss... The lives I thought I'd have by now."

"Change is painful," Felix agreed, sharp and forgiving.

"Yours is a life worth celebrating," Dimitri promised. He drank at the same time as his old friends, and then fumbled after, worried about sounding too much like his healers, but still he added, "Take time to recognize success."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Marianne and Annette hollering with laughter, and Dimitri could not even imagine Marianne's disappointment in him if in returning to Fhirdiad he brought a new conflict to her doorstep. He could not imagine his own heartbreak if their peoples ever returned to bloodshed. Sadly, he had imagined his horror with the possibility of witnessing another day like the tragedy, his blue love desecrated, their hypothetical children screaming, and him again, a lone survivor.

He would not speak of this in casual conversation with his friends, though perhaps in private with Marianne at some later time.

He was grateful for his anonymity.

It was late in the night when they made for bed, and Marianne was as drunk as he, and Dimitri worried between her state and their locale that he shouldn't have followed behind the door of her rooms. They had lain together a handful of times, but not for weeks now, yet she pressed him against the door like it was a casual thing, delicate fingers curving over his hips.

They leaned close as if they might kiss, and then she turned her face away from him with a sigh.

"I hope I haven't made a fool of myself. Did you have a good night, Mitya?"

"Beloved," Dimitri beckoned, curving a large hand around the side of her face, his scarred fingers had been mended and shattered an embarrassing number of times in the early use of his Crest. He guided her to look at him, his shining blue eye, deep as the ocean in the dark of the room.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he said, his tone deep and sincere. "The snow, the culture, my friends... I missed them more than I realized. I've had a very good night."

His last sentence was near whispered upon her lips, his thick lower lip tickling against her mouth.

Eyes closed, Marianne hummed her approval, bumping her nose against Dimitri's; narrow and then bulbous, a pretty princely feature that somehow he still maintained despite the violence in his life.

He bent to kiss Marianne, his hands finding her upper arms, her shoulders, her neck, and her twin braids, a gift from Annette that extended nearly to Marianne's waist.

"I should let you sleep," Dimitri whispered, though he felt how Marianne's hands wandered, pressing his shirt against the muscles on his chest and stomach.

Marianne looked from her bed to Dimitri. "Let me sit," she requested, "and I'll untie your hair. Stay with me a while longer." She swayed a little and Dimitri worried he would have to catch her. "Your friends are kind," Marianne confided, "but it felt a little strange as the night wore on, and maybe it's just me, and maybe it's just the building, but I know I can rely on you. Say you'll stay."

"A while longer," Dimitri agreed, drifting a thumb through her bangs as his hand rested on the side of her tightly bound hair again.

He sat between her knees while she pulled the ribbon from his fine hair, carefully carding through it with her fingers around the strap of his eye patch, and then allowing her hands to find the muscles of his neck, thick from stress and training.

One dainty foot made it's way over one of Dimitri's monstrous shoulders, and he brought the opposite one over his other side, leaning back into Marianne's space so her skirt ballooned out around him. They shared a soft laugh.

"Did you have any trouble today?" Marianne asked, gentle in her approach of his occasional visions.

"I thought of Glenn," Dimitri confided, "but I am uncertain if I saw him or imagined him today. There are many memories of him here. And ... at the gates, I ... I saw some violence that was not there, but I could not hear it. I'll write it down tomorrow."

"Tell me about Glenn? There must be a happy memory tucked into what came to mind."

"He would have made you feel welcome," Dimitri insisted with a smile. "He was very personable, and I was always glad to be in his company — though I was always closer with Felix, and so thought, like Felix, that I was in contest with him. Unless my Crest activated, I was always left embarrassed, and regardless of whether my Crest activated, I always lost. Felix was often disappointed in both of us."

Dimitri spoke of friends like family until well after Marianne curled up on her side. He stayed on the floor, and spoke with less frequency, though the memories didn't fade. He could picture Glenn on the opposite side of the room, a macabre spectre of the self from his memories, but it wasn't a hallucination this time, just a horrible imagining, the loss of a friend.

Dimitri kissed Marianne's forehead, and she mumbled that she was still awake, despite sounding as if she were miles away. Still, Dimitri smiled and kissed her lips, just in case, and then left for his own chamber.

#dimimari #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #marianne von edmund #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #long post #my writing #i made this #the fanfiction i mean #i'll probably put this on ao3 later #this is what i was writing to Maybe address things i find attractive about dimitri though it turned into something else entirely

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nbrook29 · 4 years ago

Text

Kiss or Slap part 2

part 1

Robbe stands in front of the mirror, eyes critical as he assesses the forest green shirt, plucking at the collar that’s digging uncomfortably into his neck. It’s not like the shirt is ugly; the problem is that it’s not and that it looks a bit too formal. But then again, Robbe wouldn’t know for sure since he’s never been on a real date before. He’s feeling a bit helpless in that area, to be honest.

He has a half a mind to text the boys and ask for advice, but just as the thought passes his brain he scoffs because it’s just silly; the only thing he would gain from doing that would be merciless teasing for weeks on end. Thanks, but no thanks.

Sighing, he glances in the direction of the hall, debating with himself whether asking for Zoe’s opinion is the right option here, but deep down he knows that otherwise, he’s gonna be standing i front of that mirror agonizing over his appearance for the next twenty minutes if someone doesn’t talk some sense into him.

The way Zoe’s eyes widen in surprise when he enters her room lets him know that yes, he is overdressed.

“Too much?” He scrunches up his face, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“Well, I mean... you look really nice, but, um, maybe go for a t-shirt instead?” Zoe suggests, looking almost apologetic. Robbe hovers in the threshold, still not totally convinced.

“Yeah?”

“You clearly feel uncomfortable in that, plus he’s not taking you to an expensive restaurant or something so I think you should just go for chill,” she pauses, trying to remember something. “That pink t-shirt you have? You look really cute in it! You should wear that.”

“I don’t wanna look cute, Zoe, I wanna look hot,” Robbe blurts out, pink blooming on his cheeks when Zoe coos at him in that annoying way she always does and he immediately covers his face. “Stop.”

She giggles at his embarrassment, patting his arm consolingly as she pretends to give him a once over. “You do look hot, no matter what shirt you’re wearing.”

“Yuck, that sounds weird coming from you.” Robbe fake-gags and gets a smack on his chest. “I’m outta here, thanks.” Before he manages to close the door, Zoe catches his arm and shoots him a comforting smile.

“And calm down. He’s already into you, he won’t care what you’re wearing, Robbe.”

It’s easier said than done. Ever since he woke up, he’s been a giddy, anxious, yet excited mess, butterflies flying rampant in his stomach, fingers drumming absent-mindedly on the nearest surface, and he’s-

Well.

He’s been kinda freaking out.

Somehow (he has no idea how), he managed to keep his cool during that faithful afternoon a week ago when a boy came up to him with a dumb YouTube challenge, he’d even call himself flirty and bold.

He’s not so sure he’ll be able to provide a repeat performance tonight. Not with that particular charming smile directed at him, almost making him whimper because no one should have the right to be that handsome. At the time, the infatuation was laced with disappointment and anger so Robbe guesses that’s what helped him keep his cool.

Only to melt into a pile of goo minutes later when Sander’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment over what popped on his phone screen.

Bambie eyes

Robbe smiles at the memory, trying to keep it small and not look like a psychopath that’s grinning to himself for no reason. It proves to be difficult though, those damn butterflies not easing out when an image of Sander combing his fingers through his longish bleached strands pops into his mind, uninvited, but oh so welcome if Robbe’s being honest.

Back in his bedroom, he fishes out the pink t-shirt from the drawer, sending a thank you to the past Robbe who finally did his laundry last Wednesday. His comfort level is up immediately after he takes the green shirt off and pulls the pink one over his head; the material doesn’t dig in anywhere, and it’s just... him. He doesn’t feel like a clown anymore.

A quick look at his watch and he curses under his breath. If he doesn’t want to be late, he needs to leave in five minutes tops. It’s probably better this way since it means less time for freaking out. Once he sprays a bit of cologne on his clothes and grabs his wallet, he gives himself one last look in the mirror, fingers attempting to tame his curls at least a little, but it proves to be a lost cause. As usual. His hair just has a mind of its own. He doesn’t let himself obsess too much about it though, and as he closes the door behind the flatshare his mind wanders to two weekends ago, the corners of his lips twitching on their own.

“You look like an angel with those curls. I should get you a halo or s’mthing.”

He’s in his personal space all of a sudden and as Sander’s breath grazes his face, Robbe’s own breath stutters, but the freakout has no time to breakthrough on his features because Sander’s eyes swivel up, glazed with alcohol as he tugs gently at one of the brown strands.

“I really like ‘em, you know? They’re so... silky. And pretty.” A lightbulb goes on in his head, his lips widening in a smile. “You’re so pretty.”

Drunken confessions never really seemed particularly sweet to him, but with Sander gazing at him like he hung the moon and the stars, his jaw slightly open as if in wonder, it was difficult for Robbe to feel anything else than fondness, heart fluttering in his chest, so enamoured with the boy with white hair that it would have blushed if it could.

That white hair and green eyes have been the main stars of his dreams ever since.

Okay. That’s not entirely true. There were glimpses before that. After all, Sander had been the first thing he noticed at the Academie. But at the time, he had only been his looks to Robbe, golden skin and intriguing smirks, face scattered with moles and legs for days.

And lips. Lips that looked soft like a rose petal.

He had dreamed about those lips a lot then.

He still can’t believe his brain holds the memory of kissing them with his own.

Again. Peak boldness for him.

And yet, he’s so nervous now, walking fast-paced to the nearest tram stop, praying his chaotic energy won’t make him look like an idiot once he’s faced with Sander again. His only saving grace, the only reason the full on freakout seems to be kept at bay is the reminder that even though Sander is way out of his league, he’s also a bit of a dork, and that honestly makes Robbe feel better.

He’s a hot dork though.

But a dork nonetheless.

Deep down Robbe hopes he’s gonna become his dork.

The city passes behind the window in a whirlwind of colors, creating the perfect background for him to get lost in his thoughts, daydreaming to the sounds of the playlist crafted specifically for him, courtesy of Sander. As Bowie sings about absolute beginners, a notification ping pulls him back from his musings, lips smiling on their own when he sees Sander posted a photo.

And what a photo it is, fuck.

A part of his face, edges smudged with shadows leaving only his eye in focus, dark eyebrow curtained a little with wet bleached strands, everything in black and white aesthetics because Sander rarely does colors, Robbe came to find out.

With eyes completely open

But nervous all the same

He wonders if the lyrics relate to their date or it’s just his wishful thinking.

Quick fingers like the photo and then take a screenshot of his own Spotify to send it to him. Robbe doesn’t have to wait long for the reply, a string of “🤯” blowing up his phone followed by “I’m so proud 🤧”, which again confirms that Sander is, indeed, a dork.

Robbe shoots him a “😂” and scrolls up a bit to check the address again.

Robbe: I watched the video

Robbe: It was cool 😎

Sander: Oh yeah?

Robbe: But somebody cut me out of it 🤔🙄

Sander: I told them to, it was too personal 😌

Robbe: Oh 🙃

Sander: + You're too pretty for our dumb videos 🤷🏼‍♂️

Robbe: 🙈 stop

Sander: You are 🤷🏼‍♂️

Robbe: You're making me blush 🙊

Sander: Well good, you're cute when your cheeks are all pink 😏

Robbe: 🤪

Sander: But you're always cute so 🤷🏼‍♂️

Robbe: Okay stop haha

Sander: 😎

Robbe: Thank you tho 😊

Sander: You're welcome x

Sander: Now go to sleep, I need you to be rested for tomorrow!

Robbe: Tell me where we're going 🥺

Sander: Nope

Robbe: Please 🥺

Sander: Nope 😌

Robbe: How should I know you're not gonna kidnap me or sth 🤔

Sander: Robin! I would never! 😟😟

Robbe: Robin?

Sander: Yeah

Sander: You like it? :)

Robbe: I think so :)

Sander: Good 😌

Sander: Oranje Street, that's all you need to know

Sander: Goodnight Bambi Robin 🦌😏

Robbe: Shdjskahaggfdsk 🙈🙈

Sander: Hehe

Sander: 😚

Robbe: 😊

The Robin part pulls another involuntary grin out of him again, the jitters in his stomach intensifying, but now they’re more anticipatory than nervous. He checks his hair in his selfie camera, running a hand through it to mess it up a little just when his stop comes.

The neighborhood is busy with the Friday rush and he has trouble finding white hair in the crowd from where he’s leaning on the lantern. Swaying awkwardly he keeps looking around, feeling his stress levels raising with each second and telling himself to get a fucking grip.

“Hey, Robin.”

His poor heart just can’t catch a break today.

Jumping a foot above the ground before swiveling around to smack Sander’s chest, the first thing he sees is his toothy grin, face smug at almost giving Robbe a heart attack.

“Asshole.” His grumble is all for show, the corners of his mouth pulling up when Sander presses a soft hello kiss to his cheek.

“Sorry, didn’t wanna scare you.” He could win awards for least sincere apologies ever, but Robbe would lie to himself if he said he didn’t find his playfulness attractive. Also, he’s still trying to get his heartbeat under control that has less to do with actual scare and more with the warm breath grazing his ear and the fanthom feel of lips on his cheek.

“Sure you didn’t.”

Sander chuckles at his deadpan face that lets him know Robbe knows he’s full of shit. Raising his arms in capitulation, he says another sorry before giving him a not so subtle once over, his features softening.

“You look really pretty.”

His voice sounds uncharacteristically shy, Robbe notices, and he keeps biting his lip nervously. This sudden shyness looks exceptionally endearing on him.

Eyeing his t-shirt critically, he cocks his brow at Sander, hand scratching his head in a self-conscious move. “Thank you. It’s nothing special though.”

“Then I guess it’s just you,” Sander replies, shrugging matter-of-factly, and keeps giving him that charming smile that weakens Robbe’s knees.

But he still rolls his eyes on him, snorting as he mutters “smooth” to which Sander pretends to hold his chest dramatically, swearing it’s not a line and that he’s being honest.

“Okay, okay, let’s say I believe you,” Robbe gives in after being defeated with a strong case of puppy eyes. “Now come on, tell me where we’re going.”

The faux-serious expression on Sander’s face melts into a full of promise smirk. “Prepare to be mind blown!”

And then he takes off, firing a wink over his shoulder at Robbe who’s gaping at him, flabbergasted. This mixture of confidence and shyness taking turns emanating from Sander has a peculiar effect on him, making him follow the boy without another question. He’s intrigued, curious to find out what’s underneath this cockiness that Robbe has a feeling is all for show, a cover up, but for what he has no clue.

They fall into an easy conversation on the way to their destination, interrupted with a string of Robbe’s guesses as to what that destination is and Sander shooting him down everytime, his smile getting fonder with each pout directed at him. So far it’s been way less awkward than Robbe feared, familiar almost, safe, melting away the anxious lump in his stomach. The good-natured teasing reminding Robbe of his relationship with Zoe or Milan, only the furtive yet lingering glances they keep shooting at each other when they think the other is not looking the sign of this being more than just a friendly hangout.

“Any plans for the Eenvoud sequel?” They’re crossing the street when Sander asks the question, tongue in cheek, which makes Robbe scowl in disdain. Even though internally he’s pleased Sander went and looked him up online. He was less pleased with the teasing that ensued a few days ago.

Sander: I had no idea

Robbe: ?

Sander: That I'm going on a date with a star

Robbe: 😂 what

Sander: Music star 😏

Sander: Or should I say

Sander: Dance star 🤔

Robbe: Oh fuck

Sander: You're v e r y talented Robbe IJzermans

Robbe: Shut uuuuuup

Sander: 😂

Robbe: You weren't supposed to see that 😭

Sander: Why not? You're so cute in it 😌

Robbe: 🙈

Robbe: Please don't hold it against me

Sander: Never :)

Robbe: You're gonna hold it against me aren’t u

Sander: A bit :D

Robbe: 🥺

Sander: But in a loving way!

Robbe: Guess I have to now go and find blackmail material on your channel 😌

Sander: As if you hadn't already 😏

Omg you're so full of yourself 🙄

Sander: 😛

Robbe: Should I be expecting hoards of fans throwing themselves at you when we're out?

Sander: Haha no

Sander: Maybe a few ;)

Robbe: Great, now I'm even more nervous :(

Sander: Why are you nervous? 🥺

Sander: Are you nervous about our date?

Robbe: Well um

Robbe: A bit?

Sander: I'm nervous too

Sander: But that's because I wanted to go out with you since I saw you on campus the first day

Robbe: I wanted that too

Sander: Oh 😌

Robbe: Yeah :)

“Fuck off,” he barks out a laugh, shoving him without much force once they’re back on the sidewalk. Sander pretends to be offended with the attack, huffing and shaking his head, but then bumps him with his hip all the same, smug when Robbe splutters in indignance in turn.

“Keep this up and I’m gonna rethink my forgiveness.” Robbe’s tone is lofty, even if his eyes scream he’s just teasing, an attempt to rile Sander up.

The boy’s eyes widen comically, hand flying to his chest. “You wouldn’t do that to me, Robin.”

There’s that nickname again, making his breath catch again, and the only response he can manage now is a flirty smile, or at least something that is supposed to look like it.

The afternoon heat subsides on their way to Sander’s mysterious place, but Robbe’s still glad he left that green long-sleeved shirt at home when they slow down and Sander turns to him with an expectant look.

“Carnival?”

“I didn’t remember you giving me your number, but I did remember your preaching about cotton candy being the superior junk food,” Sander rushes with an explanation like he feels his choice needs a proper justification. “And it just so happened that a carnival came to Antwerp this weekend. I thought it was a sign?” He scratches his nose, his stance a little unsure as he awaits Robbe’s reaction.

His eyes grow bigger with each passing second until Robbe beams at him and tells him how much he likes the idea. Sander lets out a loud phew, face relieved when they enter the area. The place is packed, but that’s okay because Robbe loves the vibe and how close Sander keeps walking next to him because of it. The loud music is not the best for talking, but they soon find other things to do, marching from booth to booth, getting drinks and trying out silly games, the teasing competitiveness quickly coming out. Sander really wants to win a plushie for him, but he fails spectacularly, his sulking remedied only by a kiss on his cheek.

Robbe eats his weight in cotton candy, childlike joy on his face while Sander watches amused and keeps calling him cute. The Ferris Wheel was supposed to be their next stop, but when it turns out it's out of service, Sander shoots him a desperate look, apologizing for this lame outcome like it's his fault. But Robbe is having so much fun he barely cares they lost their chance at a kiss on the top, knows the night's still young and they'll get their chance somewhere else.

They try out a few other things, laughing and having a great time together before Sander gets weirdly quiet.

"Do you, um, do you think we can go sit down for a bit? To talk?" Sander keeps avoiding his eyes as he asks, but Robbe doesn't miss the flicker of vulnerability in his face, and he feels his heart jump in his chest. He's a bit taken aback at this gear change, but Sander's clearly bothered with something and he wants to be there for him so he just hums and follows him to the bench outside.

"There's something you need to know."

Robbe steals himself for the worst, muscles tensing as he holds his breath.

“I’m bipolar,” Sander finally blurts out, and Robbe’s heart breaks for the insecurity in his eyes, eyes that are now darting all over his own face, trying to be furtive, yet clearly assessing his reaction. “I just-, I want to be straight with you from the get go cause I feel like this may be going somewhere and I don’t want to lie, or, omit anything.” He pauses, frowning a little as he looks down, and something awfully similar to a broken heart shadows his features. “I don’t ever want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Robbe doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue, but Sander misinterprets the silence.

“It’s, um, it’s okay if you don’t wanna get involved with me now or something, I get it, I’m a lot to handle.” Scratching his head awkwardly, his lips morph into a wistful smile, and Robbe knows he needs to put a stop to these thoughts.

“Hey,” he starts softly, waiting until Sander’s ready to direct his eyes back on him. When he does, he shoots a smile at him of his own, but there’s nothing wistful about it. If it matches what he feels, Robbe’s quite sure it’s close to adoration, actually. “Thank you for telling me.” Sander takes a deep breath, sitting straight as if he’s preparing for a rejection. “My mom has schizophrenia, you know?”

Green eyes blink up at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Robbe lets his smile widen. “And she’s an amazing mom. She just-, struggles sometimes, and there are days that are really shit days. But I can’t imagine her not being here. Because she’s amazing. And I love her. With or without a mental illness.” He presses his thigh against Sander’s, trying to ease his nervousness as he continues. “I still want to give us a shot. Cause, um, I think that, um, well, you’re really hot, I mean cool, I meant cool, well...” Why does he have to be so awkward? He peaks at Sander after his unfortunate little slip and feels his cheeks flush under his small grin.

“You think I’m hot?”

Robbe whines in protest because now Sander’s just being a little shit, torturing him even though he knows exactly what his stammering means.

He hides his face in his hands. “Obviously, since I’m on a date with you, smartass.”

“It’s always nice to hear.” Sander nudges their shoulders and it makes Robbe look up, just in time for a wink. “Especially from a cutie like you.” He holds his gaze, a small smile playing on his lips, and as Robbe gets drowned in his green eyes, distracted, Sander lifts his hand to push a few locks away from his forehead. The brief contact of his fingertips with Robbe’s skin is enough to raise goosebumps on his skin, and he really hopes Sander didn’t notice, that he doesn’t know how gone he is for him already.

He already mourns the lack of contact when Sander pulls away, something akin to shyness on his face now as he’s fiddling with his fingers, and it’s comforting to see he’s not the only one around here being affected.

It’s what gives him the guts to do what he does next, without second-guessing himself again into a spiral. He gets up off the bench and takes Sander’s hand in his own, their fingers tangling right away like it’s their second nature, and nods in the direction of the sidewalk.

“Come on, I’ll show you my favorite spot around here.”

The initial surprise at Robbe’s bold move is quickly replaced with a beaming smile as Sander squeezes his hand gently and gets up too, laughing when Robbe bumps their shoulders teasingly because hey, he’s still a teenage boy and sometimes likes to act like it. Also, he needs to do something to distract himself from the fact that he’s holding Sander’s hand. The fact he can feel a thumb softly grazing his knuckles, almost absent-mindedly, does not help. He'd think their playfulness and cheek kisses would make it all easier for him, and yet here he is.

He’s feeling carefree and drunk on his feelings and this evening and Sander’s smile and when they get close to the spot, Robbe sets his hand free and jogs over to the small ice cream booth, turning around to do a small “taa-daa!” with a big grin. Sander’s laugh at his shenanigans is music to his ears and he loves how the previous frown is now officially gone from his face, features softening instead, eyes twinkling as he calls Robbe a dork, entwining their hands anew the second he’s in his close proximity. Robbe scoots even closer, like an invisible magnet is pulling them together, getting lost in his presence, the smell of his aftershave that carries notes of citrus and something woodsy, masculine, combined with the intoxicating scent of Sander’s leather jacket. The air changes around them, gets charged with tension, Sander’s face changes too, green eyes darting to Robbe’s lips that get dry under attention, and he licks them subconsciously. Just when Tiana Major9’s voice coming from the booth speaker sings when they collide, it’s a beautiful disaster, their faces tilt towards each other, Sander’s hand reaching up as if to cup Robbe’s cheek.

Robbe barely contains his whine when a loud crash from the booth ruins the moment, catching the same frustration on Sander’s face in the corner of his eye. The loaded silence is buzzing in his ears, nerves picking up and he feels awkward again, not sure whether he should just go for it or wait for a better moment.

Sander’s chuckle brings him back from his overthinking, smiles crookedly down at him. “Come on, you gotta tell me your favorite flavor.”

His tone is light like the almost-kiss didn’t happen, but the subtle pink at the high of his cheeks gives him away. It looks like the world’s most exquisite blush, blended perfectly with the shade of his skin that has already been painted light golden with the early summer sun rays. It distracts him for a moment, his gaze stuck as his eyes wander slowly from one mole to another, lingering on his lips that are just as inviting as they were a few seconds ago, tempting Robbe to make that move, but then he feels Sander taking his hand again, this time interlacing their fingers and pulling him out of his trance.

Robbe is a vanilla guy and he can see the joke at the hip of Sander’s tongue, but thankfully, the boy refrains from the comment, the huge eyeroll he receives probably stopping him in his tracks, and he only gnaws on his lip, trying to keep the laughter in. He goes for mango, which yuck. Sander doesn’t appreciate his reaction, and they easily slip in the previous banter, ending with him smearing a bit of the ice cream on Robbe’s cheek, lips sucked in as he giggles quietly at his scandalized face.

“You’re such a fucker!” He immediately gets him back for that and they’re close to full on ice cream fight until Sander yells truce, hands protecting his face from the onslaught of Robbe’s sticky hands. Robbe smiles triumphantly at his capitulation, and goes back to licking away at what’s left of his treat.

“It kinda fits you.”

They’ve been strolling along the river for a while now, the full moon shining its light on the side of Sander’s face, making his hair look icy white.

“What?

“The mango flavor.”

Sander furrows his brows in question, waiting for an explanation. Robbe shrugs a little, eyes tracing the soft ripples on the water as he tries to find the right words.

“Mangos have a hard peel, but have a soft inside.”

“Sooo, you’re saying I’m… mushy?” Sander wrinkles his nose at his words and it’s a truly adorable sight.

“No, I’m saying you can seem, um, intimidating and unapproachable, unattainable.” His eyebrows furrow more with each adjective. “But once you get to the inside, so once someone gets to know you, you’re none of these things,” Robbe pauses, swaying their joined hands a little as he peeks at Sander’s face. “You’re nice and sweet and stuff. Even with your edgy black and white aesthetics,” he adds as the second-thought, grinning when he gets a deadpan look in return. It quickly morphs into something softer, beautifully confirming Robbe’s words.

“Okay, let’s say I’m a mango man. In that case, you’re a cutie pie,” Sander says matter-of-factly, always needing to have the last word, and Robbe can only laugh helplessly, trying not to combust under his intense glance. “Also, my black and white aesthetics are amazing, by the way.”

Robbe doesn't dare to argue with that, and he also agrees with the statement so he admits as much, making Sander very pleased.

They walk way into late hours of the evening, huddling closer together with each passing hour in search of warmth against the coldness of the night, or at least that serves as the main excuse. Sander has him bursting in fits of giggles sharing crazy stories from his shopping assistant job and Robbe finds himself opening up about his videotaping passion, a little shy when knowing about Sander's photography skills, but the boy's eyes shine bright when Robbe mentions it, and he's so attentive and interested in everything he has to say on the topic, of the small details he geeks out about that it makes fuzzy feelings swim rampant in his stomach; it's the kind of attention he's been unknowingly yearning for, and here it is, served on a golden plate and in a package so beautiful it makes him swoon.

And he also walks him home, acting all gentlemanly and offering his jacket when the shivers shake Robbe's body a bit. What a catch.

“So, um,” Sander starts as they reach the front door of Robbe’s apartment building, his face mostly covered in shadows cast by the street lanterns. “Kiss or slap?”

The answer to the question is obvious for both of them, but Robbe can’t stop himself from teasing him a bit, scrunching up his face in a deep thought, eyebrows frowned, making Sander scoff impatiently, which is exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

Still, he needs to push him a bit more. “Hmm, I’m not sure. I should probably go with the slap for that ice cream incident.” Sander plays along, heaving a regretful sigh, before turning those pretty eyes on him, lips in a pout and hands put together in a praying motion.

“A kiss?” Bottom lip juts out and he’s just too cute for words, Robbe dropping his facade immediately, not stopping his beaming smile anymore.

He also can't fucking wait any longer.

“Okay, I gue-”

Soft lips crash into his, not letting him finish the sentence, Robbe’s clumsiness almost making him topple over, but Sander’s there to catch him, sure hands squeezing his hips and sending small shocks through his body. He rests his hand on the back of Sander’s neck, giving in to the need to bury his fingers in that messy blond hair, and he tugs, just a little, but it’s enough for Sander to sigh into his mouth and pull him closer. Robbe loves the reaction, whimpers quietly as he parts his lips just right for Sander’s tongue to slip inside, to tease at the soft skin inside of Robbe’s bottom lip. It’s all over after that, the kiss morphing from something soft and sweet to tongues sliding together, teeth clinking almost painfully in their desperation, the kiss tasting of mango ice cream and cotton candy, and it’s the best Robbe has ever tasted.

It’s better than he imagined, Sander’s hands caressing his sides as he slows down the kiss so sweet and tender, it pulls at every single one of his heartstrings. He can’t believe he has this wonder of a boy in his arms, kissing him so good, making him dizzy.

The kiss stops eventually, but they stay put, as close as before, the tips of their noses grazing against each other, warm breaths and fluttering lashes, fingernails scratching at the skin that’s covered in goosebumps.

“I have to go,” Robbe murmurs between the miniscule space between them, giggling quietly at the immediate frown his words cause.

“Nooooo.” Sander hides his face in his flushed neck, pressing a kiss there too because why not. “I need more kisses.”

And who is Robbe to tell him no, he goes willingly when Sander lifts his chin up for another one, his mouth a little puffy now. He lets him have it, not that it’s any hardship; he’d stay here all night, just lazily sliding their lips together in a never ending dance.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Sander asks when they break apart. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You know, he’s very important to me, has been in my life for years so his opinion kinda matters a lot.”

His words take Robbe aback, but he tries not to show his discomfort, even though Sander must have felt how tense his body went. He doesn’t seem to find it weird, his face still smiling as he keeps talking about this he that’s apparently so important.

“I hope he’ll like you. He’s perfect, you know?” Actually, Robbe does not know and he’s getting kinda annoyed. He’s pretty sure waxing lyrical about someone else on a date is a faux pas. “I mean, except for leaving fur on anything he touches.”

What.

Robbe’s eyes swivel up to look at him, the corners of Sander’s lips twitching and his face a picture perfect of impishness. He groans in protest, smacking his chest because Sander did it on purpose to pull a reaction out of him and it’s not fair, damn it. He crosses his arms which proves difficult to do when there are still hands firmly holding his hips, keeping him close.

Sander rests their forehead together, swaying them a little to put a smile on Robbe’s grumpy face. “He’s a Norwegian Forest breed and his name is Major Tom.”

And this time it’s Robbe who has a hard time to keep his giggle in because oh my god, what a nerd.

“I wonder where that came from,” he ponders in a voice as serious as he can manage, but Sander sees right through him, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“It’s the bestest name ever, I’ll have you know.”

He gets shut up with another kiss, last one, the sweetest out of all of them. Then, Robbe steps out of his embrace, not trusting himself to end this when Sander's hands are touching any part of his body, and tells him a quiet goodnight, backing into the front door with Sander's soft sleep well ringing in his ears and a huge smile threatening to spread on his face.

Sander: May your dreams be filled with cotton candy 🍬🍭

It only takes a minute for his phone to ping.

And maybe some mangos too 🥭

Robbe: Just need one 😘

White-haired mangos 😘

Goodnight ❤️

#wtfock #my fics #sobbe

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honey-makki · 4 years ago

Text

grandma’s blessing

best friend!hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death (family member), oral (fem receiving), fire, probably unsanitary cooking conditions if i’m being honest (it’s soft i swear)

summary: the holidays are your favorite time of year. your best friend hanamaki tries to keep holiday cheer alive despite the loss of a family member.

word count 2.4k

masterlist

Holiday’s are tricky. Decisions on whether the trauma of going home will be a heavier burden to bear than the guilt and loneliness of your city apartment. GOing home was never a pleasant experience. Trips filled with parents nitpicking your seemingly successful life and emotionally battering you about anything and everything they could. The only reprieve would be hugging your grandmother and being able to see her face-to-face during dinner. She understood why you didn’t come home every opportunity and didn’t blame you a bit.

On years when it would be too much to travel, you knew that she would still give you a call. Spending all day on the phone with you while you bounced around the kitchen making much smaller portions of what they would be eating at home. Even the small amounts of silence on the call were comfortable. You could feel her next to you kneading the dough for a pie while you mixed together the fruit base. It felt like home.

The silence that has been living in your apartment the past few months after her passing was suffocating. Weekends spent with friends at their apartment just to get out of somewhere that just seems to reek of death and despair.

You had spent more nights at Makki’s place in the past month than at your own. He was your closest friend, a true confidant, someone skilled at lifting your mood, and the person you’ve been undeniably in love with for years. You accepted the fate of growing old with a horde of cats as long as you can have his silly pink hair shining in the sun when you hung out with friends. It’s ok that you are going to be alone forever as long as you still had a standing laser tag date once a month. The only thing stronger than your feelings of love towards the strawberry blond was fear of losing him.

He has been a pillar of strength during the past few months. Holding your crying body until you fall asleep on his tear-stained and snot covered chest. Setting alarms in your phone to make sure you are eating or going to work instead of sitting in a dissociative state. Ever since you shared a bed with him, he’s been a little more comfortable with physical contact. Walking closer together arms touching when going out or throwing an arm over your shoulder when lounging around the house. You can’t count the number of times you’ve both woken up in various stages of cuddling.

He was the one to bring up spending the holidays together. He had just gone home for a wedding and couldn’t afford another ticket and he knew that you were in a weird spot. “We can stay here and make dinner and bake cookies and watch shitty r-romcoms? Someone has to appreciate Hallmark movies, why not us?” You can hear his voice crack and start to speed up as a blush rises across his face. You see it but don’t really process it, more relieved that for the first time in months, the thought of holidays didn’t make you run to the bathroom and throw up. You smiled and nodded, setting plans for him to come over later in the week.

Makki always liked when you cooked, throwing a western spin on dishes he considered normal. But today, he was flabbergasted, you didn’t let him just sit on the barstool curating music while you did all the work, no, there was too much food to be made for him to laze around. You laid out the recipe for your grandmothers’ mac n’ cheese, explaining what everything meant while you got started on an asian fusion stuffing you figured out a few years back.

You stole glances at him in the middle of stirring, combining and folding everything together. His tongue sticks out between his lips while he deliberately measures out the exact amount of cheese required. In all the time you’ve seen him, you’ve never seen him totally lose his laid back air until now, and you can’t control your laugh. Is he really more serious about measuring out sharp cheddar cheese than a game that would take them to nationals? Or that physics final he actually studied for? Your heart skips a beat when you see his soft, satisfied smile to the dish he just created. All you can picture when he looks over to you is how cute of a child he must have been. Cheeks round encasing his bright smile as his head tilts ever so slightly to the left.

After he slides the last dish into the oven, you both opt for taking the time to clean the kitchen, knowing that you won’t want to do it after dinner. The dishes are washed and dried and while Makki puts away the ones that go on a higher shelf, you return flour and other ingredients to the pantry but before you put them down you call out to him, voice lighter than normal, the one you use when asking a favor.

“Taka, how upset would you be if I said I wanted to cook a little bit more?”

“You get dishes this time around then, but what are we makin’?”

You turn out of the pantry with a bounce in your step before slapping down the flour and newly acquired, chocolate chips and sprinkles. “Cookies! We always made cookies with my grandma and it wouldn’t be the same without them.” Your eyes sparkle at the thought of the sweet treats and equally sweet memories of your childhood. Makki thinks you are breathtaking.

“Let me get the bowls back down and we can probably make mediocre cookies if you have anything you do with it.” He smiles at just how cute the squawk you made from his teasing is, just happy that he gets to be here with you. He doesn’t really hear how you defend your baking skills and complain that just because you forgot flour one time doesn’t mean you are inept at baking.

He never thought he would be the type to settle down and be domestic, it just didn’t seem like something he cared a lot about, but now he he can’t rid his mind of the thought of waking up ten minutes before your alarm just to make you a cup of coffee or throwing your favorite blanket in the drier on days it’s raining so when you get home, you can melt into the soft plush and warm up instantly.The clattering of spices brings him back to the moment, turning to see you picking up the cinnamon and vanilla extract.

“You good, love?” There’s something about how you look when you flustered because of him, that scratches an itch he didn’t know was there. The first time a pet name like this had slipped through his lips he was certain that whatever line the two of you were toeing had been crossed, demolished. Instead you just tucked your hair away and averted your gaze back to whatever shitty movie the two of you were “watching” that night. Now it’s normal, well its not normal, its very much not normal for him to refer to you as love or babe and it's not normal for you to exclusivley call him by his first name. It's decidedly abnormal considering your relationship or lack thereof. But if you aren’t going to question it neither is he.

He helps you up and gather the remaining ingredients for the “famous snickerdoodle cookies” that you swear had won awards. The mixing of the dough is interrupted when he has to grab your wrist to stop you from adding salt instead of sugar. You refuse to look at him because you know he is sporting a huge smirk and raised eyebrows, knowing that he’s right about you not being the best baker. You are reprieved by the oven going off, signaling to remove the earlier and change the temperature.

“Damn, babe, these cookies look so good, especially this one.” You return to Makki who already started to lay out the dough on the baking tray. You see perfectly round blobs squished slightly by a fork for a pattern and then right in front of him you see the cookie he was talking about. You didn't expect to see your 27 year old boyfriend-who-isn’t-your-boyfriend to be holding a cockshaoped cookie. But really, you should have seen it coming from the guy who laughs when either of you fart.

He can hear the clock ticking as you just stare, annoyed. He was concerned for a second, that maybe he shouldn’t have made a lewd joke when making cookies. This is something he used to do with her grandmother, you stupid idiot.. But when he can see the apple of your cheek peeking out from behind your hand, he recognizes that face. The one that positively exudes warmth and happiness with her laughter. The butterflies always buzzing in his stomach go wild when this face comes out. He would do anything to see it for the rest of time.

You don’t know where the courage comes from but you cup his cheek for a kiss, he mirrors your action. It just felt normal, and you honestly didn’t realize that it wasn’t normal until you both pulled back. Your eyes are locked on his, both of you sporting a soft smile until his keeps growing, evolving into a laugh that is borderline offensive in how loud it is.

You don’t know why and you get a little nervous that maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, when you go to hide your face, you feel the heat rising but also a soft powdery coating? And that’s when you realize his hands are still coated in flour from shaping the cookies. Your eyes are rolling while you chuckle but Makki on the other hand is losing his mind, almost in tears from laughing while putting the cookies in the oven. “It’s not that funny, Takahiro! Get me a napkin please.”

“Nah, you look really sweet. Good enough to eat.” You weren’t surprised when he returned to kissing you, nor when he lifted you up by your thighs and plopped you on the counter. The kisses are sweet, lazy and perfect for a second kiss, and a third and a fourth. This is normal. His lips belong on yours. Your hands should be tangled up in his hair while his run over your waist and legs. This is right. There's no rush to deepen the kiss, both of you happy to just indulge in the warmth of the other, but it is inevitable. A soft nip at your bottom lip or an accidental tug of his hair, neither of you know what happened first but you both are staring at each other, panting lightly with a much darker gaze than the original flour induced makeout session.

“You are just as sweet as I thought. Gotta have a taste.” His voice is raspier than you’ve ever heard and you just let him move your body as he pleases. Pull your hips to the edge of the counter. Spread your legs as far apart as they’ll go. Lift your hips when he pulls your shorts and underwear down. Gotta act as sweet as he says I am. He has barely touched you but when he falls to his knees and just stares at your dripping slit that he's imagined for years, your eyes, you are already imagining how good he's going to feel.

You shouldn’t even try to think, his tongue exceeded any expectation or desire you had. Expertly flicking against your throbbing clit as he works two fingers in you. You feel the groan he lets out when he dips his tongue into your hole before you hear it. The vibrations reverberate up your spine and through your body, an all-consuming heat starting in your stomach, threatening to let loose, to run rampant on your body. His fingers, joined by another, return to your clenching hole and search for the spongy spot hidden deep inside. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your head, drowning out every other noise.

“C’mon love, cum on my fingers, on my tongue, I’ve wanted, dreamed about this for years, give it to me.” His slow words juxtaposed the fervent pace of his fingers and it was enough to send you over the edge.

You feel so hot you fear you might pass out, the groan Makki lets out beneath you is the only thing keeping you grounded. You were first concerned that you had hurt him in someway, but when you see his eyes roll back into his head and his tongue trying to lap up every single bit of cum you squirted on his face and thighs, you know it wasn’t due to excruciating pain, rather it's just an obscene reaction to you.

When you push him back, squirming with overstimulation, you hear him scramble and “Shit! Fuck! Fire extinguisher?? WHERE IS YOUR FIRE EXTINGUISHER???” You are still out of it until he starts actually screaming, words still evade you but he follows your line of sight to the red tube hiding in the corner next to the fridge. The smell of smoke is overwhelming all of a sudden. You were in a dreamlike post orgasmic state and suddenly your coughing, eyes hazy.

the cookies, SHIT THE COOKIES!! Smoke is billowing out of the oven and your fire alarm is blaring, but soon the room is filled with a white foam originating from Makki. You never realized that the foam would continue to expand until half of your kitchen was covered in it and you saw a sheepish looking Makki on the other side.

“Fires out”. Again, he starts to laugh at you, and this time you join him. Today has turned out entirely different than you expected. It wasn’t a sad day, it was filled with laughter, romance, an ill timed fire and Makki. All in all, a successful holiday, despite the fact everything you cooked was coated in foam. He’d seen you staring at the food and already took his phone out to order food, “Indian or ramen?”

Yeah, you think you’re grandma would be happy seeing you like this. Happy Holidays.

a/n: i don’t really know what this is but the image of makki being a disaster in the kitchen came to me one day and here we are. make sure you read the other fics in the collab

matsukawa’s funeral home winter collab

a/n 2.0: also a/o to @iwaasfairy for making that makki image that i used in my header. i love her more than i love him which say a lot

#hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki drabble #hanamaki x y/n #hanamaki smut #haikyuu smut #makki smut #makki x reader #makki x you #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki.coffee #kristen.writes #oral.espresso

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lovesanmotion · 4 years ago

Text

Still Here - Wooyoung

Summary: But why did you have to go?

A/N: Hello! This is an advance gift fic from me to reaching 400 followers! And yes, this is the mystery fic I was talking about and at the same time the discussion I had with you a few weeks ago. The gif is also not mine, credits goes out to the rightful owner.

Two years after success found the boy group, ATEEZ, KQ decided to debut a girl group for a change. Originally, they wanted the girl group to debut in Seven Seasons - a subsidiary company of KQ - debut a seven member girl group called 7S or short for Seven Seasons. However, the plans fell apart and the casting and recruiting was given to KQ, what kept intact was to debut a seven member girl group, but with a different name.

KQ decided to name this girl group as Girls’ Paradise. It was an ambitious project brought to you by KQ, having used half a million just to bring in seven individuals into the company and laying down each girl a million won to train. The company’s best trainee? You.

You were a breath of fresh air to the company, a trainee they have never seen before. When the choreographers teach you all of you the basics of dance steps, you were quick to pick all of it up. The vocal and rap trainers were impressed at how clear your vocals and good your pronounciations are. Quick to master the english language, be able to compose lyrics overnight and quick to adapt to the hectic schedule given by the company. The company started to call you “the female hongjoong”. But you brushed that nickname of, saying that they are just too humble to give you that nickname.

You were excited to hear the news that Girls’ Paradise is finally set to debut. What shocked you more was that it was your senior idols ATEEZ Hongjoong and Mingi who majority produced the songs for your mini album. Hearing this news, you couldn’t help but thank them everytime you get the chance to meet them inside the company building. And on one particular day, Hongjoong and Mingi invited you to go on a dinner with them. Ecstatic to get close to your senior idols, you agreed. What you didn’t expect is to meet the whole members of ATEEZ at a restaurant their road manager pulled up at.

You were so shy to join in dinner with eight males in a private room at the second floor of the restaurant, but the boys made you feel welcome. It was safe to say that you had gotten close with Seonghwa, San and Mingi. What the fans were saying were true, Seonghwa is very motherfly and San and Mingi were childish yet mature. Jongho cracked a few jokes with you that helped you open to him, and it did. And beside you, Wooyoung has this look on your face that you couldn’t explain. But that was only the beginning.

You began to see Wooyoung around more often unlike before. If you say its because you both are from the same company, it doesn’t guarantee that you would always run into each other. You tried to brush it off at first, but then the unthinkable happened. Tensions arose between the two one night in the practice room, and from that night on, it continued to happen.

"Ms Y/N is ready for her makeup” You smiled upon hearing that voice, you opened your eyes and found Wooyoung standing behind you in the changing room. He picked up the hairbrush and gently brushed your hair gently.

“Relationship aside, you look pretty without make up on” He smiles at you through the mirror, you felt your inside tingling, Woo made sure not to brush your hair too hard.

“And I like your hair longer. It suits you.” You smiled, turning your head up to smile at him. Placing a hand under your chin before he leans down to capture your lips with his. Pushing his tongue inside your mouth while his other hand gripped on your waist. Tasting the wine being offered at the awards show from his mouth, a cold hand wrapping around your neck, shivering at the contact. As you two slightly pull away, eyes looking at each other intensely. There is a long pause, hearts pounding inside your chests were the only sounds visible to hear.

“My stylist doesn’t come back in fifteen minutes, if you’re wondering.” Biting your lower lip flirtatiously before standing up and teasingly removing the white robe around you. Wooyoung’s eyes darted around your body that he loves. The sight of your pink panties already has his cock erected, wanting to come out of his pants.

A smirk paints his lips he removes the robe and hoists you up the table, back leaning the vanity mirror. Brushing your hair back before he attaches his lips once more with yours, a hand holding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss while his other free hand wanders on your leg, hoisting it up and wrapping it around his waist.

That’s what you and Wooyoung are - nothing more than just friends with benefits. And it seemed that it was the best relationship for the two of you, neither wanting to be committed with someone and only to be wallet and emotionally drained after a few months or a few years. Apart from that, you both love performing on stage, no other person holding you back from what you both love doing.

The invigorating hands that touches between your legs sends a twinge of pleasure through you as he traces a hand over the fabric of your underwear. “Look at you, so beautiful and addicting” he whispers, taking in your view with his eyes.

“But you’ve always been beautiful - covered or bared” with that, Wooyoung attaches his lips on the crook of your neck that sends out a soft moan from your lips, his hand slipping inside the fabric of your underwear to palm your dampened pussy. You quickly arched your back and rubbed his erected clothed cock with your free hand, the harder you rub your hand through his clothed cock, the faster his lips slide up and down your neck. His lips were then fastened at the nape of your neck, not letting go as he gave a gentle bite on your neck, sending chills all over your body.

“We have to be quick, Y/N” he pauses “and I think you’re ready for me” he unbuckles his pants along with his boxers down, letting them slide down to his ankles and before grabbing your legs, teasingly poking the tip of his cock to your tight entrance.

“Stop teasing” you whined, slightly swinging your legs to which Wooyoung laughs softly, amused by your reaction.

“Even if your stylist walks in on us, do you think I would stop fucking you here? Not a chance. Let’s get caught in the act together” and with that, he plunges his cock inside your entrance. No matter how many times you and Woo have done it, it still surprises you how seeing him alone is already enough to make you this wet for him.

Wooyoung begins to pump fast and furiously, making his cock very happy to be inside you again and your pussy wanting to melt. Gently caressing your outer thighs and up to your hips, hearing his low moans in your ear,

“Faster...please...” you begged. Woo increased his pace, feeling his dick move and harden inside you had you a moaning mess. Your pussy pulsating and contracting all around his throbbing cock when all of a sudden, the door slightly opens and suddenly closes down, but the two of you were lost in the moment of pleasure.

“I’m gonna cum...” you mewled. Wooyoung bit down on your shoulder and you came over and over, rocking his hips against his.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum” Wooyoung said, sweat beading his brow. He gritted his teeth as he slammed into you hard.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” you shrieked as hot cum shots all over your pussy walls. Wooyoung came inside you, filling your pussy with his cum. As the two of you catched your breaths, the room smelling of sex and rose water.

“I love you” you confessed out of nowhere. You knew it was risky saying those three words to him, knowing too well what you two just are. But you were hoping that, despite this kind of relationship, he would, at least, just feel a small percentage of love for you.

“Y/N....you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wooyoung said as he slowly pulls away from the hug. You suddenly felt a wash of shame run over you. Maybe it was best that you didn’t confess. You thought he would at least feel something for you, but apparently not.

Weeks turned into months, you and Wooyoung have not spoken or seen each other. It was awkward. Whenever you knew ATEEZ was in the building, you’d skip entering the company building and call in sick instead. Promising your managers and members that you would double your efforts in practising the following day. But there were days wherein you couldn’t help but cross paths together. For example, music show promotions. Whenever Girls’ Paradise is standing besides ATEEZ, you would always stand farthest, just to be able to be away from him. You hated seeing and mentioning his name. It tasted sour now in your mouth.

“Congratulations! The company has confirmed sixteen cities for your first European tour! After the European tour, you will be given a few days off before going to your North American tour which the company has also confirmed eight cities!”

The news of the tour sounded pleasing in your ears. You were happy to see the growth of your girl group right before your eyes. You couldn’t wait to leave the country next week.

Wooyoung hated to admit it, but he was scared of falling in love. He didn’t know if it was also right to say “i love you too” to someone whom he harbored feelings for but was scared to admit of falling. He hated it how he felt like he was at fault. But he was determined to talk to you.

He was about to march into the dance room you and your group often used to practice, but he was met with an empty and clean room.

“Uh....what are you doing?” Hongjoong asks, eyeing Wooyoung while he held a cup of coffee he picked up from the 7/11 downstairs.

“Are they not here?” He asks, tilting his head before slowly closing the door.

“Oh you didn’t heard?” Hongjoong sighs before taking a sip on his hot americano. “They’re on a tour and they’d be home two months from now.” Hongjoong takes another sip before entering the other dance room that ATEEZ often occupies, leaving Wooyoung standing alone outside.

#ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez oneshot #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x y/n #kpop imagines #kpop smut #kpop angst #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop oneshots

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sjw-publishings · 4 years ago

Text

Retrospective Division

Josh and Henry walked hand in hand down the hallway, directly to the office in which they resided. The young men were in charge of small LGBTQ business in the building...only to be kicked out due to being too ‘liberal’, making room for tenants who were closer to his ‘Retrospective Vision’.

So much so, that the taller one had to voice it out.

“I’m...I’m going to send an email to the higher ups!” Josh spoke.

Josh Ming was the older of the two, only slightly older though at the age of 23. Fresh out of college and directly ready to start business with his newlywed husband.

Dressed in a pair of of white loafers with matching pair of beige khaki shorts, he wore a light blue buttoned polo underneath his pink checkered sweater vest with rainbow flag pin over his right breast...

Was that the final straw for the clearly conservative owner to kick them out after just a few months? If it was...

He scratched the back of his head, left palm messing with his wavy raven locks before briefly adjusting his rectangular half-frame specs. Something was real off...and he really wanted to get to the bottom of it.

This sudden rising passion of energy within him was also different, tightening his grip on his boyfriend, he would usually remain quiet and reserved, ignoring the such attitude towards them...but being kicked out? That really ticked him off.

“Honey, I like that attitude!”

Meanwhile, Henry was quite astonished by drive his husband was showing. Sure they both took turns in the bed and was Jeffery incredible when he was top, but he had never seen this side of him until today...

The 22 year old caucasian smiled, loving every bit of the drive from the other male, considering he was usually the one taking charge vocally.

Placing his right hand on his waist, swishing his hips in those pink bermudas while strutting in his own pair of slip-on, navy blue formal shoes that he recently got.

They had the right to dress liberally and freely, he would never sass directly-he and his boyfriend’s clothing says it all! With a matching light blue buttoned down-minus the sweater and throw in a white cardigan for variety.

Swooshing his blond curly locks, his sky blue eyes narrowed in admiration towards his partner, freckles rising with his cheekbones.

“Heh...must’ve gotten it from you~”

“Awww.”

In a matter of seconds, they reached the entrance to their office. They were told to pack up and go in the middle of the night, and with the full moon shining directly at them from a open window behind.

They immediately released the grip from the other as they walked in without question.

Not even realising that they won’t be holding the other this way when they come out.

————————————————————

As they entered, the room stayed mostly the same for now, with the only major difference, is that their desks are apart, parallel to one another.

Just like their formerly interlocked hands.

“Of course! the owner doesn’t support us working side by side directly!”

Josh noted, rolling his eyes as his tone got snappy. Folding his arms, not realising his lisp fading slightly with the remark.

“No worries hun, that just means I’d get a better look at you~”

He turned to his boyfriend, who looked lovingly at him at the side. At Eye level, re-assuring the other that everything will be alright. He blinked, did Henry just get taller all of a sudden? He definitely did not notice it earlier...must be the new shoes he was wearing.

“Right back at ya love~”

“Ooooh now there’s that attitude I love!”

PINCH!

“Oof!”

With that, Henry gave a tight pinch to his behind, smirking as he walked to his desk. Of course, it was far harder than usual, that tease. His husband liked to do that especially when he was happy, which was great when he was happy despite those remarks from the owner!

But something about the pinch...really set him off.

Playing it off, not noticing his larger steps as he strode to his side of the room. Legs stretching wide apart, feet grounded to the floor as he stood like a 1930s cartoon, except with more realistic proportions.

PLONK!

Landing butt first on his chair, he winced once again, he sat with more force than intended. Probably due to the aggression towards the owner, but wasn’t there supposed to be a cushion he and his husband brought from home on his-

Sleek Office chair, the modern kind without the comfort. Just pure professionalism like the way the owner demanded. Did that arse remove his-

Meanwhile Henry from across looked comfortable in his...’Chairman’s chair’. Like he was a higher up overseeing him, with a smug grin, but it was just cause he found him cute right?

“Sit up straight hun...wouldn’t want the owner to think otherwise.”

“Got it...! Thanks for reminding me!”

“No problem love...”

He responded quickly...though kind of irritated, he knew it was the owner’s policy too, about a ‘straight back leads a straight life’. He often made visits to everyone of his tenants or so he claims...especially them.

How ridiculous of a ‘motivational message’, though Jeff did like to keep his back straight for proper posture and presentation, not cause he was...

Anyways...what is with the fact that his fiancé is on a grand chair while he was stuck lookin’ like a subordinate. Sure Henry was slightly older...and taller than him, but the difference between them was huge.

He shouldn’t let that get to him...but its kind of pissing him off, specially with that smug grin on the older male’s face.

Mustering up all his professionalism, he spoke to the other male about their situation, holding in as much anger as he could.

“Say...how else do you think the owner expects us to behave?”

“Don’t know, probably...like him...”

Older days...yeah that sounds about right. Blinking, Josh watched as numerous LGBTQ posters and photos he framed up on his side taken down in an instant, replaced with framed photographs, mainly black and white of men and women in retro-esque attire.

But the main thing were the fact was there were only happy heterosexual couples in the wedding pictures that he took...where wuz’ all the gay ones huh?

Meanwhile, Henry’s side had the pictures reshaped into various expensive degrees and award certificates apparently. Josh wasn’t sure when his senior was such a stick in the arse and show off his life, but apparently its the reality they live in now.

Mixed with the wood panelling, their office walls split into two. With his fiancé’s side having a more polished grey shine to it...and his having wallpaper of grey rocks right behind him.

He was pissed, all his hard work gone to waste when the boss removed all his...stuff, doing renovations...Sure he kinda liked the new decor, always felt sturdy where he wuz at. But still it was his stuff!

Though then again, he also did help take some of those conference photos for the boss when he had met with several of his big league associates, a proof of skill he could use when advertising his talent to the boomers...

Whatevah! He was still goin’ to be typin’!

As he had started up his trendy PearPC, he blinked as the load in bar showed up. Tapping his fingers impatiently, not realising the shiny light weight frames becoming heavier and grounded as the quality of the pixels dropped tremendously with every second.

“Something is not right! And I’m gettin’ to the bottom of dis!”

“Whatever you say, hun...”

Rolling his eyes at his lover’s statement, the older male was not as passionate as he was when it comes to delivering the truth. Not fighting as hard as he was, whateva’!

He was doin’ it HIMSELF!

Rubbing his palms, as his ‘doorframe’ retro PC lit up, being an older model did not hinder his goal as he opened up the word processor and began typing away!

He was always a fast typer, especially when his grandpapy trained him when he was younger. Though that did not sound right? They didn’t have computers back in the day and age!

As Josh blinked, the digital letters seemed almost printed out the more he starred into them. As he continued typing on his keyboard, he didn’t notice the swiftness of his fingers as he crunched on the keys effortlessly, neither did he mind the metallic clicking sound with every syllable.

Precisely, rubbing his eyes, the glossy flow shifted into simple paper. Grinning to himself, retro it is! Right in front of em’, a policy that the boss really stood firm in his heart.

“Not that I mind, Chief.”

Muttering to himself, Joshon was raised by a highly conservative grandfather who drilled him in the importance of staying true to their values.

Not noticing with that remark, his rainbow flag pin stretched like taffy around his neck, solidifying into a black monotone neck tie as the collar of his Polo tee stiffened.

And folded down.

Sweater vest splitting into two, the sleeves merging with the polo as the vest thinned out. A long row of buttons trailed down the merged too, colour bleaching white into a straight, iron-pressed dress shirt.

Even though he was sorta queer, there was no way he’ll be outrightly pissing his grand-papy off! Folding his arms determinedly, as the pinkness of the remaining vest fabric faded to black, looping into straps with a big criss-cross over on his back.

SNAP! Wearing his suspenders with grey pride.

It didn’t really matter to him in the face of a scoop. Especially when it comes to whatever the owner of the establishment is doing, he was determined to write it like the reporter he was.

You can say, it was going to be the scoop of the century!

“Did you say something?”

Gohen got up from his throne, dressed in a thick black suit, with faint white checkered patterns all over, with the typical office dress shirt and matching tie he always wore.

Sauntering over to the reporter’s side of the room, possessively. The hispanic-caucasian stared at the pan-asian male...though its less so love and more so-

“What are you doing?”

But oh man, does he piss Joshon off.

Yeah they’ve been engaged, but the way he breathes down his neck makes the reporter sick. Arms toughening with strong toned biceps, as a healthy dusting of hair lined his forearms.

The roughness the two exhibited even in bed was less out of love and more so...pent up frustration, especially lately. No matter how the conversation went, its just conflict after conflict.

“I’m just typing away the new article, lovah!”

His lover’s been clinging onto em’ again. Examinin him like a piece of meat, even though they just get engaged recently...though it was more so the lawyer’s idea rather than Joshon’s.

Tied down to another guy like that, even that was too gay for his liking.

“Why don’tcha just-TALK TO ME?”

“I AM TALKIN’ TO YA!”

He was so ANGRY with his lover, getting up, hands pressing against the other...and with a-

PUSH!

The impact left a huge blow to their relationship.

Flinging both men back to their side of the room, onto each of their seats. Rings morphing into simple tie pins as they stuck onto their new ties. Nothing special or out of the ordinary, and definitely nothing to personal with the other male.

They just anger each other.

First came the realisation of the older male, who tugged relentlessly below, surging through age and maturity as his weathered face took on a caramel tan.

Hair styling into natural curls, shortening into a dark brown, embracing his new identity of a conservative single man in his fifties. Letting loose any notion of being attracted to anyone but his future-

“Hermosa!”

The hispanic BOOM-ER’ed his manhood, letting loose all his reservations and kindness as a dark glare rested on the male. Deep eye bags alongside a faint beard.

Dusting himself, the middle aged man made sure he appeared presentable, despite still in a hazy afterglow.

Shaking himself out of his trance, the older man glared at the younger male.

“Get out my office.”

Walls fell down between the two, a complete division of interests as the attorney faded from his sight.

“Well who needs ya?”

Still thirsting for release, his face contorted at any thought of attraction to the older man. What wuz he? Queer? That kind of shit gets ya kicked outta office!

Which was why he liked it ere’!

“PANSY!”

A young handsome guy free to be chasing the ladies! Hair slicked to the side, as his skin embraced that peachy caucasian tan of his new ethnicity.

“QUEER!”

The tense fights he had with his competitor and rival next door. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. Grinning arrogantly at the triumphs he had over the man, especially when he told Gomez about the queer vibe he got from those chicks.

And both ladies turned about to be lesbians!

Imagine how much the owner of the establishment would be proud of him, how his grandpapy would be proud of him.

His arrogant sneer framed by his squared jaw, licking his lips as his signature five o clock shadow lined his masculinity. Narrowing his much larger eyes, blowing a large-

“GOT DA SCOOP RIGHT ERE!”

And so the incredibly heterosexual reporter proclaimed, kicking back as his hard member came and came like the single retro business owner he was.

Slumping back in the afterglow, immersing in his heterosexuality like he always did past midnight as he-

Knock!

Jolted up, zipped his trousers, and crossed his arms as his boomer rival barged in.

“Matt! Will ya keep it down?!”

“Shaddup Diego! As if you and your crusty balls didn’t jerk off for the third time this evenin’!”

Of course, they initiated their famous, tense, stare down at the other. The caucasian reporter remaining in his position as the hispanic lawyer made his way to the seat in front of him.

The two of them fought ever since they met. With Gomez being being really disapproving towards Johnson as a result.

The Chief’s colleague vouched for their grandson Johnson to be a part of the many businesses in the building, claiming he will be a value asset to his ‘conservative vision’.

Of course, Reporter Johnson was a prodigy. Being raised in the art of the press by his Grand-pappy, the ins and outs on the ‘black N white days’ without too much influence from the modern world.

It was no surprise that the chief, the owner of dis ere’ place, gave him an office of his own.

Even bypassing Attorney Gomez’s approval, who, besides being the prime defence lawyer against any allegations towards the property owner, was also the one who made the deciding vote on whether someone was able to rent an office in the Chief’s estate.

Of course, the idea of a man, over a decade younger, having this much influence in the building had ticked the hispanic boomer to his very core. And ever since then, it became a non-stop cycle of one upping the other.

“Listen Matty, you know how it goes as much as I do. We’re men and still single, we need women.”

Though despite their numerous arguments, over the years, they may never admit it...but when it comes to getting partners, they were both unfortunate enough to remain single this long.

In their late thirties and fifties respectively, flirting with ladies and getting rejected like some 50s comedy routine.

“Never understood how did some guys get married immediately after college...bunch of queers.”

“Agreed, especially for a hot rich lawyer such as myself, being single is definitely out of the equation.”

“Hey! Hey! You think the ladies care about an old man in a suit when a hot stud like me is around?”

“Not when you are far from tactical with your words! Besides, you should see how the women look at me when I walk down the hallway.”

“Oh yeah? Well Chicks can’t resist spankin’ my arse with every step!”

And so the argument continues, like almost every time they met. Like a married couple, except they were straight and talking about women women women.

And for some odd reason, because of this fact, despite their glaring differences in almost about everything. They knew they had each other’s back when it comes to this.

“Anyways...the owner said he’s found two ladies working in an office below us...and that they are not only interested in us...but-”

Taking out the photographs from the brown folder, in them were two gorgeous women that these straight men could not peel their eyes off. Like an alluring magnet of compatibility, that kind that they were unable to resist.

The left one definitely screamed the ‘mamacita’ that Diego desired. As he placed his matured palm over that photograph, red tints could be seen over his cheeks as he subconsciously licked his lips.

Of course, Matt’s hard on throbbed at the sight of the right chick. Like a lesbian who turned straight in front of his lens, the kind of Gal he would spend his life with, and for some reason he knew she would too.

“You in?”

Lawyer Diego Gomez folded his arms, but barely hid the incredible pheromones of attraction towards his lady. Sandwiching his manhood and rubbing it, desperately needing her immediately, closing his single case once and for all.

Reporter Matt Johnson mirrored the older male, and not wanting to admit it, is thirsting for that retro babe like the scoop of the century. He really desired for her...but he ain’t gonna show weakness in front of his rival! He was taking charge, hungry eyes blending in with a determined expression.

“You be my wingman this time Gomez, and you’ve got a deal.”

#retrospective division #gay to straight #g2s #mental change #personality change #lib to cons #racial change #retro tf

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clnriswood · 4 years ago

Photo

DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER

Something Different | Part Three

a/n: Hope you’re all prepared for some red hot angst, hehe.

tag list: @call-me-banana-bandit @pillowjj @truly-insatiable @natsiboo @justmesadgirl @boredoffmebox @jjjmaybank @jejegu @ superpowereddonut @irritantive @salemlilly @marshmelloyellow02 @puffymints @is-it-really-a-secret @i-mmunity @sebastiansass @hisoldlover @kyobien

Things were awfully awkward the next day. The whole morning, it seemed, Cedric was dodging the girl left and right. At breakfast he was quiet as he picked absentmindedly at his scrambled eggs, and the whole walk to Potions Class he was silent, too. To be fair, the girl wasn’t doing much better. Through their words, or lack thereof, they seemed to come to the mutual mental agreement to not acknowledge what had happened the night before. After all, it wasn’t as if either could even find the words to say about it. And so, as they entered Professor Slughorn's dark little classroom, accompanied by only a select few Hufflepuff and Slytherin qualifying N.E.W.T. students, the only sound to be heard was the pattering of footsteps and bubbling of liquids within the set of large black pots before them. One potion in particular, front and center, seemed to beckon the girl with its enrapturing scent. She swore, almost, that the students around her seemed to have the same thing on their minds as they huddled close at the front of the cavern-like classroom. The issue didn’t dwell on her mind long, however, as the burning sensation of someone’s gaze went searing into her cheeks from the left and distracting her at once. Draco Malfoy, with his snow white skin and icy eyes, looked miserable as ever as he turned his attention swiftly away from her on sight. Try as he might, there was no hiding the look of mild frustration that seemed to reside on the curvatures of those high cheekbones and bent lips. The girl’s eyes narrowed with contemplation as she turned her head slowly away from the boy, at which point the fresh face at Hogwarts, Professor Slughorn, came waddling out of his supply cabinet. He wore a cheshire-like smile as he beamed at the young faces before him, and his sparkling eyes did a double take when they fell on Y/N.

“My my,” he seemed to gasp, “I know that face!”

The girl’s stare went flickering confusedly over to Cedric on instinct, and she found he was looking questioningly right back at her with those huge, kind eyes.

“M-me?” she stammered, her brows knitting.

“Why of course, miss Y/L/N, daughter of Y/M/F/N Y/M/L/N,” he scoffed, waving his hand through the air as he went teetering over to her.

“You knew my mother?” the girl asked, quite aware that all eyes were currently on her.

“Yes of course,” he babbled, making a detour to a nearby shelf, upon which were dozens of golden framed photos. “Brilliant witch, and the most beautiful spirit,” he muttered joyously, bringing one of the pictures along with him.

The girl’s heart sunk as she realized what the picture frame contained; a photo of her mother and father beside a notably younger Professor Slughorn. The three of them wore huge white grins as they waved giddily at their picture’s taker. As the photo began its magically induced re-loop, she found her throat closing up with hurt. Slughorn barely noticed, as he was too busy using his thumb to brush off the particles of dust that coated the frame’s edges. He spoke more to himself, as he continued.

“You look so much like them, you know. And your father, he was one of the great’s, too.”

There was no stopping the sudden flush of red to her cheeks, “my father was a terrible man who sold himself over to Lord Voldemort.”

Her classmates flinched backwards at the name, all except Draco, it seemed.

“Yes,” her teacher nodded, raising his gentle gaze to her, “and great he was, ever the same.”

She felt her heart pounding hard against her chest as she looked back at the professor, understanding his point but disliking it nonetheless. His next words, however, redeemed him.

“No matter. I already know by the yellow of your robes and the fierceness in your eyes that you’re all your mother’s.”

It was true. Her mother had been a Hufflepuff, like her, and the girl had been told many a time of her ferocity. Being that she admired her so, the girl had no doubtedly been relieved to have been sorted into her mother’s house her first year at Hogwarts, and to wear her yellow colors proudly, as opposed to her father’s emerald ones. And her ferocity? Well, that was something she actively sought to portray, something she wanted the world to remember.

“Anyways,” Slughorn’s voice interjected her thoughts, “I am sure I will be seeing more of you, but enough chatter for now, we have work to do!”

As the class all clamored in reaching for their books, she couldn’t help but to feel a lingering weight on her chest. Keeping her eyes steadily forward, she denied the oncoming glance of her friend beside her, and chose instead to hold her teeth tight together, so hard it hurt. The sound of Cedric’s voice came swimming into her ears slowly as she regained focus.

“....amortentia,” he explained, “the strongest love potion in the world.”

“Correct, my boy!” Slughorn exclaimed. “And what else?”

The girl’s eyes settled on the cauldron they discussed, the one that seemed to lure her close. A curl of attractive pink steam danced from the potion’s surface, and it smelled of rain, chamomile, and something else. Was it a cologne of some sort? No, no it was almost minty. But then there was the cologne again. Perhaps it was actually both, she realized. Either way, it was indistinguishable to her.

“Amortentia smells different to each person, Cedric was continuing, “its scent changes according to what attracts a person. For example, I smell grass, and honey, and-”

The boy seemed to go suddenly still, like a thought had gotten glued to his tongue.

“Lavender,” he finished ever so quietly, his face going suddenly very red as he turned his nose to the table.

There was just a second's hesitation before the girl realized what it was exactly that had him flustered, and she soon found her own face burning up as she moved her eyes glossily away from her friend. Nobody in the classroom understood the implications of his last word, of course, though it certainly didn’t prevent a series of giggles from onlooking girls in the class, who batted their lashes at Cedric. Dismissively, the girl scanned her surroundings, surprising herself when her eyes came to a halt. On the opposite side of the dungeon, Draco Malfoy’s snow white skin had gone, for whatever reason, warm with pink. His big eyes were on Cedric first, and then Y/N. When he caught her looking he frustratedly let out a grumble and turned his nose into his potions book, which he now suddenly seemed very interested in. Next to her, Cedric did the same thing.

“This, however,” Slughorn said, moving swiftly along, “is far more valuable.”

The professor lifted a tiny vial into the air. Within its glass was a gleaming gold fluid that swished merrily around.

“Felix Felicis,” he beamed.

“Liquid luck,” Cedirc echoed, earning himself an appreciative nod from the professor.

“It shall be awarded to the student who can most perfectly produce an acceptable Draught of Living Death,” Slughorn challenged. “Though I shall point out, however, that only once did a student produce a potion of sufficient quality to claim this prize.”

All eyes were on Slughorn, now. Most notably, Draco’s seemed to gleam with want. The girl knew exactly what she wanted the little vial for, of course. With quidditch tryouts just around the corner and her confidence practically underground, the potion was just the thing she needed to do the trick. And so, for the next hour or so, she and her classmates slaved tirelessly over their cauldrons. Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t all too successful (her potion was a sickly green color), but it seemed nobody else was, either. Likely the only student to get even a little close to the potion’s desired results was Cedric, who earned quite the eye of appreciation from Slughorn for both his skill and charm. Close as he was, nobody seemed to produce a viable enough draught to earn the glittering vial, which Slughorn assured them all was to be expected.

“We shall have to see if one of the Gryffindor or Ravenclaw students beat you to it!” he chortled at the end of their lessons.

As the students all began their miserable shuffle out of the room, the professor called out to Y/N and Cedric, beckoning them over. As the girl dragged her feet back towards the little round man she sped hastily past Draco Malfoy, her quick stare earning her a frazzled glance from the boy, rather than his standard disgusted ice blue daggers. She cleared her throat and pressed on, stopping at the front of Slughorn’s classroom.

“I’m having a bit of a student-teacher social at the end of the week,” he said excitedly. “I do hope the two of you will join me?”

Well, that had been unexpected. The intent seemed obvious, of course, but strange. Apparently the professor was picking favorites and not being all too shy about it. Cedric agreed jovially, of course, while the girl followed his acceptance with a slightly more begrudging nod and tilt of her lips. Her mind was preoccupied with enough things as it was. For starters, there was the night before, and then there was the amortentia induced confusion, the loss of her much needed liquid luck, and now this. As she made way into the halls, Cedric opened his mouth to speak to her, for the first time that day, she realized.

“The Slug Club,” he sniggered, “funny, right?”

“For you, sure,” she said dismissively, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her robes.

“What’s that mean then?” the boy arched a perfect brow at her, but she paid no attention.

“It means you’ve actually got something to offer,” she shrugged. “Me? I’ve just got some dead parents in a photo frame.”

“Don’t say that,” Cedric snapped in her defense.

She just kept walking.

“Hey.”

A firm and large hand came to her shoulder, stopping the girl.

Cedric towered over her, looking infuriatingly handsome under the still-summer sun. He chuckled weakley at her, his cheeks erupting with little dimples.

“Sick of you underselling yourself,” he half laughed half sighed, tilting his head at her.

“Ced,” the girl grumbled with embarrassment as students passed them, unable to hold his ocean eyes to her own.

“You’re incredible, I mean it!” he raised his voice and gave her a little squeeze, making her all the more flustered. “If you don’t believe it, then don’t go to Slug’s little mixer.”

“Oka-” she started.

“And neither will I!” he flashed his white teeth attractively as he cut her off.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” she snorted, unable to resist his foolery.

“So you’ll go?” the bronze skinned boy perked up, picking up his pace as the girl now struggled to get farther away from her increasingly supportive friend.

“Wear something ridiculous and I’ll consider it!” she called over her shoulder as she hurried towards the courtyard.

Cedric had two thumbs high in the air when she turned, “I was planning on it!”

The girl laughed. It seemed all was back to normal.

That was, for about all of two seconds. For no sooner had the girl entered the courtyard than had a piece of paper come fluttering through the blue sheets of the sky and right towards her. The paper had been folded neatly, shaped like a little bird. If it hadn’t hit her smack in the nose, she may not have even realized what it was. The girl gasped in surprise and caught the parchment swiftly between her nimble fingers, unfolding its crumpled exterior in her opened palm whilst sporting a look of utter confusion.

The words had been written in a dark green ink, the same color as the fir trees in the Forbidden Forest, or at depths of the Great Lake.

𝐿𝒾𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓇𝓎. 𝟪𝓅𝓂. - 𝑀

The girl snapped her eyes up. Across from her, a little ways away, Hermione entered the courtyard. Her hair was bushy and curly as ever, her brown eyes wide with curiosity as she looked first to the girl and then to the paper in her hands. Frantically, the girl stepped herself into little circles, looking for the adressor of her note. M? For a moment it had confused her, and then, when the answer surfaced in her mind, she had only found herself all the more confused. What on earth could Draco Malfoy want with her? Had he not made it blatantly obvious the night before that the answer to that question was nothing whatsoever?

Her eyes darted around the faces of students in the vicinity, some walking in chattered huddles, others fountainside enjoying their time basking under the golden sunlight, and more yet flooding to and from the exposed halls. But Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, what is it?” Hermione asked, meeting Y/N in the centre of the cobblestone clearing.

She extended an arm, offering her friend a sandwich stuffed with greens.

It had been their tradition to meet during their occasional breaks for years now, the two frequenting the courtyard for chats during the few minutes of peace they could acquire. Hermione escorted the girl to a vacant stone bench nearby, the two girls sitting down upon its flat cold surface. The girl folded her legs up onto the platform and stuffed the parchment into the folds of her robes as she cracked open a chilled pumpkin juice.

“Nothing,” she lied unconvincingly, taking a big chomp out of her sandwich and chasing it shortly after with a swig of pumpkin juice.

Hermione had one hand in a bag of salted chips, which she abandoned without hesitation to go snatching at the girl, who bent swiftly out of her friend’s way.

“Hey!” the girl sniggered, batting away Hermione’s advances.

“You’re an awful liar, you know?” Hermione scrunched her nose with a curious smirk.

The girl stared widely at her friend, giving her a ‘well-you’re-not-wrong’ look as she reluctantly leaned in closer, her voice dropping.

“Draco wants me to meet up with him,” she whispered, like the whole school would implode if anyone were to hear her. “Tonight, in the library.”

“Oh Y/N,” Hermione frowned thoughtfully, “you know you really shouldn’t.”

“And why not?” the girl leaned back.

She tilted her chin up towards the glowing sun and enjoyed the freshening of the warm day’s breeze. The wind rustled around her, making strands of her hair dance against its gentle flow. Around her, birds chortled in conversation, and the nearby fountain gurgled out gigantic spurts of clear water.

After giving herself a moment to think, Hermione responded, “there’s only trouble headed that way.”

The girl opened one eye to look at her concerned friend, “and how would you know that? You’re the one who said he’s not even a death eater.”

“Well, yes-” Hermione began with mild frustration. “But death eater or not, he can’t be trusted.”

She wasn’t wrong.

As much as she didn’t want to hear it, her friend had a point. Draco Malfoy had done little the last five years of their lives other than torment the two of them, as well as his nemesis, and her friend, Harry Potter. But the adrenaline that came with investigating her curiosity of the snow-white boy was on a ravaging incline, and nothing was going to stop her.

She didn’t need to say the words for Hermione to know, just by looking at her face.

“Just, be careful,” her friend advised with a defeated sigh.

“O’course,” she answered with a wink.

Hermione relaxed her shoulders, “you sound just like Harry, you know? He hasn’t given up on his little theory of his. What d’you think he’d say about this?”

The girl blinked dumbly at Hermione. She always did know exactly what to say.

“Dunno,” she stretched out her legs, “which is why you’re not to say anything of it to him. Or Cedric.”

“Cedric?” Hermione asked.

“I dunno,” she waved a hand through the air, “he wouldn’t like it. And it could come up some point at Slug’s event.”

“What?” Hermione asked, confused as ever.

The girl finished off her snacks before continuing.

“Slughorn has a little favorites club, and he’s throwing us all a get together of some sort this weekend.”

“And why would I be there?” Hermione raised a quizzical brow.

“Because,” she beamed, “you’re Hermione Granger. And you’re smarter than most all of us students combined.”

Hermione’s ears reddened as she gave her friend a little smile.

“I’m headed there next,” Hermione dismissed her friend’s comment bashfully.

“Good,” the girl said, gathering her belongings. “Tell the boys I say hello, will you? And good luck with your draught.”

“My what?” Hermione voiced.

The girl laughed secretively as she turned, raising a finger to her lips as she grinned at her ever bewildered friend.

. . .

She’d almost tripped on her toes rushing out of the Great Hall that night. Feeling too nervous to eat, the girl had managed only a few bites of dinner before abandoning her golden platter entirely. She had felt a little ridiculous for feeling nervous, really, but how could she help it? Across the hall there had been an empty seat where Draco usually sat beside Crabbe, Goyle, and his other goons. Whether he was already at the library or off wandering corridors again she had no idea. Over at the Gryffindor table, Harry had yelled out the girl’s name, gaining her attention for enough time for him to raise into the air a little vial. Realizing the contents of his container was none other than the Felix Felicis, she’d mouthed back a “what the hell!?” to the boy-who-lived and an incredibly grumpy Hermione who sat beside him. On her right, Cedric and her friends were growing increasingly aware of the girl’s out of the ordinary manner. Tense, the girl had cleared her throat, claiming she needed to obtain a Herbology book, and flown away from her spot, under the glittering floating flames, and out of the Hall.

Her mind was thick with fog as she dragged her feet around corridor corners before reaching the Library. The girl entered slowly, her eyes making way over the massive room and its many oak framed shelves that touched the dome like ceiling with their tops. It was quiet, unsurprisingly. Few students were concerned with study at approximately eight o’clock on one of the first nights of the school year. Still, just to be safe the girl had made her way into the darker and mustier back corner of the Library, where there was minimal lighting aside from a few hovering gas lights. Only a few students inhabited the area nearby, but they were uninterested as the girl passed cooly by them and approached the nook space crammed between the two back shelves. As Draco had been nowhere in sight, she’d gone looking at the books, her fingers skimming their dusty spines slowly as she read their titles. It seemed, mostly, that they were on healing based learning.

The girl extended a hand, gently wiggling out a black leather book on charms out of boredom and almost dropping it entirely when she caught sight of a set of blue-grey eyes staring back at her from the other side of the bookshelf. She’d released a little yelpish gasp, drawing the attention of nearby students.

Draco’s hair was slicked smoothly back, not one hair out of place on his head. His lips were set hard with seriousness, his startling bright eyes holding a similar sense of firmness in them. The lamplight casted shadows over every detail of his perfectly carved face. The boy cleared his throat and turned away from the girl, speaking his almost inaudible words into the yellowed pages of the book he held rather than to her.

“Hello,” was all he said.

Oddly it seemed like that took a lot out of him.

She’d stared at him for a few seconds in bewilderment before mimicking his action and turning her own nose into her charms book. The pages had spilled open onto an enchantment for serious wound healing injuries.

“Still refuse to be seen talking to me then?” she worded flatly back.

Draco lifted his piercing gaze momentarily to hers, his lips curled downwards with upset before he resumed his idle stare of his book’s text.

“It’s for the best,” he uttered. “For you, too.”

Nearby, a few lower year hufflepuff students had raised their heads, but sunk them back into their studies when nothing seemed to happen. The girl waited for their looks to pass before replying.

“Alright,” she admitted half heartedly.

Not knowing what else to say, she stayed quiet. Apparently, Draco was having a similar internal struggle. There was a good half of a minute of utter stillness between them, the only sound being that of the rustling of nearby papers. As far as she was concerned, this was in the boy’s hands entirely. She’d reached out last time, only to be shortly stomped out like a fly. Now, if he wanted to do the talking, she would let him do the talking. All of it.

She lifted her eyes. He was already there, his huge ones glimmering back at her. They were flickering left and right over her stare, like he was trying to read her from the outside in. Feeling the pressure of his gaze, she turned back to her healing enchantment. Draco edged his way closer, leaning his shoulder against the shelves. He raised a hand to his ear, using his long fingers to fidget nervously against his cheeks.

“Was it Potter who told you?” Draco whispered at last.

“Told me what?” she said without addressing him.

Now it seemed like he wanted her to look, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Was it him? Was it him who told you to keep tabs on me?” he mouthed with a twinge of frustration.

The girl felt her body go hot with rage, and she made no effort of concealing the bitterness in her sour toned reply.

“Bold of you to assume anyone would care enough to ask me to keep tabs on you, don’t you reckon?”

His eyes were on her again. This time they were upset. She didn’t care.

“And anyways,” she pressed on, “are you insinuating that it would’ve worked? That I would be willing to play someone’s puppet to spy on you, and that you, Draco Malfoy, would have let me?”

Draco’s white skin paled further, his lower lip trembling as he prepared his response and leaned close into the bookshelf that separated them. He said his next words slowly, his reply coming slow and sharp like a pointed blade making a clear entrance through flesh, “where am I now?”

Her beating heart went still in her chest, her aggravated demeanor regressing into something softer instantaneously. The implication behind his words sunk into her skin and electrified her blood.

Where am I now?

She just stared at him. The look in his eyes was like one she’d never seen before. It was genuine. Genuine and raw. And pleading, almost.

His words swam fast laps around her mind, making her dizzy. Unable to process whatever emotion it was that had crawled its way from his lips and into her, she rejected it.

The girl slammed her charms book shut abruptly, making heads turn. Draco flinched back in surprise as the girl made her not so discreet march around the shelves and towards him. He moved smoothly in reply, his shoulder lifting from its slump as he stood straight and tall, his white brows knitted against the creases of his forehead. There was a hot fire roaring in her chest and she had no intention of quelling it as she planted her feet firm before him, tilting her chin up so that she could reach the view of those alarmed grey eyes.

“For your information,” she hissed between her teeth, “nobody told me to because I told myself to. I saw something different in you. Me.”

Draco clenched his jaw, hard. So hard she could see its pulse against the lower curvatures of his face. He wore the look of a wounded animal, plus a sort of sneer.

“Why?” he leaned closer, the word like salt on his tongue as he towered over her. “Hm?” his voice inclined in challenge.

They’d never been this close before, and it was terrifying. But the shockwave of about ten different emotions had slapped the girl up and she’d decidedly chosen to ride its high.

“Funny,” she felt her own teeth grind roughly against each other, “I was just asking myself the same thing.”

He was hurt by her words, she knew that much. But rather than show it he simply receded as would be expected, turning instead to rage. His eyes narrowed with distaste as he scoffed and spat his reply with a shake of his head.

“Tell Potter to try again.”

“You’re a fool,” she retorted.

“Am I?” he snapped back. “It’s not me who's got a moron and a mudblood for a best friend is it?”

They weren’t all too discreet now. Eyes from all across the library watched as the two had their less than silent quarrel. The girl, practically alight in flames, stared daggers into Malfoy, who stood smug over her and had sunk his long ring-clad fingers into the emerald green folds of his robe. He gave her a sour smile, the sickly kind of lopsided one that a bully would, and leaned down so that their eyes were level.

“Nothing else to say?” he dared.

That’s when it occurred to her. That’s when she’d noticed. Being as close as they were, Malfoy’s aroma had hit her nostrils hard, and the dark cologne and fresh mint that wafted from his slender frame went first to her lungs, then her brain, then her heart. She knew that smell. She’d recognized it from earlier in the day when it had wafted forth from the amortentia. The realization shocked her into a stillness that made her face drop and pulse pause. How it could be that the boy she loathed beyond measure could have such an effect on her? She was unsure, but it had sent her mind spiralling into all kinds of oblivion.

Draco seemed to notice, his brows lowering just a little, his tone softening ever so slightly, “well?”

Her heart had fired back up, now galloping in her chest as she sucked in a sharp breath and let out a pathetic wordless stutter.

“I- I have to go,” she mumbled, her fingers trembling as she clutched the leather bound charms book tight to her chest.

Draco looked disappointed. Maybe because he cared. Or maybe just because he enjoyed a good fight. Either way, the question was left unanswered as he regained his composure, aligning his shoulder stiffly upright and letting his mouth hang slightly upon in wordless confusion as the girl practically bolted out of sight in a flash of black and gold. He stood there, sitting in the silence as the eyes around him went slowly back to their papers. But he just continued to stand there, even a minute later, and a few minutes after that. Many minutes later, finally, he made his slow and quiet descent out of the library.

. . .

Outside, the girl had flown down corridors and up stairs, her boots chasing the beat of her racing heart. Her smooth hair whipped fast around her eyes, which burned a light crimson and stung her lightly. The events of the last few minutes were playing in her mind like tapes as she went, over and over. And they would continue to do so long into the night. For hours after disappearing up to bed she’d lain on her back and just stared holes into the high ceilings while she thought. It had reached the early hours of the morning when she’d decided; if Draco Malfoy wanted to be taken down so badly, maybe she would be the one to do it after all.

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cosmiclatte28 · 4 years ago

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Wedding Dress (Jae x you)

a/n : Should I wait for Jaehyun’s birthday to post this? no. I cannot hold myself back from posting this

so here we go!!

FLUFF... AND A WEDDING PLAN WITH JAEHYUN

enjoy

“That looks perfect on you Jae,” you circle the man who is standing on the small stage in the fitting room.

“Is it? This also feels better.” Jaehyun tries swinging his arm and shrugging his shoulder as he stares his reflection on the fitting room mirror.

“Well good to know! We’ll consider this one then.” You nod to the butler as he takes the measurement of your fiancé.

“So, do you still want to consider mother’s offer?” Jaehyun asks you when both of you exit the tailor’s parlor and walk away to find dinner.

Your wedding with Jaehyun is coming in one month, and you’re busy finalizing the catering, venue, and run down. You cannot blame Jaehyun for his busy idol schedule, you’re too busy handling the final check.

“Yes, I am still down to your mom’s offer. I guess if that works, it’ll be meaningful for both of us.” You clung your hand into Jaehyun’s arm and walk with him to the Metro.

Yes, did you know Jaehyun likes to keep it low. He doesn’t want to drive around the tainted black cars and hiding from fans. Jaehyun loves going out to dates with you in public while still wearing a mask to keep his identity, but it’s working since not a lot of fans notice they have been walking through the same tracks with their idols.

Jaehyun waits calmly with you as you both stand over the waiting line, waiting for the train to Jaehyun’s mother’s house come. You love Jaehyun’s mother because you can find a mother figure in her.

The train arrives and you both step into the half empty carriage. You sit on the corner and Jaehyun takes the place next to you. Your hand still holds into his tightly as if letting him go will make you lost.

“What else do you need to check? I’m free this weekend I can accompany you.” Jaehyun turns his head to face you.

You take your notes out, “Your suit is done, fitting is next week. I’ve decided on our flowers they will be (name) and catering is handled by my sister. We just need to take the rings this weekend.”

Jaehyun ruffles your hair, “Amazing! You did everything by yourself! I really need to treat you to a spa day!”

You groan “Oh yes I need a relaxation me time before the day!” you giggle when you lean into Jaehyun’s shoulder and presses his cheek out of habit.

His ears turn into the deep shade of red despite having that done by you since 5 years ago! 5 years of dating, countless award winning, numerous road trips, and one big courage and finally Jaehyun kneeled on one knee on a trip to France.

He proposed to you over the Eiffel tower and for once you feel like a main character in a romantic movie! La vie en rose, that’s true. You saw life in pink shades, especially when Jaehyun blushed so hard when you say “yes”

You reach the station almost around dinner time. While walking side by side, you stop for a while to buy an ice cream. Jaehyun only waits for you as you place your order and returns with a cone of colorful ice. He helps you bring your bag so you can enjoy your treat while Jaehyun just makes sure you’re not running into a pole or fall into a hole while walk.

“Careful,” he warns you when you almost hit a pole. You grin and offer him a bite “Want some?”

He shakes his head, “Finish it, you look happy and you need energy.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” you ask nonchalantly without knowing you smeared some ice to your lips.

“No, I’ll eat dinner later. Here,” he brings his handkerchief out and wipes your smear away from your face, all while both of you still walk on the less busy road.

You bite your lips and wipe your tongue over your lips “Clean?

Jaehyun chuckles, he loves this side of you. Who is easy going and doesn’t mind looking a bit messy for awhile “Yes, clean!”

“Mom we’re here! (y/n) is going to take your offer.” Jaehyun greets his mother in her house with a kiss.

You walk after Jaehyun and also greets his mother who you’ve known for the last three years.

“(Y/n)! Really? You will try my offer?” she sounds so happy. Her eyes are glowing with stars and she looks like she can cry at any time soon.

You nod your head, “I want to try your wedding dress. I guess if we can just fix the size and everything else, it’ll be meaningful for me and you. Right mom?” you ask her with the name she loves to hear from you.

Jaehyun’s mother hugs you “Yes! Oh gosh I am so happy my only son picks the perfect wife! I can tell I love you already.” She wipes a tear that falls from her eyes.

Jaehyun chuckles as he escapes to the kitchen and puts down some of the foods he bought for his mum.

While you are in the room with Jaehyun’s mom herself, you don’t feel uncomfortable. You never met your mom since young, she passed away on your delivery. Your father is a good and responsible man, he helps you grow into the lady you are right now. You cannot imagine how he will feel later when he walks you down the aisle.

“Should we try it first? I am so excited! Your built was similar to mine, I guess this will look pretty on you.” Jaehyun’s mother pulls you into her dressing room and she begins helping you try on her wedding dress.

You had to admit, Jaehyun’s mom has a good taste. The wedding gown looks simple, but you can tell this was a designer dress and it looks expensive.

“Do you think the model is okay?” she asks, suddenly afraid if you were just doing this for her.

You nod as you hold the dress, “I love this! Not too complex but the simplicity is amazing. Should we try it? I’ve been eating healthier to fit into the dress.” You giggle.

Jaehyun’s mum pinches your cheeks, “You don’t have to! Come, after you try the dress… you have to eat!”

Both of you laugh, you’re glad Jaehyun’s mother loves you like you’re her own daughter. She told you she always wanted a daughter but circumstances were not giving her the chance. Thus when Jaehyun introduced you to his mother on Christmas three years ago two of you clicked. You found her as your mother figure and she found you as her daughter.

You make yourself into the dress, a simple white dress but the tail is long and you’re happy of how you look like in the mirror. You make a twirl, everything fits you even need to cut some inches from the dress, but the length and everything else is perfect.

Jaehyun’s mom stare at your reflection in disbelief, and she walks behind you to tighten the dress.

“Holy- you look exactly like me on my wedding day, maybe I look prettier, but you are stunning!” her humorous side makes you laugh. She holds your clothes as you make a twirl to check on the side profile and a big smile appears on your face.

“Mom, this is perfect! Do you really let me?” you still cannot belief your mother in law is allowing you to wear her wedding dress.

She nods eagerly, “I say you look perfect. We can add some ornaments or laces if you want. Mom doesn’t mind with some alterations.”

You shake your head “We’ll keep it like this! Like yours! I love this, will Jaehyun like it?” you didn’t have to wait because the door opens and Jaehyun’s head comes into the room.

“Wow! That is the dress?” he asks, as he joins you to look at your reflection in the mirror.

“Can you take a picture, I’ll ask dad if he is okay, and we can bring this to the tailor to fix the size.” You point to your hand bag and Jaehyun makes his way to do what you said.

“I am okay with it, looks perfect. Fits to my suit color too.” Jaehyun shows his mom the suit he tried on earlier.

With that the three of you walk to the dining room and have dinner together. The topic is mainly about the wedding preparation and Jaehyun’s schedule. She also asks about your father’s company and your own small business you started from zero.

“Oh yes, my academia for the disadvantaged children is doing good. Jaehyun and the boys like to come and help me on their free days.”

You’re glad you found Jaehyun, and you love his family too. After the wonderful dinner and the delicious bread pudding she made for you, Jaehyun and you sadly have to bid goodbye.

Work is waiting for you and him, so staying in your own houses are good decision.

“I’ll see you on Saturday?” Jaehyun asks as he leans on the door frame

You yawn and nod your head, “Don’t you wanna stay over?” you ask hoping he can just sleep here tonight.

He sadly shakes his head, “I have some schedule tomorrow. Sorry, I’ll make it up to you.” He plays with your hair and kisses your forehead.

“Okay, take care! I am so sleepy,” you yawn one more time.

Jaehyun smirks and pokes your cheek, “Then sleep. I’ll text you when I got to the dorm.”

You smile and wave your hand “Good night, take care!”

He kisses your lips and pats your shoulder, “Thank you for everything! Bye! Don’t forget to lock the doors.”

His phone rings and you know its his manager calling him.

“Manager hyung is downstairs already. Gotta go sweetie! Love you” he waves and disappears behind the door.

You close the door and make sure to lock it. As you take a warm bath and rest your body on the soft mattress, your phone blinked and Jaehyun’s name appears in the notification.

“I’m in the dorm already, good night and sleep tight 💖” his message reads.

You smile and text him back, “Love you! Sleep well, my dear Valentine!😘”

You set aside your phone, turn your lights off and sink into the dream land. You’re happy to meet Jaehyun, life has been wonderful with its beautiful mysteries. You wouldn’t want to change your life with anything in this world. No. You’ll change and give everything to repeat this life story again and again.

Meeting Jaehyun was the best memories you have, saying yes to him was the happiest impulsive moment you made, and marrying him will be the one unforgettable moment you will never regret. Growing old with him happily and healthily, will be the goal for you in the future.

end

#jaehyun x you #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x oc #nct imagines #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun soft hours #jaehyun #yoonoh x reader #jung yoonoh #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun imagines #jung yoonoh x reader #nct scenarios

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suspiciouslypinkrosegarden · 4 years ago

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The Passed Out Princess Chapters 1-2

Pairing: My CMC (Uyu, Dan Byeol) x Suit Saeran

Description: On days 7-9 of Ray’s route, the player is denied food as “Saeran” makes his presence first known. But, what if MC fell very ill under this method of torture due to a medical condition? Sadly, my custom MC, Uyu (full name Dan Byeol), would deal with exactly this dilemma.

Content warning: Descriptions of throwing up, passing out, and meal skipping. Every food related issue mentioned is strictly medical, and based on my own condition.

This was written under the assumption that you have played Ray’s route in full, so route spoilers ahead! This takes place during the very beginning of day 8, and according to the timings and contents of the chat rooms, it would take place before Saeran cuts contact with the RFA and before he installs a camera to monitor MC in her room. It is timed to match closely around to when I’d get sick myself.

My CMC’s condition deals chronic with low blood sugar, meaning she has to eat to keep it up or suffer the consequences as seen here. It is not diabetes related, it is something she is born with as am I and is linked to more complicated matters I left out to keep it simple. Some symptoms include: growing light headed, severe dizziness, nausea, vomiting, and passing out. See all chapters

I wrote this with flexibility for whichever HC for Saeran you follow (DID or BPD), because whether or not he has one of the following, Rika has drilled it in his head that Ray and Saeran are separate entities, and Saeran views it this way. Consider it written the way Cheritz writes him, with nothing exactly too set.

To make things easier for myself, I’m uploading multiple chapters on each post, chapters only separated by lines. Here is 1 and 2

Ping!

The sound of Dan’s phone alerted her to rise and greet the day with a new chat room open.

As the morning sun took its place in the clear blue sky, the little woman sat up in her big bed, bangs sticking out in all directions as her head thumped with a dull pain. Hunger induced pain, she noted, as her stomach felt empty.

Despite the beauty of this early morning, the light pouring through the windows creating a rosy glow which engulfed the princess room; there was no beautiful light shining on the brunette’s new situation, seeming so dreary and dim.

Uyu still found herself wrapped up in this place, whisked away to a castle tucked deep within mountains known as Magenta. Every corner of the building was constructed brick by brick with a beautifully ornate architectural design, but the bright exterior was only a façade. If she was left caged like this for long, what would become of her? Driven to insanity, perhaps she’d attack and claw at the walls which confined her, unable to turn her anger to Saeran, the real victim in all this. The “savior” made it clear she was the true ruling figure who lurked about as the moon rose, the mastermind behind this place’s pain and suffering.

The night before, after being so kindly introduced to “Saeran”, this golden-haired angel confirmed herself to be quite the wicked witch of the west indeed, and it took everything out of Uyu to not call her harsher names to her face.

Mint Eye was hell redecorated to wear the guise of heaven, but pretty gardens and saccharine words could not fool her. Because Dan wore no wool over her eyes, the savior had no intention of allowing her to live long enough to become the new narrator of “The Yellow Wallpaper”; and she had no shoes to click together at the heel to wish her way home with who she came here for originally.

Just as Ray’s suit did, he changed, flipping like a light switch.

Saeran, the name V previously called him by, did succeed in giving her a good fright, his attitude being the least thing she expected to see after Ray’s earlier sobs over the phone.

Uyu was mainly focused on one solid question after their encounter, though. Just what did that “cleansing” entail in full detail? What did this place do to him, to make him weep and beg for a warm hand to hold one minute, only to push back and try to scare her the next?

It was as if he was caught, dragged by the feet somewhere inescapable, a pit damp and dark down under; rising from a shivering grave cold to the touch.

If it weren’t for her position, she wouldn’t have allowed it.

Now more than ever, this room built on the foundation of fantasy and delight felt like a birdcage which barely allowed her to wiggle an arm through its bars. She relied on her song, her sweet words which Ray claimed to tickle at his heart and hold a power over him like no other before. Her goal, of course, was to use this for good, influencing him to learn to appreciate and care for himself like he should. But now, she felt unable to do even that much, not that she’d give up trying.

Saeran wished to dismiss her and her actions entirely, evident from his need to spew the fact that he bestowed upon her the label of being less than a person, his toy. His play thing.

That sick twisting she felt pooling in her gut upon first hearing the term “cleansing” seemed all too in place.

Ray, as sweet as her prince charming was, had a knack for leaving out important details about this museum of wonder. To her best guess, it was done to avoid panic as none of what went on here could be viewed as normal, or ok. He only briefly mentioned things like the “elixir”, such as on the night V arrived to spiral this place’s plans into chaos.

That was the night she could officially mark a great importance in staying, despite the vast network of lies.

Uyu wasn’t entirely stupid, she had an idea of what the elixir might be a while back, but it was still hard to process regardless.

Saeran threatened to give her one of these cleansing ceremonies...and said he could “draw out the maximum pain in the process”, telling her whatever happened to him hurt. A “no duh” moment indeed, but it was confirmation.

Ray suffered, for no reason other than he was too enwrapped in his blooming feelings for her, something that shouldn’t be taken as a negative but was. It displeased the savior that his chains which bound him by the ankles began to jingle with his new yearning to take flight.

She couldn’t allow herself to lie down and give the savior the satisfaction of breaking her, not when she still had so much to do, and not when Saeran and the RFA were at risk.

As the cool night-time air blew around them, feeling its whisper through her long locks of hair, Ray opened up about Mint Eye’s beliefs as a sanctuary for the “weak”, who had no choice but to lock themselves away to avoid further hurt.

He clearly viewed himself as someone in this category. Weak. But Saeran? Saeran shoved and shouted, which felt like a complete opposite to Ray’s whimpers and pleading. He even went as far as to accuse her of manipulation, of treating Ray like a puppet as she watched him dance to the harp she plucked.

Looking past his outburst and itch to watch her squirm, there stood a man seething with hate sparked entirely by twisted lies and his own fears. He gave himself away rather quickly as he attempted to say she messed with “hisna vefeelings” for some “big plan”.

She had to trust that there were boundaries he wouldn’t cross, being so close to her and forceful...and that was where her panic truly lied. But for now, she’d bank on the idea that he just wanted to scare her, staying alert in case he went too far. There were vases around from Ray’s various gifts that could be used as a weapon during the extreme. Unlike her, Saeran had no fighting skills either, but currently she was a bit too ill for those measures.

For once, a room so pink made her feel neither cozy nor at home.

Uyu’s fuzzy morning vision was then attracted to a black blob hanging on the doorknob. With a little eye rub, she made it out to be a dress, and a rather pretty one at that. In the way it was cut, it would expose much of her shoulders and upper back, the top front of it connected to a bow tied around the back of a neck piece with strings of fabric; like an attached choker. She could only assume it was a “gracious gift” bestowed upon her from the man she saw take Ray’s place. Apparently, he has a thing for black.

Her little device chimed again, and then once more, third time giving her the last push of annoyance she needed to reach over and respond to the opened chatroom.

She sighed with relief seeing Seven was the person active online, as she could now pester him with questions about what he was seeing on his end of the fight. They typed away, Uyu expressing concern for both of the hackers as they discussed Ra-Saeran’s new careless and aggressive tactics to snag him a victory.

As time passed, Jumin joined to ask questions as well, mainly circling around the governmental commendation from the Prime Minister to recognize the RFA for their charity work. Uyu stuck to her gut and pushed against the idea of it being a complete positive.

While both V and Seven acted oddly around the idea of the commendation, the RFA was also just a small organization which had only held two parties previous to Rika’s “passing”. The award was too fishy to trust in her judgment, especially now that she understood things going on around here weren’t at all what they had seemed to be.

Mint Eye wasn’t the only organization she was caught in that held its secrets.

After a bit of talking, Jumin agreed that the prime minister’s reasoning had to be figured out before any final decisions could be made. Everyone logged off, Seven returning to the battlefield and Jumin to stitching in his car.

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

The need for food grew worse.

Uyu showered and changed into the outfit provided…not having much of a choice to do otherwise unless she wanted to rewear old clothing. She felt down and sluggish as she dressed the way her toy maker willed, the dark frills of her attire tickling against her thighs as her step dragged. She was still ok enough to make herself look presentable, even if done at such a pace.

Her hair changed to a solid dark brown color as it took in the shower water, the gold ombré reaching her tips returning upon giving it a blow dry, making sure Saeran would have less to scoff next he saw her. She wasn’t aiming to avoid his crude comments, but instead trying to make herself feel good. Call her smelly all he wants, she knows she isn’t.

Saeran was aiming to play into her insecurities, maybe full well knowing she had so very many of them as he tried to wind her up. The least she could do was confirm his lies to be lies in the ways she knew how, if not for him then for her. She couldn’t allow him to figure out what made her gears stop, whether his words were true or not. This was no game of knife throwing, and she was no target.

11:00 AM crept up on her as she moped around quietly in her dollhouse, waiting for Saeran to come and try to take a good yanking on her marionette strings.

Dan sat upon the bed as the empty-headed feeling and banging in her temple raged, shifting to lay down fully and make herself more comfortable. If she stood for too long, she’d sway and wobble as her vision turned to black, purple and green swirls, momentarily clouding both her sight and mind.

Despite her numerous texts and occasional calls, she still heard nothing from Saeran. Not a peep.

She was growing restless as well as worried for him, and what would become of her as she continued to go unfed.

Her phone buzzed, shifting her attention over to it groggily, eyes half lidded as she wanted to sleep off this sinking feeling. Soon, she’d start to go down like the Titanic as lunch time acted as her iceberg.

Uyu hoped it was her self-proclaimed master, only to let out a grumble seeing that it wasn’t. Instead, it was Zen who had logged on.

She chatted with him, trying her best not to voice her ever-growing discomfort from skipping last night’s dinner as well as that morning’s breakfast, lunch time now creeping just around the corner.

After a quick talk, she’d call Saeran again...as uncomfortable as that conversation would be, it was her only viable option to kill the onslaught of nausea.

As they talked for a while, Yoosung joined the conversation as well….with talk of food; stew he was in the middle of making to be precise. She felt her stomach churn and rumble as the need for rest fell over her like a weighted blanket, being the only escape from the inevitable vomit now building up inside.

She logged off within another couple of seconds as the hot sweat began.

Dan swallowed thickly as her stomach went haywire, guts twisting, coaxing her to run to the toilet and empty out the water she could at least keep herself going on from the bathroom tap.

Leaving her phone on the bed, she rose to her feet best she could, stumbling till she reached the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. There, she fell to her knees, pulling her long hair back and away from her damp face, lifting up the toilet seat before her.

Within a mere moment, she felt the contents claw at the inside of her throat with a burning sensation, attempting to break free. She shuddered as her body suddenly fell in temperature, before allowing whatever her tummy could offer up to slip past her lips, color in her face all too faded away, displaying her illness. Gagging and choking noises echoed throughout the small room as the rather clearish liquid flowed from her mouth, tears from the discomfort blurring her vision as she blinked them away.

She stayed like that by the toilet for a while, throwing up a couple more times before making certain that event was over for the time being. Uyu considered herself extremely lucky that none was able to touch her or end up in her hair, but not nice to say vomiting wasn’t new to her. She knew the tricks.

Oddly, when something like this would happen, it gave her a tiny amount of strength back. It was strangely relieving, although emptying her stomach further. Her tummy was able to untense a tad.

She blew her nose and wiped her eyes before giving it all a flush down.

A fast teeth brush followed before she stumbled over to bed where she had left her phone. She fiddled with the RFA app until she could reach Saeran’s contact profile. Trying not to let the dread of being ignored again wash over her, she dialed up his number, both nervous and praying this time for a response.

After that last fit was over, her condition would move her into another stage, passing out being the only thing to come next without the blood sugar spike she needed.

The ringing went on for what felt like an eternity as she groaned and pressed her face into the pillow.

“Pick up...pick up damn it please pick up…”.

Uyu wished that she had made a bigger fuss over this earlier rather than attempting to swallow it and wait it out. Being distracted by “the savior” and Saeran’s screaming was something she shouldn’t have allowed herself to do in the midst of endangering her own health. What was she thinking? She knew it would reach this point, it always does if left unchecked. She internally cursed herself for not speaking up more assertively.

After another moment, his angry voice finally came through the speaker and she sighed softly with relief. The last she had heard from him was at four in the morning.

“Feeling this lonely and desperate already, hmm? Tch...what makes you think you have the right to contact me over and over again when I’m doing important work unlike you?”

She huffed on the other end, which he paid no mind.

“All you do is fiddle around like a good for nothing. You didn’t seem so happy to chat with me last time we spoke, but now you’re all eager and ready? You’re just itching for another visit aren’t you? Impatient little princess~.”

He let out an airy chuckle, finding her repeated acts of calling him rather amusing.

“Don’t worry. I have play time all planned out for you soon, you pest. I’ll bother you ten times more than you ever bothered me-”

She cut off his angry rambling, mumbling quietly as she spoke.

“Saeran...can you please come here? I’m not well right now and I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself functioning...I already threw up-”

“Speak up, you complainer! Seriously? You want to see me so badly that you’d put on an elaborate show? Princess...you can’t win any sort of sympathy from me by acting like a brat. Ugg, I’m going to hang up now. I’ll be imagining the million ways I can punish you for this later, stupid toy. I’m busy! Too busy for a bug like you to understand! You waste my time-”

“Wait please...please come here...it’s harder for me to explain over the phone. I...mentioned this problem earlier..please…”

And she had, briefly attempting to bring it up as he invaded a chat room between her and Jaehee.

“Begging now?”

He took on a sad tone of childish mockery as he continued.

“Please please please...please come see me... AHAHA! You airhead. I know what your medical records look like, and therefore I know you’re spinning a lie. You’re not to be trusted just as my savior says. There’s nothing there pertaining to some sort of eating issue other than the fact that your weak little body can’t handle milk…‘Uyu’~.”

He teased at her chosen nickname, and while the irony was why it was picked, this was less than fun.

“Now quit whining over an empty stomach when it hasn’t even been a full day! It’s no fun to see you give up so fast!”

Dan tried her best not to slur her speech, the task assigned to speak up being too hard of one to follow.

“Fine...fine don’t believe me. But…..it doesn’t hurt to come anyways. Since you want to see me suffer….or whatever….”

“Or whatever??? Toy, if I come see you right now...you won’t like what you’re going to get. I haven’t an ounce of pity in me to give you if that’s what you’re searching for. I'm not the type to let you rest in my lap as I stroke your hair and tell you it will be alright, and I won’t give in and feed you. Instead, I’ll make sure you never wish to call me again.”

“...ok…”

“Ok? Ok?? Haha! ...ok then. Let’s see how pathetic you’ve become as you beg and plead to me in person, little actor. Playtime is happening earlier today than I had planned. Congratulations! I’m extra pissed.”

Call ended.

She let out a puff of air, dropping her phone down next to her before closing her eyes, not bothering to stand in preparation for his arrival.

Next chapters All chapters

#suit saeran #ray mystic messenger #saeran x mc #Uyu #Dan Byeol #mystic messenger cmc

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igotyouniverse · 4 years ago

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Breathe Me - Chapter 1 [nct vamp au]

Description: After dropping out of college and coming home for the first time in two years, 22-year-old Ava Lee gets caught up in a mystery surrounding the people she thought she knew for so long. Between friendship, affairs and true love the young women finds herself being pulled into a nightmare she would never wake up from.

Pairing: Oc x Taeyong , Oc x Johnny [several side-pairing involving Mark, Ten, Lucas and Jaehyun.]

Included Members: Taeyong, Johnny, Mark, Lucas, Ten, Jaehyun, Doyoung, Haechan (maybe more)

Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst, Action, Fantasy

Warnings: none (this chapter)

suggestive content, strong language, violence, blood, death. probably more, not sure yet (later chapters)

a/n: Here it comes! After years of procrestination I finally managed to write the very first (very boring) chapter of my vampire au with nct! Anyway, the main drama will start in the next chapter so stay patient and bear this one with me. It took me long enough, haha. All the warnings will be for later chapters so don't start reading if u dont feel like reading stuff like that qq If someone wants to get tagged please send me a message, ask, comment or whatever qq

I really hope you guys enjoy it, it was a very heavy birth. ♥

ch.2 || ch. 3

†

The girl sighed deeply and took a look outside the small airplane window. She saw how the plane slowly drove into the prepared parking lot and felt how her level of anxiety rose with each second. Even though the flight was 18 hours long and her legs started to hurt she didn't want to stand up. Standing up meant for her to actually leave the plane, get her luggage and meet her family which would sooner or later lead to them asking all these questions. It wasn't like she didn't miss them.

She missed them very dearly. She missed the Sunday morning brunches with her neighbours, the movie nights where her dad would always pick out a movie because he'd pout if not, she even missed her little brother Mark bursting into her room without knocking and asking her some totally stupid questions. She missed catching up with her best friend. She missed all these sleepovers when all they had to worry about was who the cutest boy at school was and what they'll do together once they were adults. She craved for all these past memories. The last time she set foot onto this ground was two years ago at her very first spring break after leaving home, moving to a town thousand of miles away, not knowing anyone.

She heard a beeping noise which indicated that the passengers could stand up and get out but she waited. All of them seemed in such a hurry to leave the plane, grabbing their belongings, everyone trying to get out first which ended in a crowded queue inside of the plane. She stretched her legs as much as possible, not making the slightest move to stand up.

Her eyes wandered back to the window, allowing her to take a glance at the sky, she wished to be into again. It was still quite bright outside, even though it was nearly evening, the sun nearly blinding her when she looked up, leading her to cover her eyes with her hand. The sunsets were so different in the States than here, in South Korea. Her eyes tried to focus on the slowly fading sun, leaving the sky in beautiful pinks and oranges with just a hint of soft white clouds.

Her mind started to spin, thinking about all the things she had to explain to her family sooner or later. But for now she needed to stay positive and hide the fact that she – the oh-so-perfect – student managed to drop out of a university, her parents nearly went insolvent to pay for to allow their daughter to get the best medical education they could think of. At the beginning the girl actually thought that it was her biggest dream to become a famous surgeon but after a short while she had to face the ugly truth that the job she so desperately wanted to do as long as she could remember just wasn't her thing.

She tried so badly to keep on and thought that it's just a phase every young adult went through when they started university but every time she talked to her friends at university she saw that that wasn't exactly the case. Everyone was so focused and motivated to become a successful doctor or surgeon they underwent the torture of endless sleepless nights, insane pressure and the feeling of not being able to even cut an onion correctly, which the professor didn't even care to make better. Every day she got told that she would never be able to work in the medical field and could try herself with some more basic and easy studies. It didn't matter how hard she tried to remember all the lectures and do her assignments – she failed miserably at everything.

Of course, her family didn't know. She was way too afraid to burst the bubble her parents created around her, leaving her in that perfect, white spotlight, portraying her like some sort of angel on a pedestal for everyone to see. They loved to talk about her in front of everyone, telling them that she'd be a successful surgeon, working hard and publishing groundbreaking articles, making herself a name in the medical community. Maybe even getting some famous award. Everyone in that small town knew about the smart daughter who got into one of the best medical universities in the United States, who worked so hard she was barely home.

She couldn't bear to see the disappointment on their faces once they see what she really was – a failure. She managed to hide her dropping out of university so well, she created her web of lies carefully over the last year, she sometimes even believed what she was saying. But as soon as her alarm clock went off, remembering her to go to work at a small corner café to pay her rent and even save some money in case her parents might throw her out, she had to face real life again. The life in which she dropped out only one year after starting, loosing hundreds of thousands of dollars and leaving the incident in her resume forever.

She was glad she got a job in the café as it belonged to the parents of one friend she met at college, who managed to get in because of a scholarship. They allowed her to work as much as she could to save money and even helped her sometimes.

“Excuse me, Miss?”, a soft and gentle voice made the girl leave her deep thoughts and look up. A beautiful, young flight attendant smiled down at her. “You need to leave the plane, please.”, she said in sweet yet demanding voice and got her luggage out of the cabinet above for her. The girl didn't realise that the plane was already as good as empty. She thanked the attendant, grabbed her bag and went out of the plane into the airport, feeling her legs shaking more with each step she took.

She pulled out her smartphone, turning off flight mode only to get bombarded with dozens of messages, mostly from her mom asking if she already landed and that they waited for her at the gate. After that she only texted emojis. Hearts, heart-eyes and some other stuff which made her feel even more anxious. How could she disappoint a mother as proud as her? No, she needed to keep her secret for a bit longer. Maybe until her brother messed up. But what could he possibly mess up which would overshadow her dropping out of college? Maybe if he committed a crime.

Mark was different from her, She didn't know how but he actually managed to tell their parents that he doesn't want to become a doctor or lawyer, and instead insisted of becoming an author or journalist. To say her parents were unhappy would be an understatement. They were more than angry and told him to pay the tuition himself. They believed it was just a small teenage dream he had but when he finished High School and started working at the local bookstore to save some money to actually study creative writing they realized that he was serious. That small incident happened just 14 months ago, yet he continued to work there and save up. He even managed to visit her every couple of months, as she didn't want to come.

When she arrived at the luggage claim the suitcases were already out on the baggage belt and she waited as long as she could, watching her lonely suitcase making its turns on the device, purposely ignoring it until it was the only one left and she had to grab it. Her phone vibrated in her pocket again.

Mark [06.07pm]: Where r u?

She rolled her eyes and just put it back in the pocket of her jeans as she headed towards the exit. The girl took a deep breath, putting on the brightest smile she could manage and stepped out of the doors. Her family wasn't hard to notice. Her parents held a way too big and bright banner in their hands

WELCOME HOME AVA

Ava tried to keep her smile up and waved at them. “Oh, honey welcome home!”, her mother shouted as she lowered the banner to hug her daughter tightly. “I'm so happy you're finally home again, our doctor!.”, she said and patted her back softly. She felt her dad joining the hug and giving her a warm smile as well, joining her mother in telling her how happy he was to have her back home. Ava clenched her jaw, trying to smile as honest as possible.

“You're really squishing me to death guys.”, Ava chuckled and was glad when her parents finally let go of her. She looked up and saw her brother Mark smiling at her.

“Come on, give your favourite sister a hug.”, the girl laughed, making her brother chuckle before embracing her in a loving hug as well. The last time she saw him he visited the campus a few months ago. Of course he didn't know she dropped out then and nearly choked on his water when she told him. She knew he wouldn't tell their parents but he thought it would be better if she told their parents as soon as possible, which she didn't of course.

“Happy to have you back.”, Mark said and squeezed his sister one more time before he let her go and took her suitcase.

Ava stretched her body slowly before getting into their car, really not wanting to sit down for another hour but apparently she had to. As soon as she sat down and put on her seat belt her mother turned around to look at her and smiled.

“Tell us, honey, how is Stanford? Is it going well, yes?”, she asked and Ava felt like she needed to throw up.

“Yeah, everything is fine. I handed in all assignments last week and I have a good feeling.”, she chuckled and felt guilt crawling all over her body. She smiled slightly and turned her eyes away to avoid her mother proud gaze, yet she could feel Mark eyeing her.

“Ah, that's so great, honey. Your father and I just talked to the Lee's from across the street and they told us their son wants to apply to Stanford, too. We told them you could talk to him and give some advice.”

“Sure.”, she just sighed and pulled out her phone again, hoping her mother would understand her silent plead to leave her be. Her mother smiled again and turned back to talk to her father about what she'd make for dinner on this special occasion.

Ava checked the other texts she got, scrolling through them. She smiled when she saw a text from her best friend, sending her a picture from her in her nurse uniform. She looked so cute, proudly standing in front of the mirror in the dressing room, posing with a finger heart.

[Ava 06.54pm] Cute! Just landed, on my way home. Wanna hang out later?

[Yunmi 06.57pm] Can't. Night shift today but pick me up tomorrow morning and get breakfast? The café next to the bookstore finally opened!

[Ava 07.00pm] absolutely! Can't wait. Miss you so much ♥

She scrolled through the remaining texts just to feel a little disappointment in her body after not seeing what she so desperately wanted to see. But then again, she didn't expect to see a text from him after he ignored each and everyone of hers the last two years. He didn't even care enough to wish her a happy birthday in November so he probably couldn't care less texting her when she came home.

She sighed lightly and looked outside the car window, seeing how the landscape came and go in front of her eyes and how the sky got all these beautiful colours in it, she could even see the moon already. A wave of tiredness crashed over her exhausted body as she decided to close her eyes for just a moment.

The girl felt someone poking her arm multiple times, calling her name.

“Wake up, we're home.”, she heard Mark say and groaned, before rubbing her eyes.

“Yes, I'm awake, you can stop poking me.”, she said when her brother continued to poke her arm with a grin on his face.

“Don't make me hit you.”, she warned and slapped his hand away.

“Pff, please.” he answered mockingly and jumped out of the car before her fist could reached his body.

Ava chuckled , getting out of the car stretching her stiff body slowly, hearing all her joints crack at once.

“How old are you? 80?” Mark said teasingly, getting out her suitcase from the trunk.

“Trust me, I feel like it.”, she yawned loudly and slowly got up the stairs to their house.

She inhaled the sweet and calming scent of her mothers vanilla candles as soon as she set foot into the house, taking of her shoes before she walked further inside. It hasn't changed a bit. The beige coloured walls still had pictures of the family on them. Ava smiled and looked at the picture of her and her family from her Highschool graduation three years ago. She smiled when she saw the exact picture her parents had chosen. Mark and her making some weird pose while her parents rolled their eyes.

“Honey, dinner will be ready in half-an-hour, okay?” she didn't realize that her mother was standing right next to her and flinched a bit.

“Yeah, sure, thank you, mom. I'll start to unpack then. Love you.”, Ava said, kissing her mothers cheek softly before going up the stairs into her old room where Mark already put her suitcase and bag.

Her room hasn't changed either. Of course, it looked a bit colder as she took all her personal stuff with her to the US when she moved out, but it still felt comfy with it's cozy beige sofa and her queen sized bed, which her mother already prepared for her. She closed the door behind her and looked outside the big windows, which connected to a small balcony, which was only hers. She remembered how mad Mark was when she got the room with the balcony and not him and grinned. She stepped outside for a moment to breathe in the still warm air, listening to the rustling sound of the trees as a mild breeze blew through them.

The small wooden bench she made herself with her dad back when she was younger still stood in the very same corner and even had pillows on it and a blanket, indicating that someone still used it even while she was gone. Probably her mother when she wanted to have some time and space for herself, she thought and smiled before going back into her room.

She stretched her stiff body once again before squatting down and opening her black suitcase to unpack her things. Ava only brought some clothes and other necessities with her as she didn't believe of staying home for a longer period of time. She rented her tiny apartment, or as she preferred to call it, her shoebox to a friend from university who looked for her own place as long as she stayed with her parents so she didn't need to worry about paying rent. So she just packed her essentials and hoped to keep her pretty little lie for some more months to figure out what she actually wanted to do with her situation now. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to stay in Stanford . She just knew, she didn't want to stay here in this tiny town where everyone knows everyone.

She loved the size of New York, she loved the vibes, the people and even the stink it had. It was charming in some kind of way and she enjoyed the anonymity she had. She liked living in the famous city which never sleeps but it didn't feel like a complete home to her yet and maybe never would. Not to mention, that she was just working in a café which was barely enough to live so she needed to get something more permanent very soon. But she had no idea what that could be. Maybe she'd apply to another university, maybe she didn't want to go to college at all. But what were her options anyway?

Ava groaned, throwing a stack of clothes into her closet in frustration, before squatting down again to fold them neatly. She felt her phone vibrating in the pocket of her jeans and sighed when she saw the name of the person who messaged her blinking in front of her. She opened it and thought about her answer for several minutes before she decided to ignore it for the moment and maybe get back to it later, unsure about her wanting to meet the sender or not.

She furrowed her eyes as she looked at the clock hanging at one of her walls, showing that it was way later than she expected and her mother still hadn't called for dinner yet. She put the last of her belongings in the connected bathroom she shared with her brother and checked her phone to make sure she didn't receive a text from him telling her dinner is ready. Ava didn't realize how hungry she was until she thought about the dishes her mother was probably busy making and her mouth started to water. She really missed good Korean food. There were quite some Korean restaurants in New York but of course nothing tasted as good as her mother's home cooked meals.

Just as she wanted to open her door and check downstairs she heard her mother shout from the kitchen that dinner was finally ready. She opened her door and could already smell the kimchi and meat her mother apparently made and couldn't wait to finally taste it.

“Coming! I'm getting Mark”, Ava shouted back and wanted to knock on Marks door, telling him to come down but the boy who opened the door wasn't her brother.

“Oh, hey Ava. Haven't seen you in forever. How are you?”, Johnny asked, seemingly surprised but a small smile appeared on his pretty face.

He hasn't changed a tiny bit. He still looked as gorgeous as three years ago when she left and never heard of him again. His hair was still black but a tad longer than before. It framed the contours of his face just perfectly which made it hard for her to look away and think about how she was mad at him for ignoring her for the past years, even though the last thing she remembered with him was actually something very nice. Or that's at least what she thought it was. Apparently he thought differently and had to treat her like air. Not even daring to step a foot in their house when she came home for spring break once.

“Umm, fine. Are you staying for dinner?”, she asked, trying to sound as calm as possible but she couldn't hide a tint of anger in her voice, yet the anger mixed up with other feelings she was way too bad at hiding.

“Yeah, I invited him. He basically lives here anyway.”, she heard Mark say behind Johnny who didn't seem to sense her displeasure over his invitation. Why do they have to be best friends? She asked herself and secretly hoped for Johnny to disappear or something. But of course that wouldnÄt happen.

“Please, the food gets cold, come down.”, she heard her mother saying from the foot of the stairs with her hands stemmed in her hips, still wearing her red-dotted apron.

“Actually, I'm not hungry.”, Ava said taking a step away from Johnny as his simple presence made her legs feel stupidly weak.

Her statement got quite unbelievable when her stomach started to growl from the heavenly scent of her mother's food.

“Doesn't sound like it.”, Mark said and raised his brow looking at his sister questionably.

“I'm really not hungry and I'm meeting a friend. Can we postpone our family dinner to another time?”, she said while purposely emphasising the term family to show her displeasure about the clearly unwanted guest guest.

Before her mother could answer something Ava ran down the stairs, giving her mother another short kiss before running outside, leaving her house behind.

She took a deep breath before letting out some vulgar curses towards the situation and especially the person causing her to still feel all these things.

Ava pulled out her phone and messaged the only person she could think of, who might get her thoughts somewhere else, even if she might regret it in the morning.

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molluskwritesfic · 5 years ago

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Where the Roses Grow: Chapter One

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

This story can be found on Ao3 and fanfiction.net.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mild violence, electrocution, reference to sexual assault, mild language, slavery and associated themes.

This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter One

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

The thin metallic voice echoed faintly through the stone halls, but after a lifetime of eavesdropping she heard it loud and clear. Without missing a beat, she scooped up the tiny green creature that had been playing by her feet. To the baby, with his massive bat-like ears, the not-so-distant blaster fire must’ve been frighteningly loud. His dark eyes blinked up at her worriedly, ears held flat to his shoulders.

She pressed a kiss to his wrinkled forehead. With the child cradled protectively to her chest, she hurried across the room, neatly side-stepping piles of supplies and junk. The baby’s bassinet sat among the wall, small and unassuming among the scattered bits of droid and speeder parts the Nikto mercenaries had scavenged from raiding bounty hunters.

With practiced ease, she balanced the baby in one arm while opening the bassinet with the other. The quick press of a few buttons revealed the baby’s sleeping space. Small and dark, but made homey by several small blankets and a patchwork cloth frog, all lovingly made in the bright colors. Her fingers ached with the memory of each tiny stitch. She deposited the baby in its bassinet, tucking in the blanket corners gently.

He curled his little claws into the top blanket - the red one. His favorite. She smiled down at him sadly, wishing there was something she could do to stop the never-ending noise and violence; to stop him from being afraid. He was unlike any other child that had fallen into her care over the years. If he were, perhaps she could offer more comfort. But he always seemed shockingly aware of the galaxy around him.

He knew there were people dying outside. He knew they were coming for him.

She pressed a finger over her lips. It was something they’d practiced extensively. He copied the gesture, pressing one of his three fingers over his mouth with a self-pleased grin.

She could distract him, at least.

Despite the severity of the situation, she couldn’t help but return the smile. She leaned down to press a last quick kiss to the baby’s brow before pulling away and closing the bassinet’s shutters.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

A few armed Niktos swarmed through the narrow space, causing her to flatten herself against the wall to let them pass. She was of little interest or value to them. An extra piece of furniture that they had to feed. They sidestepped her with the same regard they gave to the half-forgotten piles of junk they housed her and her charge among. Her safety was the absolute last thing on their minds.

She was far too used to it to be offended. The heavy metal collar around her neck caused others to set her apart and then aside. It had once bit into her skin and drawn blood, but over the years the skin underneath had scarred and calloused.

Now it only itched.

Knowing that it was up to her to keep herself alive, she tossed a ragged tarp over the bassinet and piled a couple of other odds and ends on top in hopes that if anyone did make it through, they wouldn’t realize it contained what they sought. At least not immediately. Just long enough for her to get a bearing on the newcomers’ intentions. Specifically, whether or not they intended to harm the baby.

She had no love for the Nikto gang. They were just the most recent in the rather long line of hands the child had fallen into over the past two years - and those were just the ones she knew about. But as brutish as the group of mercenaries could be, they generally left her and the child to their own devices - so long as they weren’t in the way.

She’d had far worse masters.

But, should the newcomers be successful, She didn’t want to be seen as one of the mercenaries. That was a very easy way to get a bolt through the head. Nor did she want to show any support for the attackers. Should they lose, the Nikto would be sure to express their displeasure.

She slipped behind a few crates to wait, well out of sight but with a clear view of where the baby hid. Passive defense had served her well in the past, and she saw no reason to alter tactics now.

The battle outside was louder than ever, the usual blaster fire underscoring heavy artillery that made the air vibrate. She waited with bated breath, listening intently despite wanting to clamp her hands over her ears to defend against the volume.

Silence fell.

She waited.

There was movement outside. Footsteps. Two, at a guess, but there was no way to tell which side they were on. She stayed hidden.

She was startled by the sound of someone running. Someone close, too close. Before she had a chance to work out who they were and why they’d been able to get so close without her noticing, they were crashing into the barrels she had hidden herself behind and locking a hand around her throat just above the collar.

She wheezed as the grip tightened. They slung her around violently so that she faced them. It was Grod, the leader of the mercenary band. There was nothing particularly special about him - besides him being a little bigger than the rest... and the fact that he currently had the control fob to her collar.

Grod hissed something at her in Nikto, squeezing her throat tighter for emphasis.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, eyes wide and pleading. “I don’t know Nikto.”

It was a lie, of course. But the tide had turned against Grod and she had no intention of assisting him in whatever he had planned - which probably included running. A bad idea in the middle of the desert. Especially while being hunted.

Grod snarled, perhaps having caught the lie. He fished in the rugged leather of his jacket and revealed the fob. It was small - just the right size to fit in the palm of the hand - metallic and black. A dial sat in the center of the object, along with a few buttons.

She was painfully aware of its function. Cold fear washed over her, but she didn’t back down.

Grod turned the dial and pressed the button. The collar around her neck seared into her skin. Her vision went white. She crumpled to the ground, mouth open in a silent cry as her limbs jerked and twitched with electricity.

She wasn’t entirely aware of what happened next, but through the pain she saw Grod turn with his blaster only to fall at her side an instant later.

Someone loomed over her, no more than a pale shadow in her pain-washed vision. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, unable to get enough air to cry out. Her teeth gnashed and rattled in their sockets. She heard voices, but couldn’t make out the words through the ringing in her ears.

The electricity stopped, but the pain didn’t. She gasped like a fish, trying to force her lungs to draw in enough air to breathe through the pain. Her muscles twitched by their own volition, trying to work out which electrical signals they were supposed to obey now that the horrible surge had come and gone.

Darkness ate at the corners of her vision. She sank away into dizzying blackness.

. ~0~0~0~

“Nan!” Hetta’s shrill voice sliced through the air, shattering what had been an otherwise peaceful evening.

Elsi Nokk heaved a great sigh, trying to convince herself to be content with listening to her charge’s whiny shouts, so long as it bought her a few more minutes of solitude. She bent over her needlework with redoubled effort, so that when the child finally found her, it would seem that she’d been too preoccupied to notice.

“Nan Elsi!”

Nan, of course, was short for Nanny, as a slave could never hope to be awarded the title of Governess. It was a comparatively small insult, and one she was all too used to.

She didn’t like being called Nan. It made her feel old, which she wasn’t. Her wavy blond hair had yet to start greying, even if it did look a little mousy tucked away in the low braided bun she always wore. The weathered places lining the corners of her soft grey eyes placed her in her late thirties, though her true age was anyone’s guess. A stressful life had the tendency to age a creature beyond their years, and she was no exception.

Elsi had no guilt at leaving Hetta to search for her. At twelve years of age, the child was spoiled, bratty, and had the wit of a bantha. Each day, Elsi would take her sewing to the riverbank while Hetta took her mid-afternoon nap. She always sat in the same spot, underneath the same tree that acted as a protective screen sheltering her from both weather and prying eyes.

Despite having found her nanny in the same spot a fair number of times, Hetta couldn’t seem to come to the logical conclusion as to where Elsi could have possibly disappeared to.

It only took another thirty odd seconds for Elsi to give up the charade. Hetta was loud and shrill, which wasn’t good for the headache that had already been building behind Elsi’s eyes. She heaved a great sigh and tucked her sewing back into her bag, folding everything neatly and ensuring that the needle wasn’t going anywhere.

She stood and brushed away the low hanging leaves, parting them and striding out into the sunlight. “Here, Hetta.”

Hetta bounded across the short lawn and stopped in front of her nanny, where she stood bouncing on her toes. She was a blonde-haired bundle of sickeningly sweet pink and lace, a dress that Elsi had slaved over for weeks. Elsi’s keen eyes picked out the dirt smudged across the fabric covering her left knee and the slight tattering on the hem; two flaws that hadn’t been present when she dressed her that morning.

Elsi tried not to be harsh about it. Hetta was only a child, and she was constantly reminding herself that children were SUPPOSED to play and get dirty. Had the universe been different, Elsi herself might’ve been exactly like Hetta as a child . But she’d learned early on to keep her smocks clean and pressed, as those that taught her weren’t quick to make allowances.

She subconsciously tugged at the side of her simple blue dress to straighten the imaginary wrinkles. Lessons learned at the end of a whip didn’t fade with time.

Hetta didn’t seem to care that she behaved more like a common street urchin than the daughter of a nobleman. She had the same smug look on her face that she always wore when she knew something Elsi didn’t, which usually ended up being bad for the nanny.

Elsi was usually quite good at predicting potential outcomes and preparing for them. But an unanticipated scenario meant she had no contingency plan for it, which exponentially increased her chances of being punished for negligence of duty.

Elsi crossed her arms over her chest, jutting out her hip and tapping her foot impatiently. Hetta’s father, Lord Burkisn, might be Elsi’s master, but Hetta certainly wasn’t.

Hetta’s expression faltered under Elsi’s piercing stare. Her internal debate flickered clearly across her face: to bask in powerful sensation of teasing, or to risk some kind of punishment later on. Lord Burkisn cared for his daughter, but since the death of her mother and despite his severity towards his slaves, Elsi had almost absolute power over Hetta’s upbringing.

Elsi was not afraid to use what little power she had been allotted, and that’s what made her the best nanny an aloof widower Nobleman could possibly ask for.

“Father wants you,” Hetta explained, glancing sheepishly down at her nanny’s shoes.

Elsi quirked an eyebrow, hiding her unease with a lifetime’s worth of practice. “What for?”

“Dunno,” she said, then quickly adding, “But he wants you to hurry.”

Elsi doubted the child’s ignorance. Despite the threat of being reprimanded for a lack of punctuality, she fixed her charge with her best ‘no nonsense’ look that could cause plants to wilt and waited for her to offer a more acceptable explanation. It was better to be prepared than to walk into any situation blind.

Hetta loathed that look. While she loved to cause trouble, she couldn’t stand being IN trouble. The death-glare was one of the most effective weapons in Elsi’s child-rearing arsenal, and she saved it for special occasions. Although being called to her master seemed arbitrary, having been sent for by Hetta sounded alarm bells for Elsi; it meant everyone else was otherwise preoccupied, and Elsi hadn’t been aware of anything out of the ordinary.

“We have visitors. Daddy’s special guests,” Hetta started sheepishly. “And there’s a sick baby.”

~0~0~0~ .

Elsi found her way back to consciousness slowly; she had to coax it - her mind and body - away from the relief of dreamless sleep and into the light. It burned her inside and out.

She groaned softly and forced her eyes open. The dull sandstone ceiling twisted dizzyingly overhead. Nausea coiled in her gut like a serpent. She rolled over on her stomach and retched, but there was very little to vomit up.

The collar had been on a high setting, higher than the usual level used to punish a slave. Anything above 75% for more than a minute or two, and you ran the risk of causing permanent injury to the slave - brain damage, heart conditions. In other words, property damage - something no slave trader or master wanted.

If she had to guess, she would say that the collar had been set to somewhere around 90%.

Grod had probably only intended to give her a brief shock, a few seconds of electricity strong enough to break her into compliance. She imagined that he hadn’t expected to be distracted by the blaster bolts cutting down the thick Quadanium door. The Nikto had drawn his blaster, no longer caring about the woman writhing in uncontrollable agony at his feet.

Movement flashed in the corner of her eye. Elsi wiped her mouth and gathered what little strength she still had in order to lift her head. She found herself looking into the smoking cranium of the IG unit, presumably the same one that she’d heard earlier.

Panic filtered through her foggy mind. The hunter was dead. Had one of the Nikto killed it? Did she still belong to them?

Oh, how she hated not knowing what to expect. She’d survived this long by knowing how to play her cards; and though they were often shitty, she won by playing the other person.

Not knowing the other players could be fatal.

Instinctively, her head snapped to where she’d stashed the crib. To her dismay, the debris she’d hidden it behind had been tossed carelessly to the side. From her place on the floor, she could see that the shutters were open and the baby peeking out curiously at the man that stood between him and Elsi.

A Mandalorian.

She hadn’t met one before, but the trademark T visor was hard to miss. She’d heard the stories, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted them to be true. They were supposed to be warriors, noble soldiers in shining armor that were indomitable on the battlefield. The best warriors in the galaxy.

Elsi couldn’t speak as to the rest, but this particular Mandalorian seemed to have seen better days. The only parts of his armor that could even begin to be described as shining were his helmet and right pauldron, and those were coated with a fine layer of dust and sand. The rest of it was mismatched, a hodgepodge of dented metal that he wore like scales, painted with rust red or a shade of tan paint that was faded and scratched.

If he gave a shit about his appearance, he certainly didn't show it. He stood nonchalantly with one finger extended to the baby, who was reaching for it with interested little coos. Although the baby seemed to be at the center of his attention, she could infer from the tilt of his helmet that he was keeping her in his periphery. He didn’t seem to feel at all threatened by her, though. But why should he? From what she could see, he had at least one blaster at his hip and a fearsome rifle strapped over his shoulder.

More than that, Elsi spied her slave-fob clipped to his belt.

Feigning another bout of nausea, Elsi grit her teeth. She hadn’t met a Mandalorian before, but from what she’d heard, they could be brutal… and tricky. Some lived by what most species would call honor, others lived by how their own personal code defined it.

He hadn’t killed her yet, so that was something. But there were much worse things that could be done to a female slave, a bitter lesson that she’d learned very young.

Slowly, Elsi worked her way up to stand on shaking legs. Once up, she kept her hands folded in front of her and her head bowed submissively. The T of the Mandalorian’s visor turned to fix her with an empty stare.

“What is it?”

Despite knowing exactly what he was asking, she played ignorant. “He is a child.”

“Yes.” The indignation only just caught on his vocoder. “I was told the target was 50.”

“I can’t speak to his age,” Elsi offered, “but he has been in my care for two years, and he looks the same as he first did.”

The Mandalorian grunted and dropped his hand, which went to his hip. Elsi stiffened, bracing for pain, but instead of her fob, he came away with a canteen. He held it out to her.

Wary, Elsi accepted it. She uncorked it and subtly sniffed the contents. Water. She took a few meager sips to help wash away the taste of sick, but didn’t dare drink outright. Water was precious in the desert. She wasn’t.

The last thing she needed now was to outspend her own worth.

She returned the canteen. While he clipped it back to his belt, he asked, “You good to walk?”

Elsi wasn’t optimistic about how far her legs would carry her. She was already exhausted, drained by her collar and subsequent illness. And if that weren’t enough, months of being confined in a compound hadn’t done her any favors by the way of exercise. But, the way she saw it, there were only a handful of responses she could expect from telling a new master that she was too weak to walk and thus work. The Mandalorian had yet to be cruel, and might be willing to allow her to rest a little longer before setting out.

But she couldn’t rule out the other options just yet. The baby was the valuable one. Elsi severely doubted any bounty he intended to collect would be for her own delivery. He could just simply kill her to save himself both time and trouble. Or he could leave her behind.

For the baby’s sake, Elsi couldn’t afford to risk either.

“I can walk,” she said. “But first, may I collect his things?”

The Mandalorian’s helmet adopted a thoughtful tilt, as if he hadn’t considered that the child should need things other than a bassinet.

He nodded curtly. “Be quick.”

Elsi dipped her head obediently and shuffled off to the abandoned corner she and the child usually occupied.

Her limbs were still wobbly and ached dully from the collar, but she ignored them and quickly packed the few meager possessions they had between them into a worn russack sack; several of the child’s robes, an extra dress for Elsi, a few days worth of rations and a large canteen of water, as well as a few other odds and ends.

Last but not least, Elsi’s special needle in its ornate casing was tucked away into one of the hidden pockets she’d sewn into her dress. The casing was made of rosy bronze metal, embossed with finger-worn roses and an image of a needle and thread. It was the only thing of worth she possessed, having inherited it from another slave. Although its contents had long since dried beyond use, she kept it close, waiting for the opportunity to fill it again.

She finished quickly and padded back to where the Mandalorian stood waiting. Her heart clenched when she saw him holding the little cloth frog she’d made for the baby. He held it up to his visor, turning it back and forth. Elsi held her breath, half expecting him to toss it to the side.

He didn’t. When he saw Elsi approaching, he returned the doll back to the child’s outstretched hands. The baby squeaked happily.

The Mandalorian held his hand out for the bag. Elsi gave it to him without question and watched with subdued frustration as he rooted through it and upset all of her carefully folded and packed items.

She picked idly at the bracelet snaked around her wrist. It was the only ornamentation she’d been allowed to keep over the last ten years or so. It was nothing special, just a long braid of twisted leather with little burgundy beads that wrapped around her wrist seven or eight times. It was cheap and looked it. But wearing it made her feel safe, and so wear it she did.

Satisfied that she wasn’t hiding any weapons from him, the Mandalorian stuffed everything half-hazardly into the bag before thrusting it back in her direction. She shouldered it without comment, hiding her displeasure at how lumpy and awkward it now was.

Unbothered, the Mandalorian tapped idly at one of his vambraces. The bassinet beeped in confirmation.

When he led the way out into the compound, the bassinet trailed after him obediently, its passenger giggling excitedly to his nanny, who forced a smile and nodded along to his babbling. Elsi, already dreading the journey, brought up the rear.

~0~0~0~ .

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

Text

Tilt The Hourglass

Summary : "Enough." Said a voice from the Holocron. "The Sith will not be destroyed! You cannot change what we have done! You will suffer-"

"Enough." Said another, without anger. "The balance must be restored. It will tip too far. Too much pain, and a galaxy a sore in the soul. More must be done!"

Enough. Maul thought, sheltered in the arms of his rival. Enough. It’s over.

It isn't.

Maul is no longer a sith.

He had not been one in decades, now.

He had not been a sith since the death of Savage. Perhaps he had never been a true sith at all. His master hadn’t taught him much outside of combat. He could not produce force lightning, and his understanding of the spiritual aspect of their order was limited to what little had been necessary to encourage his hatred of jedi and what he’d needed to know to enhance his abilities as an assassin.

He’d carried that hatred, and the hatred of all the sith that had come before him, their ashes still fresh in his mind some days. With their own agony stacked on top of his own it had been easy to nurse his grudge as long as he had.

Few times in his life had Maul been as elated as he had been when he’d learned Kenobi yet lived. An unanswered grudge was like an untreated wound, something to fester and rot inside his chest. The chance to end their decade old dance drove him to Tatooine, where they’d first crossed paths all those years ago. Ezra, his dear(if reluctant) apprentice played his part perfectly, and Maul did nothing to keep him from leaving, save promise to see him again. He intended to keep that promise. The shattered remnants of two holocrons were warm enough in his pocket that he could feel the heat where flesh met metal. He knew; today was a great ending.

He wasn’t expecting the pale blue light to slice through his hilt. He wasn’t expecting the smell of burnt flesh or the pain in his chest.

He thought he would win. He thought it would be Kenobi’s ending.

The biggest surprise was the arms that wrapped around him, saving him from falling in the sand. Warm, and careful. The shards in his pocket pulsed. A thousand Sith hissed phantom words at him. A thousand Jedi hummed ghostly thoughts.

He stared up at Kenobi. His hair had gone silver, but his eyes were the same bright blue Maul had known for twenty years. Longer. Twenty? Thirty?

Gods, how old had they become?

How old was the person Kenobi protected? For a jedi to go so far for one person, when they were forbidden their attachments-

Well. Kenobi had never been very good at that part, had he?

They were both poor examples of their orders.

It was enough to make Maul laugh, a hacking, wet thing that resulted with blood in his mouth and his body screaming with pain.

“The boy,” Maul croaked. “Is he your ‘chosen one’?” The jedi in the holocron sang louder.

Kenobi watched him, his blue eyes sad. “He is.”

Why sad? He’d finally dealt the final blow to his enemy, to the man who killed his master, to the man who stole his love, and left carnage in his wake. Why would he be sad to have his vengeance?

Jedi.

“He will destroy the sith,” Maul could see it in his mind's eye, in flickers of the Force. The Sith in his pocket hissed louder in rage. Maul wanted to laugh in their faces. A Grand Plan, passed from one to the other. A success to end in failure!

A green lightsaber, so like the one that Kenobi had wielded against him. A dark cloak, ragged breathing, and an explosion that will rock the galaxy to its core.

And at last, Maul’s own master, falling to his death just as Maul had so long ago. Poetic.

“He will avenge us.” The both of them, tormented by Sidious, by the sith. Both of them pushed to the brink, until all that was left was the two of them alone in the desert. Maul grasped the shards in his pocket with the hand that didn’t reach for his rival. He squeezed them with all of his strength, the corners biting into his palms until a voice snarled far off.

Enough. It said. The Sith will not be destroyed! You cannot change what we have done! You will suffer-

Enough. Said another, without anger. The balance must be restored. It will tip too far. Too much pain, and a galaxy a sore in the soul. More must be done!

Enough. Maul thought. Enough. It’s over.

Maul grasped at Kenobi as the darkness crawled closer. The light of the twin suns dawning crested Kenobi in a halo of light, and left Maul, again, in the shadow.

He let out the last breath of his life and crushed the holocron shard’s to dust.

A green head poked into view.

Maul stared up at her.

The sky above her head was blue and wide, with puffy pink clouds streaking across it. A familiar face and a familiar sky.

“Kilindi?”

Was this his fate? To face those he’d killed in death?

Yet, she did not look as she had when he had given her the most merciful death he could manage under the circumstances. She was younger. Her cheeks were fuller, and her head tails were shorter and the stripes were less distinct. Her eyes were wide and worried.

“Oh good,” she smiled at him and sat back on her heels. “I thought you might have had your brain scrambled. Trakor threw you pretty hard.”

Maul blinked dumbly up at her.

Trakor. An instructor of the academy their first six years, before Meltch Krakko had come out of ‘retirement’. He was just as brutal as the mandalorian. He hadn’t thought of either of them for a long time.

Over the years Maul had almost forgotten him and the mandalorian, so full was he with hate for others more deserving of his ire.

(He would deny it until his dying breath, but Maul tried not to think of Orsis. Of Kilindi and Daleen, and their bodies in his arms and blood on his hands. )

(Oh. Wait. He’d had his dying breaths)

(...He would still deny it)

“Is that so?” he sat up slowly, his whole body aching. He drew his legs up.

His legs. His actual legs, not the mechanical ones he’d had for years. Maul poked at his thighs. He grasped his knee cap between his forefinger and thumb and wiggled it back and forth. He’d been very flexible as a child. His hands were so small, his fingers were short, and calloused but they missed several scars. His arms were hidden by the long sleeves of an Orsis academy uniform, but they too were too short, and too skinny.

“Uh, Maul?” she asked lightly, her smile dropping into concern.

Trakor appeared over her shoulder and pushed her aside briskly.

“Up, boy. I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“He blacked out,” Kilindi argued. “He could be concussed!”

When Trakor reached for him, Maul bared his sharp teeth on instinct. Trakor scowled at him.

“Hold still,” he ordered gruffly. Maul clenched his fists, but didn’t lash out when Trakor pulled out a light and flicked it into his eyes. Maul had hated the man. He’d hated this place, and how he’d been forced to make himself lesser to pass his lessons. Maul loathed having to hold back, but he would not lie. The skills had served him well later in life.

“I’m fine,” he said firmly.

“Quiet. You’re going to medical.”

“I’m fine,” Maul insisted, scowling at him. He was fine! Just dead. Maybe. Or hallucinating? Had it all been some kind of horrible vision?

No, surely not. He had had vision through the force. None of them were like that. Not even the memories of the fallen sith, clawing their way through his skull.

“I wasn’t asking.”

Trakor grabbed him by the back of his shirt like he was a misbehaving youngling and forcefully dragged Maul towards the door. Maul was in the middle of trying to claw his arm off, unwilling to out himself as a force user just yet, when Kilindi fell into step with them and he scowled and stopped.

It was… surreal.

Trakor was brutal, and Meltch Krakko had been even more so. He had been the bane of his existence for years. He had set Maul up to be taken as a slave, for the crime of being Forceful. Maul had killed him, and years later Maul had ruled the very organization that Meltch had belonged to.

If anyone had bothered to bury him after Maul left Orsis, Meltch would have rolled in his grave.

The thought was enough to make him smile. Kilindi looked even more concerned.

Maul let Trakor drag him to medical and drop him in front of a droid that Maul only vaguely remembered. Most medical droids were the same. Logic minded and professional, without a hint of bedside manner. As if Maul had ever been exposed to such things. They were for weaker creatures than him.

He answered each question, with only a few stumbles. He couldn't answer what day it was, or who was the chancellor, and he didn’t recall the fake surname he’d been given for his time training.

The droid declared him concussed, and sent him to rest in his dorm for the time being. Krakko, who actually looked mildly guilty, let Kilindi take him back. Maul was reminded that Mandalorians had a strange value for children.

Maul followed Kilindi through half forgotten halls.

She was small. So small. Not the tall young nautolan who had died with that sardonic smile.

She was still taller than Maul was.

Sidious had lied about Maul’s age when he enrolled him. The headmaster had been willing to look the other way, but they had to say something to other instructors and the students. They’d said he was eleven, three years older than the truth. The year he’d killed her Kilindi had plotted to throw him an eighteenth birthday party. She had been just shy of nineteen.

As far as most people were concerned Maul was just very small for his age, especially for a Zabrak. He’d learned his true age only decades later, from Mother Talzin.

They stopped at the barracks.

One day, when he was top of his class, Maul would be awarded his own dorm. For now he shared with the others. Only Kilindi had a private room, a perk of being Trezza’s ward.

Trezza.

Trezza had been one of his master’s few acquaintances to show Maul any hint of care or companionship. He had respect for him even when he was young. Respect that Sidious had never once shown him.

Maul had to stop his fists from clenching at his side. He looked up at Kilindi.

“I am okay. You don’t need to watch me.”

Kilindi kept her dark eyes on him, her striped tendrils hanging around her shoulder. He had missed her.

“I do. If you’re concussed you might die.”

Maul flashed her a grin with his teeth. “I’m too stubborn for that.”

Kilindi still looked worried, but she had learned even this early in their relationship that Maul truly was one of the most stubborn people alive.

Reluctantly she left him in the barracks.

Maul laid back on the hard bunk and tried to find some sense in the galaxy.

Daleen sat with them at breakfast in the morning, and followed he and Kilindi onto one of the outdoor training balconies.

Maul was banned from training until he’d been cleared by the medical droid, but he still planned on at least watching practice. Kilindi was tough and strong and fast, and while Daleen would never be a warrior she was dangerous in her own way. Maul wondered if she really was a lost princess, or something similar. He’d never actually found out before. He just followed Sidious’ orders. No matter how much it cost him he did as he was told. He had belonged to his master truly and wholly now. He was no apprentice. His hopes of being one were misplaced and misguided. He was just a tool for Sidious. A knife in the dark for him to loose on his enemies.

He’d been such a fool. A young, ignorant child. One who had thought that if he only worked hard enough, if was only fast enough, skilled enough, smart enough, he might earn his masters respect. His affection.

He was a fool.

Maul watched Kilindi toss Daleen onto the practice mats. They were just thick enough to keep permanent damage from being done to students. He remembered them well. He’d been thrown into them time and time again, and thrown others onto them in turn. They were well worn with blood, sweat, and tears. Orsis had stood for years. Theirs was not the first class to walk its halls or spill blood upon its floors. Likely, they would be the last.

Maul had killed well over five hundred people that night in the future. The past.

His past and his future were one and the same. The Force had twisted his existence in on itself, curving what had been and what would over and over each other.

While Maul may not understand how it happened, he stood in the Orsis Academy again. It was not destroyed. His-

His friends were not dead.

Not yet, but his master would order him to kill them, in six years time.

There was another problem. Maul’s master.

Over the years Maul had learned many things. He thought he could keep his master from cottoning on too soon to what had occurred, but the fact of the matter remained that eventually Sidious would notice something was different about his apprentice.

Eventually he would want answers.

Eventually Maul would not be able to stop himself from trying to kill the man.

He had taken everything from Maul. His childhood. His future. His brother-

Savage.

Savage still lived. On Dathomir, being groomed as a slave for the Nightsisters. As long as he lived.

Maul started prowling around the arena where Kilindi was showing Daleen how to properly throw someone over your hit. It was all about leverage. Maul was small like this. He would need to consider that too when he started fighting. His limbs were short and weak. He was small and untested. He would have to change the way he fought. That was fine. He’d never had the raw muscle of Savage.

He would go to him. In time. When he could manage it without getting the both of them killed.

During his time studying what few sith and even jedi artifacts he could get his hands on, and his time devouring Nightsister lore he had learned different ways to shield his mind. Ways that would arouse far less suspicion that the iron walls he was used to constructing to protect himself. Hopefully those methods would keep Sidious from looking too close at the lurking ocean of animosity inside him.

At this age Maul still did not hate the man.

He admired him. He wanted only to please him.

A fool indeed.

“I am prepared to lose what I most value,” Sidious had told him before Hypori and his final test there. “So must you be to become a sith. You must be ready to lose your own life in order to win.”

Maul felt Exhilarated. He was determined to prove he was the best apprentice in the history of the sith.

He’d nearly died. He’d nearly gone mad.

Still could he feel the cold stone of the cave where he dueled his master. He fell against the wall, his body burning with rage and infection, his injured leg a source of constant agony. He struggled to breath. Even the Darkside could not banish his fever.

Still could he hear Sidious howling with laughter. "I saw your weakness long ago. Your doubts in your own abilities. Your doubts in my teaching. Your inability to embrace the dark side. And that is why, over these long years, I have secretly trained another apprentice."

Maul had stared hard at Sidious. He hadn’t wanted to believe him. He hadn’t wanted to trust the taste of betrayal on his tongue or the coursing anger in his veins.

"Or, poor Maul. All he ever wanted was a friend. Does it please you to know I have another apprentice? Does it make you feel less alone?"

Breathless and in pain Maul had said, "More than one apprentice... is against rules of the sith."

"You are right," Sidious said with a grin. "A spark of intelligence, at last. My second apprentice is on the other side of the planet. He conquered all of the assassins sent after him. He only sustained a flesh wound. He is healthy. He is strong. Unlike the pathetic weakling I see before me."

It was then that Maul realized his opponents had not really been the assassin droids. He thought of all the punishment he had endured over the past month, and then of the unending punishments of his entire life. He thought of his true opponent, the unseen adversary, chosen by Sidious to become a Sith Lord. Maul felt robbed of his past and future. And then a rage unlike anything he had ever felt before swelled through him. The rage was so overwhelming he thought it might consume him.

No. He had thought, a boy of only seventeen, I can direct it. My rage will consume my enemy. It will consume my master.

Glaring at Sidious, Maul saw the true face of his enemy. Sidious snickered.

"Can you understand? Focus. If there can be only one apprentice, then one of you must die. Who do you think I have chosen to die, Maul?"

He’d attacked. He’d lost, been beaten soundly, and even at the end he’d bit the hand that had fed him, sinking his sharp teeth into Sidious’ human skin. He could still taste his blood if he tried.

Maul wished he had killed him then.

His thoughts carried him to the voices of the holocron he’d destroyed. There was an imprint on his palm now, two pointed scars. One triangular, one square. They were burned into his skin.

You cannot change what we have done. You will suffer-

No.

The Sith had taken everything from him once already. He would not allow them to do it again.

He could not take on his master yet, but perhaps he could buy himself time. With the mind guarding techniques he’d learned he could keep Sidious from realizing exactly what had happened, but he would need more than that. He tried to think.

Daleen managed to slip Kilindi over her shoulder at last. Force. Maul hadn’t realized how much he missed them.

He would not kill them again. Not for Sidious. He would kill no one for that man.

Last time it had happened because Meltch Krakko had sold him out to the Nightsisters, and to slavers from Rakkata. If he could prevent that from happening perhaps he could prevent the massacre. To do that he either needed to get better at hiding his force abilities, or keep Krakko from coming to Orsis in the first place. That would irritate his master as well, who had wanted Krakko to teach Maul all along.

Maul paused his steps.

He liked that option more, but it would be more difficult to pull off.

How could he keep Krakko from coming back to the Academy? If Maul recalled he’d left to join the Mandalore civil war. Death Watch.

After he’d taken over Mandalore Maul had looked into its past. The Mandalorians were powerful warriors, who had gone toe to toe with the Jedi order in the past. His own Mandalorians had even risked themselves to rescue him when Sidious had taken him away. They hadn’t needed to. He didn’t expect them to.

Could he really betray them?

Maul looked down at his small hands.

The men and women who had been under his command were all his age or younger. The only ones older were Vizla, who he’d killed, and a handful of others who had also caused him problems. He knew that Mandalorians valued children. They would not harm the people who had made up Maul’s Death Watch.

With that small comfort in mind he began to spin his plan.

“Kilindi,” he called, interrupting the girls spar. It was a ‘free day’, a day where trainees were free to pursue their own specialities, or do supplemental work for classes they had trouble with. The Nautolan looked over at him, her dark eyes bright.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to look up some current events.”

“Oh, I’ll come with,” Daleen volunteered eagerly. She was sweaty and bruised. Her dark hair stuck to her head. Maul wondered how she could stand the feeling.

“Why?” Maul asked with a frown. He knew they had been friends, once, but they had only known each other for a little while here.

“Well, I know more about what’s going on in the galaxy than either of you two,” she said reasonably. “And I know how to sort through information better.”

Maul wanted to argue with that, but at this age he was more of a warrior than anything else. If he suddenly knew all about slicing and reading under the lines, and researching things he wasn’t supposed to know it would be more than a little suspicious.

“What are we looking for?” Kilindi asked. The three of them fell in step together and walked towards the computer labs. It felt natural. It felt right.

It was enough to make Maul sick with grief and anger.

He pushed those feelings down for now.

“Mandalore.”

“Mandalore?” Daleen cocked her head. Her dark hair fell across her cheek. “Why?”

“Why not?” Maul retorted. She made a face at him, and he loosened, just a little bit. “There’s conflict there. I want to know what’s happening. Mandalorians are good fighters.”

“We used to have a mandalorian instructor,” Kilindi said helpfully. “He left to fight in the civil war a few months before you came.”

That would help him set up a timeline.

“Who is the Mand’alor?” Maul asked, looking from one girl to the other.

“Depends on who you ask,” Daleen said unhelpfully. “There’s two factions. The True Mandalorians, and the Death Watch. Oh, and I guess there’s New Mandalorians too, but they aren’t doing much yet.”

“Pacifists,” Maul said, wrinkling his nose. He had respect for the mandalorians, but not for that sect. They had gutted their own culture in the worst possible way.

They entered the lab and took the far terminals in the back. Maul let Daleen take the main chair while he sat to her left. He checked the date, for all the good it would do him.

Most of what he knew of the Mandalorian Civil War came from the Death Watch, and his people there. Most of them would be children now, and were only repeating their parents exploits, or what parts they’d had as young teenagers. Rook Kast in particular liked to tell him about the history of her people on long travels to their allies.

She would be an infant by this point. Maul wondered if they would see each other again.

Daleen flicked through articles, which only so helpful, but they gave him a timeline at least. Maul tapped his fingers along his thigh. His thigh that he could feel because it was real, and he still wasn’t used to that. It was overwhelming sometimes. He’d gotten only vague sensation through his prosthetics, and though he had increased it through the force it wasn’t the same.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Kilindi teased, poking his cheek. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Maul scowled at her, but didn’t swat the touch away like he instinctively wanted to. He knew she meant no harm to him. Even if he didn’t, the Force told him as much.

“What are you thinking of?” Daleen asked, watching him out of the corner of her eyes.

Maul considered his answer. How could explain what he was going to do, or why he was going to do it to the girls? He couldn’t tell them the truth. That would be insane. He halfway thought he was insane but-

Kriff it.

“There’s something I need to do. Someone I need to contact, but I needed to make sure I wasn’t too late.”

“Well that’s vague and unhelpful.”

Maul shot Kilindi a baleful look. She smiled back at him.

“I didn’t say we wouldn’t help you. I just wanna know what we’re doing.”

“You don’t have to help me. And you have no reason to,” he added pointedly.

Kilindi shrugged.

“I want to. Daleen?”

“Same,” she nodded quickly. “And if you’re really gonna be weird about it you can pay us back later. Think of it as owing us a favor.”

From anyone else Maul probably would have denied it on principle.

From the two of them, he agreed with only a bit of hesitation.

~ ~

#Darth Maul #Time Travel #fix it fic #Kilindi Matako #Daleen (Star Wars)#Star Wars #star wars the prequel trilogy

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