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sorryimananti-romantic · 2 days ago

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The Leaders | Chapter VIII

"maybe a place where light and darkness meet, the choice between truth and lies is mine."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, smoking, illegal businesses, mentions of war/military, drugs, gangs and corruption, impending doom sort of arrives, lots of kissing so we can call luna a serial kisser now-

chapter wc: 11.7k

chapter synopsis: jaemin informs you about the political shift with the sirens turning on president lee because of his involvement with a strictland official. you finally have a conversation with yeosang and at the bar, you decide to confirm your relationship with the boys. they warmly welcome you as a true leader. meanwhile, at the port, the illegal shipment to mist island returns unexpectedly with the navy hot on the crescents’ tail.

prev chapter recap: on your last day in edenary, you go prepared to the ju residence where eden newspaper’s 50th anniversary is being celebrated. you learn about the cuff bracelet hongjoong gave you from sunmi, heiress to maddox and co.. you meet chan of wolfgang and he shares tips about assemblyman kim. you are surprised when the assemblyman recognises you from years ago and you offer him the crescents’ support. you return to sector 1 and the crescents catch up with each other. you make up with hongjoong and he admits the bracelet he designed was intended to match the crescents’ rings. he has delayed madame tiffany’s deal and you are still waiting to hear back from madame cha. anxious, you go to the bar to find yeosang but run across san who offers a drinking session at his house. you get honest with each other and you learn about the crescents’ relationship. the night ends on a romantic note and you make up your mind about the crescents. you hear back from madame cha’s gang member, jaebeom, only after hongjoong signs the deal. he implies that the crescents’ doom might be around the corner.

“Good day, Missy,” the fifteen-year old Jaemin took off his newsboy cap to bow, ever the gentleman.

“That’s Miss Luna for you,” you tried keeping the smirk to yourself but the young informant was far too observant to miss it.

“Just Luna then,” he set his cap on his hair. “I bring news for the Captain.”

“And if you’re his informant, you must know that I am the Captain when he’s not present– sort of. At least, for you.”

“I’d say you’ve become the chief mate,” Jaemin considered, attempting to do some justice to the rankings. “I should make this official. The Captain has found his mate.”

The Captain has found his mate. You covered your cheeks to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“Considering you’re lounging in his office and all,” he added with a shrug, continuing to inform you that he never saw this coming. The last time you had interacted, you were still a bookkeeper bordering the lines of a secretary.

“Lounging is not the right word. I’m working,” you motioned at the documents splayed out on the table and he pointed at your cross-legged position.

“Don’t let the Captain catch you like that. He’ll discipline you.”

“Oh, shut up already,” you told him, beckoning him to sit. “What’s the news?”

“I still don’t know if I can trust you, so if you do me wrong, I will be out for blood, but,” he stopped you before you could throw something at him. “There’s been a shift in politics. The Sirens have crucified President Lee.”

“President Lee?” You asked. “Not General Wi? I thought he was their target. Doesn’t the Siren Rebel Party work to make sure that the military does not pull the strings of the parliament?”

“That’s right,” he folded his arm, proud to be the bearer of this news. “The Sirens have been protesting against a possible martial law for a while, because that would mean the army gets to make decisions regarding the issue with Strictland and its immigrants here. But anyways, they won’t publish this in the newspaper. Mr. Jang of Eden News is acquainted with President Lee so he will take special care not to publish anything about the scene the Sirens created. He’ll make sure nothing gets out.”

“Hold on,” you said. “One thing at a time. What scene did they create?”

“I’ve heard that they made a puppet of President Lee and set it on fire,” he said and you grimaced. “The cops got to them and they had to flee. They will try to torture the information out of the ones they caught, but I think they will still get away with it. They always do.”

“Woah,” you grimaced. “Now, how are Mr. Jang and President Lee connected?”

“I thought you would know, considering you’re an Edenary citizen and all,” he said and you shrugged. You were aware that the partners, Mr. Jang and Mr. Ju, didn’t see eye to eye on all things but made good partners nonetheless.

Jaemin continued. “I don’t know how much they go back but when President Han was killed, there weren’t many articles published in the newspapers. Only the Edenary citizens who were present at that time have an idea of how exactly the events of her death took place– the rest only know the rumours that she was assassinated, some not even aware that it happened at a public event.”

“Hmm… why would he not publish articles about his wife getting killed like that? It could have earned him votes, if nothing else.”

“That’s what’s strange. He claims he kept it under covers to respect his wife but he never shuts up about it in his campaigns and broadcasts,” Jaemin said.

“Why do you think President Lee was targeted this time?” You asked.

“Oh, right. That’s the thing– apparently a Hala Official is arriving soon for ‘discussion’ on the improvement of relations between the two nations. The Sirens claim that the man should not be the face of that discussion because he usually handles the Strictland affairs and is known to play dirty–”

“He’s related to Strictland?” You narrowed your eyes.

“That’s what I said,” Jaemin leaned forward, clasping his hands in a manner similar to a certain boss of a certain company. “He was present when the Treaty happened. He’s not very famous even in Halaland, so it’s kind of strange but not strange at the same time because he is a Hala official. The Sirens must have thought things might take a weird turn after their meeting, so that’s what they protested.”

“And they won’t mention this in the newspaper.”

“Right,” Jaemin concluded with a grin. “Juicy, isn’t it?”

“Very,” you muttered. “How did you find all this out?”

“Oh, I just run errands for the elites,” he said casually, getting up. “But I only answer to the Captain.”

“How loyal,” you smiled. “How did you manage to get him to take you seriously?”

“I told him a Captain must have a pet by his side– someone who can shapeshift and be his eyes and ears. Someone as loyal as a dog, as sneaky as a rat, as sly as a fox, and as cute as a bunny–”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t mention the last part,” you chuckled.

“You wanna bet?” He said in all seriousness. “You’ll take me with you the next time you go to the warehouse.”

“Why do you want to go there?”

“Because it’s been a while. The warehouse boys spoil me,” he grinned. “And don’t worry about finding me– I’ll find you when you’re about to go.”

With that, he bowed mockingly before leaving, your smile falling as you processed the new piece of information.

You really needed to dig into everything that was happening. There had to be a connection somewhere with the things happening in Strictland. If President Lee himself really was involved… you shuddered at the possibility.

You wished you had asked Jaemin the name of the Hala official but you weren’t sure you would recognise him anyway. You decided to wait for one of the boys to come who might be able to identify the man with the description you had. You felt like you really needed to talk about everything related to Strictland again, to look into the Sirens and their involvement, to look into Mr. Jang and his media censorship–

But your mindspace was still occupied with Jaebeom’s warning. It had been three days and you still hadn’t heard back from him. No one else was aware that you had met up with him, and you intended to keep it that way. Every moment, you prayed that his suspicions would simply be that– suspicions. Not facts.

Burying yourself in work was easier now. You were finding that you had a special talent for multitasking when you were stressed. You could work speedily but then you would have a moment where you would zone out for a significant period of time until someone would interrupt you.

And it was Seonghwa who interrupted this time, whistling in a low volume as he entered the room, apparently feeling good. You didn’t move, only shot a glare at him before continuing to stare holes into the stained glass of the window.

“Well, someone clearly forgot to have lunch,” Seonghwa checked the time. “Weren’t you going to wrap this up and go home to rest for the evening?”

“I’m almost done,” you told him, sighing at the bundle of paperwork. “I think I’m more suited for field work.”

“Should I have a car prepared for you–”

“No, I think I’m good here,” you buried your face in your hands momentarily. You are only suited to stay in the shadows, your father’s words rang in your head. Maybe he was right. Maybe working from the spotlight was finally taking a toll on you.

“What are you stressed about?” Seonghwa asked gently, sitting in front of you across the table. He passed you a bar of chocolate that he must have grabbed from the reception on his way upstairs. You popped a cube in your mouth, letting the rich texture of it soothe your nerves.

“Stuff. I’m always stressed though, don’t worry,” you tried to joke it off, knowing it would never work in front of Seonghwa.

“Is it about Madame Tiffany?”

You shrugged in obviousness. “You know I won’t relax until I hear back from my sources.”

“Ah, nothing that can be done about that then,” Seonghwa slumped back. “Anything else bothering you, my love?”

My love.

“Uh,” you bit your lips in nervousness– he clearly had no idea of the recent progression. Yunho had kept his mouth sealed for once, and you were glad because once everything was official, you wouldn’t be able to hide how these casual terms affected you to your very core. “Yeah, Jaemin came by. Have you heard about the recent news?”

“Oh, yeah, I caught him on my way to the port earlier in the morning,” Seonghwa told you. With the recent shipment of Black Shadow due for export to Mist Island soon, he had been quite occupied at the port since he came back from Edenary. “Strange happenings.”

“Do you know who the Hala official is?”

“That would be Major Sung Dongil,” Seonghwa said. “He’s a very respected and a hated personality in Halaland. Some believe that his aggression caused Halaland most of the war casualties.”

You nodded slowly. “So he’s not very loved back home, and he’s related to Strictland in some unknown ways.”

“He’s basically in charge of Strictland’s status– kind of like a pseudo-governor of that area.”

“So… he would be well aware of whatever goes on in Strictland, right? Nothing would go past him,” you said.

“He should be. If he isn’t… that means he needs to do a better job.”

“And now he’s meeting with President Lee,” you folded your arms, voice dripping with suspicion.

“Not the first time this has happened, and it’s not unusual for him to meet with President Lee,” Seonghwa mirrored your position. “Whatever happens in Eden affects Strictland too– especially because there’s still the matter of illegal immigrants. That’s probably the reason they’re meeting, and if the Sirens Rebel Party heavily comprises those immigrants of which most are illegally residing here, it makes sense that they got angry and protested the way they did.”

“True,” you scratched your chin in thought, slumping back again. “I’m probably just overthinking again.”

“That’s why we like you,” Seonghwa chuckled. “Sometimes overthinking makes sense– especially when it comes from you.”

“Well, the overthinker in me wants to look into Major Sung and why President Lee keeps using media censorship to his advantage. I heard about how he never talked about his wife’s public assassination yet brings that up for pity votes every now and then.”

“Understandable. Let’s just wrap up the new deal first, yeah? I can have someone look into Major Sung for you in the meanwhile,” Seonghwa asked and you agreed, thanking him. He took over the files and asked you to go and take a breather and you laughed, staying to finish it before eventually leaving with a kiss blown his way. He shook his head in amusement, smiling through work for a good while after.

It was a little awkward, very overwhelming and kind of nerve-wracking but very familiar to wait for Yeosang in his office in the Crescent Bar.

But it was something that needed to be done in order for your relationship with the boys to progress. In order for there to be a clarity to who and what you were– as a Leader, as a Crescent and as their romantic partner.

You still were not sure how your relationship was going to progress with some of them– that included Hongjoong, first and foremost. There certainly was palpable tension between you two, but he respected you perhaps as much as you did (despite all your squabbles). He held you in high reverence and reminded you how important you were to them and to their cause at every step, and it was thanks to him that you were Luna of the Crescent Company now.

As for the boys in the warehouse… you couldn’t say anything about it yet. You were content with your current situation– three of them already reciprocating your feelings felt unreal. Perhaps, this was how it was supposed to be. They were the ones opening you up to the idea of love and how it came in all forms. They were also teaching you how to be good at receiving love. They sure knew how to give it.

You were now on the way to shift your relation with Yeosang. Four of the Crescents wanted you. No wonder you felt like you were drowning, overwhelmed with the idea, while also feeling as if you were taking your first breaths after remaining underwater.

The warm atmosphere of his office room and its familiarity comforted you like a lover’s embrace while also soothing your nerves for the discussion. Yeosang entered after a few moments in the middle of instructing one of the employees. When he finally finished and turned towards you, he clapped with a pointed look.

“I see you’ve almost finished my precious wine.”

“It was there for me,” you said as you shifted awkwardly, realising that he was right. The previous three quarters were down to a few sips. “It was looking at me.”

Yeosang laughed, settling down on the couch beside you. “How have you been? And what’s stressing you out so much that you almost drank the entire bottle? Not that I mind a tipsy Luna…”

“I’ve been well, for the most part,” you said. “The stress– you know why. Work stress. And… I wanted to talk to you about something, but first tell me how you have been. I heard you’re almost prepared to ship Black Shadow to Mist Island?”

“Yep,” he sank down, a tired groan escaping his mouth. “The police have been sniffing around so it was tough to get around them. We just hope it can leave the Eden territory without any trouble. Once it crosses the Eden waters, we’re mostly safe.”

“I sure hope so,” you said. “Why are they sniffing around? Is there a mole?”

“There actually might be– far too many strange coincidences have been happening, but San and Yunho are looking into it so I’ll leave it to them,” he said.

No wonder Yunho had been so busy these days– you hardly caught him in the office anymore.

“So? What did you want to talk about?”

“Well,” you turned towards him, stifling a smile– he looked far too welcoming in the brown tones of his outfit that perfectly complimented his hair and milky skin, almost creating a coffee-like contrast. It didn’t help that he was rolling his sleeves again, showing off his sculpted forearms.

“Well?” Yeosang repeated, noticing how you zoned out, oblivious to your gaze stuck on his arms.

“Right– uh… I wanted to tell you that, uh…”

“You sure you want to talk?” Yeosang teased. “Maybe another glass of drink to loosen your lips?”

“Shut up,” you glared at him. “I like you. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“Yeah…” he nodded after a moment of silence. “Never would have known if you hadn’t told me.”

“Yeosang,” you groaned and he laughed heartily, finally pulling you closer by your wrist. “It took me so much courage to come here and you can’t stop joking around.”

“Think of it as my coping mechanism,” he said in a serious tone, looking at you with caution and anticipation in his eyes. “Because I’m trying to find the words and the courage to tell you that I like you too.”

“I know,” you nodded and he looked at you pointedly, but soon the two of you were sharing soft, guarded smiles.

“This is kind of weird,” you admitted and he agreed. “But yeah. I wanted to tell you that I like you. And I like… the others too.”

“Elaborate,” he requested gently.

“Well, I like Yunho, you know that,” you said with a laugh and he smiled. “I like Seonghwa. It happened in Edenary– he’s just so… you know? Comforting. Caring. He’s so gentle.”

“That he is,” he agreed wholeheartedly.

“And… I don’t know how it happened but it happened recently with San. I went to his place–”

“You didn’t!” Yeosang gasped scandalously and you smacked his arm, making him snicker.

“Just to talk! I was actually here for you but you were out and he offered to take me anywhere I wanted. We decided to go to his place to drink and whine, but one thing led to another. We only kissed though.”

“Nothing else?” He teased.

“Just… a lot of kissing and cuddling– god, do I have to share everything with you?”

“I mean… he is a good kisser–”

You gaped at him. “Yeah… He is.”

So that’s what you were getting into.

You narrowed your eyes. “Who else have you kissed?”

“I thought you knew everything by now?”

“Yeah, but I need answers from you. Who else have you kissed, Kang Yeosang?”

“Do you really want to hear the answer?” Yeosang leaned forward, inches away from your face. “Shall I add another to the list?”

You gulped visibly, making him grin and he pulled back, caressing the skin on your arms to let you know that he was only teasing. He cleared his throat and asked, “Have you made up your mind yet?”

“I have, but I wanted to talk to you before I made it official,” you told him. “I want to be with you, Yeosang. With you, and Seonghwa, Yunho, and San. And with more, if they will have me. I want to be a part of… this.”

“You sure, sweetheart?” Yeosang tucked your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in the process.

“I’m sure,” you insisted, your gaze steel. You had never been more sure of anything, and it was not just the thrill you felt in your veins. It was your heart singing for them, something like a knot in the middle of your chest that tightened with yearning everytime that you thought about them.

Yeosang smiled and kissed your forehead. “Welcome to the gang, sweetheart. I think I should tell you the obvious while I’m at it?”

“Go ahead,” you nodded.

“First and foremost, confidentiality,” Yeosang said and you nodded in understanding. “Us… we know everything about each other. We’re one. You can choose to share that with us, or keep your business with each of us private among us– that doesn’t matter. If you choose to remain private, we will make sure not to discuss relationship dynamics with you among each other.”

“I think if I’m sharing all of you, I don’t mind. We’re all together, so…”

Yeosang smiled proudly, very pleased to hear that. “Don’t worry, we don’t always talk in such detail. In the beginning, it was a little awkward navigating our way through this. We had to talk to learn about each other. Now… it’s become a habit.”

“No, I like it. I like how close you are. It makes it feel like you all have this little bubble.”

“And now you’ll be a part of that bubble,” Yeosang said and you smiled. “The thing about confidentiality is that we keep our relationship from anyone who is not us private. Very private, and you know why.”

“Because it’s unconventional,” you said and he nodded. “And because they will wish they were us.”

Yeosang laughed darkly at your comment. “They still do. But that’s just another weakness they can manipulate to take us down. They already know we are each other’s strength and weakness, but it’s better if our relationship is kept in the dark.”

“Understandable,” you agreed.

“The second thing is something you already know– that it’s okay at any point moving forwards if you want to be with only one of us, or a few of us, or even none of us. You’re not bound to us in any way, Luna. You can explore outside of us if that is what you wish for. Of course, we would prefer to keep you all to ourselves. All of us have at some point tried something out of our circle but we never liked it. No one understands us like we do.”

“What about me? Do you feel like I could fit?”

“That’s what I mean,” he caressed your cheek again. “You don’t have to fit in. Just be yourself, and find what you like. Let it progress naturally.”

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding, suddenly having a moment of clarity. “Thanks for telling me that.”

Yeosang tapped your cheek lovingly. “Lastly… have fun. And be careful.”

“Of who?”

“Of your desires,” Yeosang said. “Being with us is not as complicated as it sounds. You can find comfort and solace in anyone of us– whether it be of platonic, romantic or sexual nature. I just want you to navigate these waters without worrying about the consequences within our group. That means that we won’t mind what you do with one or the other. But we would also like for you to be clear of what you want with us to avoid confusion. We will respect your wishes and boundaries and will expect you to do the same, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, understanding and also surprised how eloquent Yeosang was as he talked about this. “Just keep it undramatic and have fun?”

“That’s a loose translation of what I said,” Yeosang chuckled. “But yeah. There’s no jealousy going on, nor will there be in the future. We’re all one, but if you don’t want all of us, that’s fine.”

“Have you had previous partners like me?”

“We tried, yes,” Yeosang nodded. “It always ended badly– silencing them wasn’t the problem. They tried to break us, and it made us wonder if that was their intention from the beginning.”

“I hope none of you got that vibe from me?”

“Well, there’s a reason you’re here, Luna,” Yeosang smiled knowingly. “Do you think Yunho, of all the people, would have warmed up so quickly to you? Do you think Seonghwa, who wanted to kill you that night, is kind to anyone like he is to you?”

You shook your head. He was right– they must have felt something different with you. Something good and pure.

“Do you think the maknaes will accept me?” You asked cautiously.

“Oh, they are the accepting ones– you just overcame the hurdle that was us,” Yeosang admitted and you scoffed in shock. “It would have been hard to win us over if you got acquainted with them first.”

“Good thing that I was your bookkeeper then, right?”

“Yeah, that’s probably how it started,” Yeosang kissed the back of your hand. “I’ve had my eyes on you for quite a while, Luna.”

“I heard,” you admitted and he nodded, knowing someone must have told you already. He simply couldn’t believe you were here, wanting to be a part of them. Wanting to be with them, accepting them as they were. He had shot every arrow at you in this conversation, scared to find you having cold feet but here you were, letting him kiss your hand repeatedly, watching with glazed eyes.

“We waited far too long, didn’t we?” You asked in almost a whisper and when he spread his arms, you immediately scooted closer, melting into his embrace and enjoying the kisses he planted on the top of your head. “I’ve always had a thing for you, just so you know. It’s hard not to, because you’re very handsome and charming.”

“Stop,” Yeosang laughed– in all of his life, he would never get used to people telling him how handsome he was. Even when the boys told him, he always got shy.

“But you are,” you pulled away to look him in the eyes. “You’re too good to be true. And to me, you always feel like home, Yeosang.”

Yeosang’s heart felt full. He cupped your face with one hand, his brows scrunching with something like amazement and disbelief and you were sure your own expressions reflected exactly that. You were finally in his arms, his. You were his, and he was yours.

Yeosang swiped his thumb across your lower lip and you shut your eyes momentarily, exhaling shakily. When you dared to look at him, you found his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“May I?”

You nodded and he stifled a smile, pecking the tip of your nose first and making you relax as you giggled. You both moved closer naturally until there was no distance between your lips, sharing the softest of kisses that made your heart melt like candle wax. You moved your lips along his, alternating between deep kisses and pecks, caressing each other’s skin wherever you found easy access.

Being in his arms filled a void in your heart that had been there for a long time now. The void of yearning. Oh, how you had restrained yourself from crossing boundaries with him while you worked as his bookkeeper. All to hide your identity– if you had known earlier that he would be so accepting of you, you would have yielded right there.

It had taken far too long, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, and you hoped you conveyed that in the way you held him and kissed him– with deep respect and love. Once you felt short of breath, you drew apart, eyes fluttering open and finding his cheeks flushed.

“You’re a good kisser too.”

Yeosang choked on his laughter. “I didn’t imagine you would weaponise that piece of information.”

“Well… that’s how it’s going to be with me. Get used to it,” you pecked his lips and he deepened the kiss while keeping it soft and undemanding. You smiled through it and snuggled into his warmth.

You could definitely get used to this.

“Do I have to set up a meeting to make this official?” You asked. “What’s the next step?”

Yeosang chuckled, caressing your back assuringly. “San is handling that. It’s only going to be dinner with lots of wine so don’t worry too much. Just think of it as another work agenda– we’re basically doing this to congratulate you on becoming a Leader, but you can make an announcement there. Also, that man is the most obvious being on this planet– it’s clear as day that he was pleased about the other change.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed. “He’s so goofy.”

“Don’t let anyone hear that. He’s supposed to be the scary one of us. At least first impressions.”

“I think first impressions… Hongjoong wins in that department,” you shuddered lightly as you recalled the ice cold gaze he gave you when he first saw you in the office. “Or Yunho, if he tries.”

“Wait till you see Mingi or Wooyoung look at someone like that. If looks could kill.”

You made a mental note to witness that, and the conversation steered from one thing to another. Never once did you feel out of place in his arms.

You belonged there.

The calm before the storm.

It was always a short period of tranquility after a storm would wreck everything in its wake. Impending doom seemed to be your life’s companion. It stuck at your side at the calmest periods of your life like an old friend, and then grew in intensity as the calm wore off to welcome the storm like a lifelong enemy.

It felt like you were standing at the borderline between calm and storm– your gut was restless with anxiety and that was only a sign that something was about to go wrong. You could just pray that the intensity of it would be mild.

Perhaps, this was not even the calm before the storm. Maybe you were simply getting squirmier with each passing day not hearing back from Jaebeom, or mulling over little pieces of information that did not sound too bad in retrospect, but put in a certain context or connection seemed more damaging to the business.

Whatever it was could wait a little longer.

You were in Room no. 1 at the Crescent Bar tonight with all the boys present, sharing a hearty dinner. They welcomed you warmly, making a huge deal and you were half-sure it was just to annoy you, courtesy of a certain Kang Yeosang who knew you didn’t like being the centre of attention very much especially when you were going to be talking about important things here, but you could pretend this was all about your promotion from secretary to a Leader.

However, the boys who knew– Yunho, San and Yeosang– kept exchanging suggestive glances with you and you kept mouthing at them to ‘stop’, which they were getting quite a laugh out of. The rest were thankfully oblivious, but that didn’t mean they were doing anything less.

The warehouse boys got you a few gifts– a gun designed by Yerin, its hilt encrusted with a pearl which gave it ‘the Luna touch’, as they quoted. It was a beautiful beretta and they promised to teach you with that gun so you could get familiar with it. They also gave you a small dagger with a customised engraved cover that you could carry in your purse or even your boot.

You asked them if you needed to expect an attack anytime soon but they laughed, saying every Leader carried a few guns and daggers on them. Wooyoung went as far as to say that it was a part of their ‘style’ and you accepted the gifts, amused but also appreciating their sentiments.

You were done eating and were now watching the boys talk about the little things, their voices intermingling in the room. Wooyoung and San were having a heated debate over something related to working out and Yeosang was intently listening, sometimes agreeing with one or the other. Yunho and Mingi, as usual, were in their own little bubble and you watched them with fondness spilling out of you– you loved the way the two looked at each other. Not only the two, all of them. The way they all looked at each other and cared for each other was something otherworldly.

Seonghwa was explaining something to Jongho– it looked like they were discussing something related to work with the way Jongho sketched over the table to make his points clear to Seonghwa. And here you were, watching them, your eyes travelling to Hongjoong who had also finished eating and was now looking at you from across the table.A smile graced his lips as your eyes met, making your heart flutter.

He raised an eyebrow as if to ask if you were doing okay and you nodded, the silent communication carrying on when Wooyoung’s voice rose and San burst into laughter, the two of you shaking your heads at the duo. You took a few deep breaths, looking at your left where Yunho sat. You didn’t interrupt his conversation with Mingi, simply brushed your fingers against his and he understood, wrapping his fingers around your hand to give you strength. You knew that you did not need to hide that you were holding his hand but you still kept it under the table, silently letting his touch calm you.

You waited for the conversation to die down a little and then you signalled Yeosang who got up and clapped to get everyone’s attention.

“What?” Jongho asked.

“I just want everyone to shut up for two minutes so Luna can talk about something,” he announced and you groaned, curling into Yunho’s side as everyone laughed knowingly or in confusion. Yeosang pretended he could not see you, finding the ceiling incredibly interesting, knowing damn well that he should have phrased it differently–

But this was his charm.

“Right, so…” you started, squeezing Yunho’s hand. “I just want to thank all of you for giving me such a warm welcome for finally joining the inner circle.”

“No need for a thanks, darling,” Wooyoung waved his hand in dismissal. “This wasn’t anything special– we could have done so much more!”

“No, this is enough,” you laughed. “Just… thank you for accepting me and considering me someone worthy of becoming a Leader.”

“Honey, we’re not as good as you make out to be,” Seonghwa admitted, some of them agreeing. “There’s no such thing as being ‘worthy’ of becoming a Leader.”

“You are a mafia organisation, though,” you commented. “I think there is such a thing. It sure felt like it.”

“Yeah, tell him!” Mingi clapped. “Not anyone can be a Crescent!”

Seonghwa shook his head, laughing at the attack. “I just mean that because you felt like one of us, you became one of us. That’s all there is to it.”

“Well,” Hongjoong began. “We do have a strict code here, as you very well know now. We actually were not open to having another ‘Leader’, if you must. It’s just that you earned it. You found your own spot here– we were pretty much helpless watching you become one of us. It was as if you were always meant to be here, yeah? And not anyone can achieve that.”

Your heart swooped at his admission. He was always so clear about his views and feelings, and to hear that from him felt like an accomplishment. He always insisted there was no boss among them but he truly was the captain.

“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Seonghwa added and you all laughed. “Anyone can become a part of our organisation, the Crescents, but you found your own spot in our little circle.”

“Running on sheer confidence, holding key information and being able to hold us accountable? I think we needed that,” Jongho laughed. “I mean, we, the younger ones, don’t spend everyday with you but from what we’ve seen… the hyungs really needed a dose of someone like you.”

And then started bickering and finger-pointing because whatever did he mean? And how dare he? While Mingi and Wooyoung defended their precious youngest, asserting that while they were away, the hyungs started to get too pompous and they really needed someone to humble them– that someone being you who was a mere bookkeeper telling them what was wrong and right, stopping them from sabotaging their business and working to improve it while also entrapping them in the little ‘love bubble’ they had going on, according to Jongho.

“We see the way you look at her!” Mingi continued, pointing at San, Yeosang, Seonghwa and even Hongjoong. “You’re not fooling us! She’s becoming your favourite. Rightfully so,” he added the last bit as he looked at you and you gave him an okay sign.

“I like the warehouse boys more though,” you commented, earning gasps. “They’re… my type of boys.”

Chaos erupted in the room, San and Yeosang clinging on to each other in a fervent display of heartbreak, Seonghwa covering his ears with his hands as if he could not hear anything, Hongjoong sitting with his hurt pride and Yunho bringing your joined hands up in the air for everyone to see– an act of betrayal, it was. When you recovered from laughing, you placed your joined hands on the table for everyone to see.

“While we’re talking about this, I would also like to say that… I want to be your partner. All of you, if you will have me,” you said, meeting eyes with each one of them.

There was a moment of confusion because what did you mean? You were already partners. And then it hit, Yunho’s hand caressing yours all the confirmation they needed.

“You mean, like… partners? In our relationship?” Seonghwa was the first one to ask, unaware of the recent progression.

“Yes,” you felt a bit exposed with all their eyes on you, but you held strong, watching the boys talk among themselves, those who knew explaining to those who didn’t. “I want to try it with my whole heart. And I want to know if all of you are willing to accept me– you don’t have to–”

“But we will,” Hongjoong said in finality, the rest agreeing immediately. “I suppose you’ve talked in detail about this? To someone?”

“Yes,” you looked at Yunho, Yeosang, and San. “I know what I’m getting into. I’m ready.”

Mingi whistled at your admission. “I hope they told you that you can take it easy? You don’t have to be so stressed about it.”

“Of course,” you nodded, relaxing and realising you must have appeared to be a bit tense. “I just wanted to say it out loud while all of you were present. And I’d like to hear what each of you think about it.”

“I mean, I’m good,” Mingi shrugged and you smiled at his casual nature. “Wherever the flow takes us, right?”

“Exactly,” you agreed.

“I’m more than good,” Wooyoung grinned. “When can I officially take you out on your first date? Because I bet none of these fuckers have taken you out yet–”

And that started another finger-pointing session, though Wooyoung was officially winning that one. None of them had actually taken you out on a date yet. Even the ones you were intimate with.

“I’ll make sure my first date is you,” you promised Wooyoung and he raised his fist in victory.

“Can I tag along?” San asked expectantly.

“No, you lost your chance!” Wooyoung smacked his hand. “Give me some alone time with my girl!”

You grinned, looking at Jongho who was highly amused by the turn of events. You raised a brow and he shook his head.

“Like Mingi said, wherever the flow takes us?”

You nodded, a silent understanding passing between you both. While it was not awkward with Jongho in any way, he was still more like a friend than anything else, just like Mingi was. Wooyoung, being Wooyoung, was going to take his chance and see where it takes him, but these two were the more cautious and reserved ones. You were not going to push them, just like they were not going to demand anything from you.

“So you’re officially our girl now,” San clapped once and rubbed his hands, a devilish smirk on his face. “I actually really like the sound of it. I think our group needed a feminine touch.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, laughing. “Don’t make it sound weird!”

“No, he’s right,” Seonghwa agreed, downing his drink in a single gulp. “Too much testosterone around here.”

You shook your head, letting them argue further and getting to hear stories about them now that you knew everything. How the boys depended on each other and barely cared about each other’s personal space– they might be criminal lords but were just boys at their hearts. Seonghwa revealed how San would always hang out in his room even when they were doing nothing. Mingi liked his alone time and he wanted others to respect that but that did not stop him from making his home in San’s room or Seonghwa’s room– or even in someone else’s house.

From what you heard about Hongjoong’s shared house with Wooyoung and Jongho, Wooyoung was basically the housekeeper, which made a lot of sense. He made sure everyone ate their meals, mostly cooked with Jongho and complained about how Hongjoong was a baby who needed a nanny to take care of him. Apparently, the mafia boss did not know how to look after himself and Hongjoong admitted being guilty of that.

Yunho and Yeosang shared a house and you thought it was a good combination in the sense that the two always brought out the calm in each other. You were imagining their space to be the most soothing, and you made a mental note to ask them both how it was like to live with the other.

Just like that, the night of drinks, admissions and acceptance passed and wrapped up with a beautiful conclusion. Your heart felt full and you never felt out of place. This was where you were meant to be, and they made sure to never make you feel anything less– and the funny bit was that they were not attempting to do that consciously. This was just how it was supposed to be– the pieces had fallen into place.

You said your goodbyes to everyone, and oh, you got a sneak peak of what would soon be called normal now. Yeosang pecked your cheek before leaving, and Seonghwa cupped your face and planted a deep kiss on your forehead, saying he couldn’t wait to talk to you in private. San and Wooyoung both also kissed your cheeks but it seemed to be an inside joke and they disappeared into another room, snickering about something. You were mostly in shock at the sudden demeanour change though you could not complain. It was heartwarming.

You spotted the boys exchanging hugs and kisses too– the ones who wouldn’t be seeing each other any time soon. Jongho was mostly avoiding any physical contact but he tapped your cheek teasingly as he exited the room, laughing devilishly at your shocked face. Mingi was supposed to leave with Jongho so he rushed to catch up with him, ruffling your hair and you shut your eyes in defeat.

This was what you had signed up for. You laughed as you looked at Yunho, who was leaving the room with Seonghwa, speaking about something in an urgent tone.

That left you with Hongjoong. The air felt cold all of a sudden as he walked towards you, swirling his cane and poking his tongue in his cheek to keep himself from grinning.

“You look like you want to kill me and feast over my bones,” you commented and he scoffed.

“Feast, maybe, but kill? You think too lowly of me, love.”

Oh. you pursed your lips as he drew closer, watching you with a sort of curiosity.

“I heard something interesting, recently,” he said in a low voice for only the two of you to hear. “‘The Captain finds his mate.’”

“Just another title to add to my name, eh? Bookkeeper, secretary, chief mate,” You tried joking your way around it but he wasn’t having any of it. He took your hand and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles, all the while maintaining eye contact with you and successfully melting your insides.

“Well, I quite like the sound of it,” Hongjoong said, smirking. “See you in the morning… mate.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” you raised your fist for emphasis though your voice came out weak, making him chuckle. You muttered a curse. Forget the warehouse boys– he was going to be more challenging than all of the boys combined.

You exited the room and took a turn to the corridor that led to the backdoor when Yunho appeared out of the shadows, taking your hand and leading you to an empty, dark corner. Before you could ask him what was happening, he twirled you around and pressed your back against the wall, swallowing your surprised gasp with his lips, making you instantly drop your bag and melt in his arms.

“Our girl,” Yunho muttered in your ear, voice thick with desire. “Do you have any idea how much I love the sound of that?”

“Oh, god,” a shaky breath left your lips, your senses heightening in pleasure. “You’re crazy.”

“For you,” he kissed your jaw. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Definitely,” you brought his lips back to yours, sharing another passionate kiss. “I missed you so much. In Edenary. Here. Don’t you ever give me space again.”

Yunho chuckled, the deep timbre of his voice sounding inside your skull and you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him pick you up. You laughed at the height difference and he melted into your hug, content in this position.

“Someone could see us,” you whispered.

“I don’t care,” Yunho whispered back, kissing your neck and burying his nose there. “I only have a few moments before I need to go. Let me make the most of them.”

“Where do you have to go at this hour of the night?” You asked, cupping his face and tucking his hair back.

“To the port– the situation does not look good. I’ll let you know when I actually know something about it,” he said and you nodded. “I’m just waiting for Johnny.”

“Stay safe,” you kissed his forehead, going back to hug him. You stayed like that, limbs wrapped around each other while he gently rocked your bodies until you heard Johnny’s very loud voice call for Yunho, the both of you laughing at his arrival. With a final soft kiss to your lips, he let you go reluctantly. You wished you could keep him all to yourself for the rest of the night.

He did steal a few more moments, insisting that he drop you off on his way– it was only going to take him a minute, and he wanted to make sure you were safe, something about how the police were becoming a problem so the gangs might take this opportunity to create another ruckus again. He managed to steal one last kiss before watching you disappear inside your house and Johnny shook his head at the sight.

“You big chump, you.”

Yunho shot a glare at him but the men ended up laughing, Johnny making an effort to keep the mood light because he knew Yunho was absolutely going to snap when he would hear about the events at the port in the past couple of hours that took place in his absence.

The storm had arrived, in the literal sense and the metaphorical.

The night had been washed in a fierce torrent of rain, the sharp patter of it accompanied by globs of ice which kept you restless throughout the night. You and Wendy were light sleepers so the next morning began with a groggy start, both of you sitting next to each other to process the weight of being alive and drinking coffee to help with that. You took to the corner of the living room next to the window to watch the sky open up. Since you were on the second story, the view from up here wasn’t much, crowded by other apartments in the area.

Still, you could tell that the storm wasn’t going to end any time soon. It had only magnified the confusion and anger of the Crescents at the Sector 1 Port. Their shipment of Black Shadow to Mist Island was rumoured to be returning back, and in the previous evening it arrived accompanied by the navy who had not let it pass the Eden territories, insisting that the shipment was illegal.

It was illegal. That wasn’t the problem– the problem was who told them? It had been about three years since the Crescents started smuggling Black Shadow to Mist Island. They always knew that one day they would get caught and would have to pay a hefty fine, at the very least. They found ways to involve the police, to make fake licences, to make it seem like the shipment was meant for some other land instead of Mist Island, and made basically every preparation in case they were caught.

However, the Crescents had also familiarised themselves with the police procedure. In case of suspected smuggling, the nation that was about to receive the shipment was going to deal with the police first before sending the case back to the country of origin. That was the international law, which meant that in no possible scenario would a shipment return from halfway across the ocean.

Yet, that was exactly what had happened. Mist Island never received the shipment and they would not be able to help calm things down. The navy would report to the main office in Edenary and it would be hard to get out of it unscathed– the main office was full of scavengers waiting to have a taste of the Crescents’ doom.

The atmosphere at the Crescent Office today was thick with tension. Everyone was busy clearing the records in case the police decided to investigate the whole company for illegal trade. Yunho had been out almost all night for damage control. He went to rest in the morning and Seonghwa took his place, the boys from the warehouse accompanying him. You stayed in the office with Hongjoong, trying to pull some connections and keep the news from blowing up.

It was not a good time for this to happen, considering the pharmaceutical side of the business was just about to flourish thanks to the new deal to launch silver light as a medicinal drug. If they started investigating all the shipments going out from the Crescents, they might catch on to the copper the Crescents import for weapons manufacturing, and Pledis Manufacturers, the partners of the Crescents, could be under threat too. If Pledis pulls out at this sensitive time to protect themselves, the weapons channel might be exposed or come to a stop altogether.

So it was no wonder that Hongjoong sat grim in his chair, staring into the distance and strategising while you helped him check discrepancies or flaws in his plans and made calls.

“I think you could really send a few men to look into who tipped the navy,” you suggested, having just finished making sure that the next shipment to Utopia was rescheduled. It would be a mess if they found out that you were exporting weapons parts to them.

“I think it’s a shot in the dark,” Hongjoong said and you knew that he was partly right but also highly focused at solving the problem first.

“Think about it, Hongjoong,” you said, placing the pen back on the table and unbuttoning the cuffs of the sleeves of your black shirt, wanting to roll them to avoid discomfort. “Not anyone can tip the navy– they don’t take everyone seriously. And while we’re at it, we might want to look into why they tipped them now. This isn’t your first time trading with Mist.”

Hongjoong sighed deeply. “You’re right. Who could tip the navy? Is someone trying to distract us from our new business prospect? Is this a bait? Or did some bastard get lucky with the timing?”

“Someone of influence– that’s who the navy listens to. That means it’s not just any other bastard who lucked out. It has to be someone who knows about the recent happenings.”

Hongjoong curled his lips in thought. “Secretary Park?”

“I thought so too, but it’s unlike him to tip the navy. He shoots from the front, not from the back,” you said and he agreed. “Some reputable gang?”

“Unlikely,” he said. “They know very well that they can’t mess with the Crescents and get away with it.”

You made an impressed face, making him smile for a moment. “I think it’s probably someone who knows about the silver light business, and they’re trying to throw you off while they pull another stunt which would be far worse.”

“But Madame Tiffany is the only one aware of this silver light business,” Hongjoong folded his arms. “Secretary Park may have an idea but if he was aware of what we were doing, he wouldn’t have simply watched it happen all along– he would have done something earlier before we ever made a deal. That leaves just the Crescents, MX Pharmas who I don’t suspect at all, could be a mole but they wouldn’t tip the navy…”

For a brief moment, your father’s knowing smile flashed before your eyes when he said that he wanted the Crescents to make a deal with Madame Tiffany. You felt a wave of anxiety in the pit of your stomach, recalling Jaebeom’s little warning.

Could everything be connected? But Secretary Park wouldn’t do that, you both were right about that. Madame Tiffany had just heavily invested in the deal, so why would she hurt herself now? She could have pulled this stunt before she made a deal with the Crescents.

“God, I’ll go insane. Are we doing something to keep this from the media?”

“Wooyoung’s handling that– he has connections with some people in Eden News,” Hongjoong told you.

“Great. I’ll make preparations for all the possible outcomes then?”

“You do that,” Hongjoong let out a tired sigh. “I’ll help you out–”

“You’ve been up all night. You should go and get some sleep, I’ll take care of things here,” you said softly but he opened his eyes a fraction wider as if to show you that the lack of sleep didn’t affect him. However, his eyes were bloodshot and you snorted.

“You’ll start to look like death, Joong,” you joked. “Just take a nap– go. I’ll handle things in the meanwhile, and if we need you, we won’t hesitate to call your residence. Hopefully you pick up the phone.”

Hongjoong poked his tongue inside his cheek and you wondered what the smug expression was for until you realised you hadn’t addressed him by his name.

“Joong, eh? Heard that from Seonghwa?”

“It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” You suppressed a smile. Hongjoong shrugged in response, considering if he should take a nap or just stay–

“Just go,” you laughed. “Shall I order you to go?”

“I’d like to see you try,” Hongjoong narrowed his eyes but you weren’t one to back away from a challenge.

“Kim Hongjoong. Joong,” you said in your most assertive tone and he shook his head in amusement. “Go and get some rest. That’s an order.”

Hongjoong got up and sauntered around the table, stopping in front of you and tucking his thumb under your chin to raise your face so he could look you in the eyes.

“One day, I’m going to do something about that mouth of yours, y/n.”

It was a promise, and it registered in every part of your body. It was an effort to stop the noise that threatened to leave your mouth at the suggestiveness of the situation. He licked his lips slowly, swiping his thumb on your lower lip before drawing away with a smirk and leaving.

You pursed your lips, lightly slapping your cheeks so you could come back to your senses and get some things done. After collecting yourself, you straightened and picked up the contacts diary to call the Crescents’ residence in Edenary.

After a few rings when you were starting to lose hope, Jaehyun finally picked up the phone and you made small talk before asking how the situation looked in Edenary.

“It’s not being blown out of proportion yet,” Jaehyun began. “Which is both a good sign and a bad sign. I feel like there’s another hit coming and we’re just waiting for it.”

“And that’s why I called,” you said. “Remember what we did the last time I was here?”

“Had fun,” he laughed a bit and you hummed in amusement. “But yes. I got you.”

“Yeah, and while you’re at it, see who the public suspects. Also, can you see if we have a connection in the Edenary station?”

“The police station? We don’t, actually,” Jaehyun admitted. “But I’ll look around. I think Inspector Gong might be our best option because as much as he hates us, he’ll actually look into this fairly. We might also need a favour from General Wi– he could certainly pull some strings.”

“Yeah… remind him that he owes us a few and let’s find the source as soon as possible, yeah?”

Jaehyun agreed and you ended the call, taking a few deep breaths. Now that you had sorted things out, you felt a bit more at peace, just waiting to hear back from one of the boys. You went towards the couch, curling on the very welcoming soft seats and shut your eyes, feeling the throbbing headache grow more intense with every second.

You didn’t realise when exactly you dozed off but upon opening your eyes, you found Seonghwa mirroring your position on the couch across you, though wide awake. You looked around trying to get your bearings, checking the time on your wristwatch.

“Oh dear. I napped throughout the afternoon!”

Seonghwa chuckled. “That’s alright. Hongjoong is probably still asleep, and I just came back about half an hour ago. We sorted the mess at the port.”

“How’s it looking?” You asked, stretching your limbs.

“I honestly can’t say yet,” Seonghwa admitted. “I’m just hoping they don’t conduct a full investigation– now’s not a good time. And on that note, we must transport some important documents elsewhere.”

“You mean the ones in the safe here?”

“Yes,” he said. “Mingi owns an apartment near the warehouse. It’s registered under his cousin’s name so it’s a safe place to store them.”

“Alright. Do you want me to go ahead and do that?”

“No, it’s alright,” Seonghwa straightened. “I can go, I’m just waiting for Yuta.”

“Oh, you look tired, though. At least I got my rest,” you joked and he smiled wryly. “I can go with Yuta. We go to the warehouse first, right?”

“Yeah. Are you sure, though? I’m perfectly good to go, Luna–”

“Hwa,” you called his name in warning and he pursed his lips. “Do I have to order you like I ordered Hongjoong?”

“You ordered Hongjoong?” Seonghwa laughed in disbelief. “What did you tell him to do?”

“To go take a nap,” you said. “And you– you don’t have to take a nap, you can just… shut your eyes for a few moments like I did.”

Seonghwa nodded sarcastically and you smiled– he didn’t look as weary as Hongjoong but you knew that he put more effort into appearing put together too. His hair was curling at the ends probably due to the wet weather, not styled to perfection like it usually was. His eyes still sparkled with energy but his shoulders seemed to be drooping.

“You need a massage while we wait?”

“Oh, that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” Seonghwa sat a bit straighter and took off his coat. You walked behind the couch where he was sitting and smoothened his white shirt around the shoulders, rubbing your fingers into the tight spots on his neck and collarbones. He groaned in relief and you smiled in satisfaction, continuing to rub and pull the tightness from his body.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Madame Cha,” you told him. “She would make me massage her sore parts until she was content, which means I had to learn to do a good job.”

“Did you ever hear back from her?” Seonghwa asked and he noticed your fingers pausing for just a second.

“Kind of. She’s acquainted with a gang and one of their members is here on some business. He’s still looking into some things so he promised to let me know what’s up once he has a clearer picture.”

Seonghwa also noticed how vague your answer was. “Everything okay?”

He really noticed everything.

“Yeah, he’s actually looking into some political stuff and he’s just making sure Madame Tiffany is not a part of the people who’re stirring up trouble lately.”

“Hmm…” Seonghwa tapped your hand to let you know that you could stop now. He held your hand and steered you in front of him so he could look at you. “Did you tell Hongjoong?”

“I don’t want to tell him anything before I’m sure of what I have,” you explained and he nodded, understanding. “You know that it’s too late anyway– I only heard back from them at the beginning of this week.”

“That’s okay,” Seonghwa squeezed your hand in assurance. “Can you let me know first when we hear back?”

“Of course,” you frowned. “I didn’t take a wrong step, did I?”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” Seonghwa pulled you closer and made you settle on his lap, your eyes widening in surprise. His other hand went to rest on the small of your back. “Hongjoong is handling a lot at the moment and I don’t want to burden him with more. I’m sure you feel the same.”

“You all are dealing with a lot,” you said, noticing the bags under his eyes. “That’s why I decided to keep it to myself until I had an answer.”

Seonghwa smiled. “You and I think alike, in that sense. Remember that you can lean on us at any time, Luna. No matter when, no matter who.”

“I know,” you brought your hand up to cup his face, hesitating a bit and he raised a brow. You locked eyes with him– you hadn’t been intimate with him in any way after the kiss in Edenary, and now that everything was finally sorted out…

“What’s stopping you?” Seonghwa whispered, squeezing your sides as if to comfort you.

“I just had flashbacks to when you were about to kill me–”

Seonghwa laughed loudly. “You want me to beg for your forgiveness, love?”

Your lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Hmm… I quite like the sound of that.”

Seonghwa shook his head, scoffing and you finally cradled his face to make him look at you. You traced his cheekbone and sucked in a breath– he was beautiful. He pulled you closer on his lap and you continued to entangle your fingers in his hair while you caressed his face.

Seonghwa heard the honk of his car and whispered, “Yuta’s here.”

“I know. I should get going, right?” You asked, eyes fixated on his lips and he nodded, wanting nothing more than to keep you in his arms for the rest of the night.

However, none of you was ready to let the other go. You moved in tandem as your lips met, kissing leisurely as if you couldn’t hear the honk of the car outside. You dipped your weight against him, curling your fingers in the soft strand of his hair. His own hands rested on your hips to keep you in place and he swiped his tongue along your lips to make you open up.

His tongue explored the cavity of your mouth and you hummed in pleasure, the surroundings disappearing into nothing– all you could feel was Seonghwa kissing you ever so gently, his hands squeezing your hips, the warmth of his body radiating on yours, just Seonghwa, your Seonghwa–

A sharp knock sounded on the door and you drew back with a startled gasp, gazes still stuck on each other’s parted lips. Before you could make a move, a familiar voice sounded.

“Mr. Park? Luna?”

Oh, Jaemin. That menace. He had promised to find you when you would go to the warehouse and here he was.

You shared a quick peck and a giggle before you went to open the door. Jaemin stood with narrowed eyes, observing the two of you.

“Were you… fighting?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely. Let’s go,” you squeaked, grabbing your things while Seonghwa’s laughter boomed in the room. You shot him a glare before leaving the room, asking Jaemin to wait in the car. You joined him after grabbing the documents from the safe, cooling your cheeks with the back of your hands.

You greeted Yuta as you got inside and passed him the documents which he slid under the seats. Jaemin asked if he could take the passenger seat but Yuta insisted it was unsafe right now and he was better off sitting in the back with you. Jaemin’s annoyed expressions thoroughly amused you and you patted his back in a sign of comradery.

“Tell you what– next time, you can sit in the front. We’ll have Yuta sit in the back and I’ll drive.”

“If you’re driving, I’d rather stay at home,” Jaemin folded his arm and you and Yuta shared a laugh.

“Oh, I was a good driver. I used to drive a lot when I lived in Edenary.”

“Really?” Jaemin asked. “What car?”

Thus, the forty minute drive passed in a breeze as the three of you talked about cars and your lifestyle in Edenary. The conversation steered to Yuta’s past and how he found the Crescents a good few years ago, the group of them hired as bodyguards for their commendable street skills.

Finally, you got to learn about who Jaemin really was– an orphan boy who had taken upon himself to take care of the younger kids in the neighbourhood where he lived. He told you that the first few years when he left the orphanage for the streets were hard but it was Seonghwa who had found him before anyone else, and you weren’t surprised in the least to hear that. Seonghwa always kept a watchful eye on the kids and the women. A guardian of sorts.

Mingi had remained in the warehouse, waiting for your arrival. He told you that the boys were running some errands– Wooyoung was making sure the warehouse would be ‘clean’ in case of an inspection, and Jongho was out bribing some police officers. Apparently, Jongho was an expert.

Jaemin and Yuta disappeared inside after Yuta handed Mingi the documents. You stood next to Mingi at the entrance, your hands stuffed in the pockets of your coat and you took a deep breath– it was chilly here since it was an open area.

“Would you like to stay here, catch up with the girls? Or would you like to accompany me to the house?”

“I’m okay either way– if you’d like some company I can join you.”

“Come along then,” Mingi smiled. “I’ll show you around.”

It didn’t feel awkward to drive with Mingi– it was the first time the two of you were alone yet there was a sense of familiarity especially because of the stories you had heard of each other. Surprisingly, though, you did not talk much about work or the boys. The conversation somehow steered from the documents to silver light to the war.

“I heard you were a soldier during the war– who was your commander?” You asked.

“Captain Byun,” Mingi said and you looked at him in surprise. “You know him?”

“You know his partner, Captain Yoon?” You asked and he nodded, glancing at you in between driving. “I was drafted in his medic squad.”

“Oh, that means we must have crossed paths at some time,” Mingi laughed in disbelief and you agreed, surprised at the revelation– who would have thought? Perhaps, you had even treated him at some point– the two captains had often worked together.

“I don’t recognise you, though,” you told him.

“I don’t either, but it’s been years,” Mingi said and you supposed that he was right. “I don’t think I would recognise most of the soldiers who worked with me either. Everyone scattered, and we all changed a lot after the war.”

“True…” you said and Mingi dug out his wallet from his back pocket.

“Take a look inside– there’s a photo,” Mingi said and you opened the wallet, finding a worn out photo of a group of men in uniform. You extracted it and checked the date. It was from February, 1962, a whole eight years back.

“Where are you?” You asked and he laughed, urging you to look carefully. You did and a gasp left your mouth–

“Is that Jongho?” You asked and he grinned. “And that– that lanky tall boy has to be you!”

“That’s me,” Mingi laughed. “There’s another one in there if you can recognise him.”

“It must be San, he told me you were all in the same platoon but I don’t think I can find him…”

Mingi stopped the car, having arrived in front of the house. He drew closer and you passed him the photo. When he pointed at a small boy, you put your hand over your mouth.

“No way that’s the Choi San.”

“He’s changed the most out of all of us,” Mingi said almost proudly and you took a closer look. That was a boy in the picture and the San that you knew… he was a man, all muscles and presence. Mingi continued, “He’s still the same person, but physically, he’s changed quite a lot.”

“Unbelievable. Jongho is very recognisable, so are you though you’ve also changed, but San? I’ll have to ask him to show me more photos of him from before the war.”

Mingi chuckled. “You do that. Come on, let’s hide the documents.”

Mingi did a quick scan around the neighbourhood before opening the car door for you and you accompanied him inside the shabby house. It looked like no one lived inside which you supposed made a good spot for a hideout, even. Mingi told you that the house had a lot of secret compartments so you would be scattering the documents. You memorised each spot, making small talk as you went back to the warehouse.

On your ride back to the Crescent Office, Jaemin fell asleep, tired from all the energy he spent– he had as much a busy day as the rest of you, if not more. You let him rest his head against your shoulder, feeling a sense of peace, Yuta’s low humming lulling you into a calm headspace.

Things were going to be okay. The storm would pass.

But before a storm dies down, it leaves something irreparable in its wake. For you, for the Crescents, the storm was no longer a sign of ‘impending’ doom, because doom had arrived in the form of a whisper, a news carried by someone who was only a messenger yet felt the burden of the news on his own shoulder.

And that messenger was Jaebeom, finally bringing a message of confirmation in your office in the early hours of a morning in Eden when the sky had just started to clear, the clouds having wrung every drop of water they held. With each word that he spilled from his mouth, you felt the walls of Yunho’s office room tighten until they threatened to swallow you whole.

For once, you were sorry to be right about someone.

And once again, you were surprised at how wrong you were about the same person.

next chapter

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clairewritesfanfics · 2 days ago

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No Goggles!Mark Grayson Origin Part 4

Pairing: No Goggles!Invincible x Older!Reader

Part 3

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Unplanned pregnancy, descriptions of bodily harm, mild swearing, No Goggles is a little freak

When the first test came out positive, you stayed calm. False positives were a thing.

You barely slept as required and your job left you stressed every waking moment, so your period was often irregular, but when you started dating Mark, who was insatiable to say the least, you took a pregnancy test every time your period was late. Every test turned out negative or a false alarm.

For false alarms, you simply needed to recheck and everything would be fine. But not this time. No. Every single stick said the same thing: you were pregnant.

Logically, you knew this was possible. Despite all your efforts–condoms, sponges, injections, timing–everything short of surgery and an IUD, nothing was 100% effective.

You didn’t know what to feel at first. Shock, fear, anxiety, terror. Not exactly what expecting mothers should be feeling.

You remembered crying. You cried a lot. You were grateful that Mark was out for a multi-day mission with the others when you first confirmed the pregnancy.

He needed to know, it was his right, but… He wasn’t even a college graduate, for God’s sake. He was also a “teen” superhero on the cusp of getting promoted. He already dedicated so much of his time to you. Hell, he never went to parties or hangouts with his classmates or teammates unless you insisted, and even then he would return two hours after leaving you.

He said he was happy, he said he loved you, and you believed him, truly. That’s why you couldn’t be the woman who ruined his future.

After you broke up with Mark and he accidentally fractured your wrist, you spent a good five hours weeping on the floor before pulling yourself together and going to the hospital.

“Hey, you, I thought you had the day off?”

Of course, it had to be him. The friendly jerk. What was his name again?

You glanced at his nametag. Josh.

“I did,” you answered quietly.

“Then why–what the hell?”

“It’s not a big deal. I just needed to get this checked.”

He went from flirty to professional in an instant. He unrolled the recklessly done bandages and narrowed his eyes at the injury.

One x-ray and an excruciating re-alignment later, he finally asked while you two were alone, “Wanna tell me what happened? And don’t say something stupid like you fell down the stairs. We both know this was something else.”

You stared at your cast. Then you turned to him with a blank face. “I’m thirsty.”

He looked at you like you grew a second head, but followed you to the bar across the street.

“Seriously?” He watched you stir your milkshake with a paper straw. “You really hate booze that much?”

“I can’t drink alcohol right now.”

“Why?” He picked up his pint. “Are you pregnant?”

“Yes.”

Beer squirted through his nostrils and he lurched over the counter, coughing.

The bartender handed him a pile of tissues while you sipped on your drink.

“I figured– ack –I figured you had something serious going on considering how mopey you’ve been, but I didn’t expect this.” He wiped the bar counter and without looking at you, he asked, “Did the father do that to you?”

“Actually, he doesn’t know.”

“The father… is he the boy toy–I mean, your boyfriend? But I thought he was still in college?”

You said nothing.

“Ah.” He sighed and went back to his pint. “That sucks.”

You stirred the milkshake again.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Again, you said nothing.

“You know he has the right to know, don’t you?”

“I know.”

“Are you going to keep them?”

You stopped stirring, your vision blurred. “I don’t know.”

“Crap, I’m sorry, don’t cry.” He picked up the remaining tissues and handed them to you. “I’m sorry I called him your boy toy.”

“It’s fine. Not like you’re the first to call him that.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“...Thanks.”

“What’re you gonna do now?”

You shrugged. “Maybe move.”

“You can’t run away. He’s young, but he’s still the father. He deserves to know.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I just… I think I just needed someone to say it out loud.” You let out a big sigh. “I shouldn’t have pushed him away.”

Josh watched you for a few seconds before reaching into his satchel. He uncapped a black marker. “Give me your arm.”

You let him write on your cast.

“‘ Shake it off’ ?” You gave him a look of incredulity.

It was his turn to shrug. “Well, I don’t think a bible verse would fit.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you laughed. It was so stupid. “Thanks.”

“No problem. It’s getting late. I’ll drive you home, and don’t refuse.”

You accepted his offer. The drive home was quick and you thanked him again as you got out of the car.

“Hey.” He leaned over the passenger seat. “It’s gonna be fine. Just talk to him before you decide on anything else.”

“It may be too late for that.”

“You’ve always been the logical one in our team. Don’t start being stupid now.”

“You realize that I’m technically your superior, right?”

He winked and you shut the door.

He was right.

Feeling much better, you breathed in the evening air, unaware of the pair of eyes observing you from afar.

***

Mark hasn’t been picking up your calls. Understandable. You did ask for this. In the past, he’d pick up at the first ring, and now you knew how he felt when you missed his calls.

You put a hand over your belly.

After that talk with Josh, you made up your mind. You were going to be a mom. Mark would be free to be as involved as he wanted. That is if you got him to talk to you.

He didn’t open the door when you reached his apartment and you really didn’t want to speak with Nolan. He might’ve been polite but he always looked at you with a chilly regard.

“Desperate times,” you muttered, scrolling through your list of contacts. “Hello? Donald? It’s me, I hope I’m not disturbing–”

Static and the sound of panicked panting interrupted your words. Donald called out your name, out of breath and in distress. “Thank God! We were about to call you!”

Your shoulders tensed. “What’s going on?”

“It’s–”

The line was cut off.

“Hello? Hello?! Donald?!” You redialed but there was no ring. Suddenly, you tumbled into the wall as the whole building shook. Several apartment doors flung open and dozens of residents ran out screaming.

Your pager beeped. It was the hospital.

Forcing yourself to your feet, you followed the stream of civilians down the emergency exit.

By the time you got outside, the neighborhood–no, the whole city was in chaos. The roads were cracked, revealing broken pipes that flooded the streets with filthy gray water. A line of buildings was bright red as tall, angry flames licked the sky and filled it with smoke. A signal tower from a few blocks away was bent at the tip. You could hear sirens and shouting everywhere.

Shit.

You needed to get to the hospital ASAP. This disaster meant they were going to need every pair of hands available, though your wrist was still in a splint, you knew a bunch of fresh graduates who would require a more experienced doctor to guide them.

But before that…

You surveyed the scene. There was a little boy whose arm was bleeding. An old woman was on her knees, her whole form was heaving, struggling to breathe. There were more injured civilians.

A policeman ran towards you. “Miss, you need to leave now!”

You searched inside your purse and clipped your hospital ID on the collar of your shirt. “I’m fine, prioritize escorting the others first. I’m going to help with the injured.”

Two ambulances arrived. One of them had Josh on board. If he was curious about your presence in the area he didn’t voice it.

“Any idea what caused this?” You asked, pushing back any stray hairs that could interfere with your job and shoving them under a haircap.

“At first we thought it was an earthquake, but we caught Omni-Man and Invincible flying around so we think it might be a villain attack.”

Mark.

You pushed that thought away. You couldn’t afford to be emotional right now.

“I’ve never dealt with this level of catastrophe before,” Josh admitted.

Understandable. He was originally from a small town before he came to this city, which was villain central.

“Consider this your baptism.” You then split up and went to work. You couldn’t exactly put back bones together or stitch up wounds, but you helped ground the new hires who have never dealt with emergencies before.

Once you were done with the patients in the neighborhood, you went with the ambulance back to the hospital.

Checking for vitals, overseeing transfers, calming down delirious patients, worried family members and nervous young doctors left you exhausted to the point that even your boss had to ask you to take a break.

“You should get some rest, we’ll take it from here,” Josh said as you two headed for the vending machine.

“I guess.”

“Wow. I expected more resistance.”

“I’m not a workaholic.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He caught you by the elbows when you began to lose balance. “Are you–”

“I’ll be fine, I just… need a moment.”

He let go. “Go home, doctor.”

You sighed. There was no point in arguing.

You were already on your way to the elevator when your phone rang.

“Donald?”

“Finally, I’ve been trying to contact you for hours.”

“I had to set my phone to airplane mode. What happened?”

“It’s Mark.”

Your shoulders tensed.

“He’s in surgery.”

“What?”

“We need you at the base.”

You gritted your teeth. “I’m on my way.”

With the roads all ripped up, the ride to the GDA base was excruciatingly slow.

When you arrived at the building, no introductions were necessary, the guards brought you to Cecil and Donald immediately.

They were standing outside giant window panes that started from the floor and reached all the way to the ceiling.

“Where is he? Is he okay? What happened?”

“Easy, doc.” Cecil raised his palm placatingly, then he gestured towards the window.

You peered through and saw Mark unconscious and surely bare naked under the white cloth that covered him from his chest to his knees. He wore an oxygen mask so at least you knew he was still alive.

Donald began to explain, “We’re not too sure about the details… but from what we’ve seen, he and Omni-Man got into a fight. A big one.”

“Nolan did this to him? His own son?”

Donald could only offer a look of helplessness.

You touched the glass. “Where is he now?”

“We don’t know,” Cecil replied. “We lost track of him when they flew past Earth’s atmosphere.”

“What’s Mark’s status?”

Donald gave you his datapad. You scrolled through the patient history, each line was a stab at your heart.

He had multiple hairline fractures, torn muscles everywhere, eight bruised ribs, both eyes were inflamed, and he was missing several teeth.

“Here.” Someone offered you a handkerchief.

You lifted your chin and saw Cecil looking at you, face blank.

You gratefully took the cloth and wiped your tears. “I’m staying by his side.”

“We figured as much. We’ll move him to a more private room. Donald will take you there.”

“Thank you.”

“By the way.” Cecil stopped you before you could walk away. He stood still, only staring at you, like he wasn’t sure of what to say.

You were growing impatient. “What is it?”

“Are you and Mark okay?”

Your fingers twitched. Even someone like Josh noticed how Mark became absent the past few months. Cecil was Cecil so he probably knew of your… relationship problems.

You took a moment to answer. “We hit a rough patch.”

“But you’re still together, aren’t you?”

“No offense, Cecil, but that’s not any of your business.”

“I’m sorry, but it is, considering that Mark is one of our most valuable weapons. The state of your relationship tends to influence how he works.”

Rage filled your stomach and you stepped forward, pointing an accusatory finger towards his chest. “ How dare you. Mark is not a weapon, he is a living, breathing human being, a person who has dedicated most of his life protecting you and me and everybody else on this godforsaken planet. You don’t get to treat him as some kind of tool that needs to be controlled and monitored.”

He narrowed his eyes. For a moment, he looked ready to argue, but instead he shook his head and turned his back to you. “Go. He’s gonna need someone when he wakes up.”

Donald didn’t say anything, which you appreciated.

Once you were left alone with the love of your life, you allowed the rest of your tears to fall as you sat beside him, holding his hand in yours. With nothing but the hum of the AC and the steady rhythm of Mark’s heart to keep you company, you took in your lover’s appearance. You read Mark’s file, but nothing could have ever prepared you for seeing him like this.

His face was nearly unrecognizable. His chest heaved with every breath.

Over the years, you learned to steel your nerves as you got used to seeing bodies mangled and shredded. But you weren’t the doctor here, you were the patient’s family.

You put a hand over to his cheek, your knuckles feathered over the cut swollen skin.

He stirred.

Then he groaned softly as he woke up, turning his head. It took him a while to adjust to the light, but when he finally became aware, his bed rattled as he shot to a sitting position.

“Careful!” You put your hands over his shoulders. “You’re injured, stay down.”

He stilled under your touch and turned to you. You resisted the urge to fidget under his stare.

“Why are you here?”

You tried not to flinch at the venom in his voice. Mark’s never talked to you like this before, but you would gladly receive his anger.

“Donald called me. He said you were in surgery.”

“Why?”

“Mark–”

“I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”

You deserved that.

“I don’t need your pity.” He swung his head to the other side, glaring at the heart monitor.

“You can be angry, but please look at me.”

A beat. Then he reluctantly raised his swollen eyes to meet yours.

You refused to break down. You needed to be strong for him. So you gulped down the lump in your throat and cradled his face between your palms. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

You smiled thinly. “I figured.”

His lips twitched. “Dad…held my face against a train.”

“Fuck.”

He bent forward, chuckling, but his laugh was soon covered by a groan of pain. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Instead of answering, he stared at you intently, like he was drinking every last detail of you. “Are you really here?”

That took you by surprise.

He reached over, his thumb ghosting over your lips. “Or am I dreaming again?”

And just like, you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You pulled back, your hands covering your mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the whimpers.

“I’m sorry, Mark, I’m sorry.”

He watched as you swallowed down your sobs and breathed.

You straightened your back, trying to compose yourself. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

He was silent. His expression was unreadable.

You looked down at your lap. “I… I should’ve been more upfront. Should’ve told you from the beginning.”

“I know.”

Your whole body froze. He knows?

You raised your chin and nearly jumped. His gaze wasn’t full of understanding but something dangerous, something dark and cold.

“You cheated on me,” he said matter-of-factly.

Your brain crashed. But it quickly rebooted and you shook your head furiously. “No! What… no! I would never do that to you.”

“You don’t have to lie, I saw you. What was his name? Jacob or something? I saw you in his car.”

You clenched your fists, desperate now. “He just gave me a ride home, that’s it.”

“From a bar.”

How did he…

It doesn’t matter.

You grabbed his hand. “Mark, listen to me. I have never, ever cheated on you. I’ve never even so much as entertained the idea of doing that. Ever . You were–are the only one for me.”

He blinked, expression breaking for a moment before he grinned sardonically. “Then why did you break up with me? And why have you, who has never been the type to drink after work, decided to go to a bar with a man you barely know?”

“Because I’m pregnant, you idiot!” You wanted to smack your own face. “Sorry, no, that’s not right. You’re not an idiot. I didn’t mean that. Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

It was Mark’s turn to crash. The darkness broke completely, leaving him wide-eyed and his jaw ajar. He gulped slowly.

“You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“With my kid?”

“With our kid.”

Several heartbeats passed.

Mark ran his fingers through his hair.

You rubbed your arms. You two haven’t talked about having a family before, not really, because you were busy with your job and Mark was busy being a superhero, and just as importantly, being a college student. Life was good. You were both happy. Talks of the future were limited to what you two wanted for dinner next Thursday or who was going to plan date night next. You discussed marriage–well, he mentioned marriage every now and then–even only in passing, but never brought up children.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured. We didn’t plan for this.” You chose each word carefully as you put a hand over your belly. “But I decided to keep them.”

His eyes had that faraway look to them.

You continued, “I should’ve told you from the very beginning, I know that. But I panicked, and I was worried about you. About us. But I’m telling you now. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay and be a father. You’re young–”

“Stop.”

You did.

“You keep saying that I’m young, and you act like you have to worry about the big things and make all the big decisions alone. I’m younger than you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not your equal.” Mark squeezed your hand. “You said you would never cheat on me–”

“I never did, and I never will.”

The bed creaked as he shuffled around and reached for something in the night stand drawer.

“It’s the same for me, there was only ever you. So I’m going to ask you properly this time.” He revealed the ring he had prepared days ago.

“How–”

“I kept it with me even when I was in costume. Before they started treatment, I asked one of the nurses to keep it close. I’m glad he listened.”

You stared at the ring. It was exactly your style. Simple yet opulent.

Mark lifted it between the two of you and offered his hand. He said your name, eyes full of adoration, and asked, “will you marry me?”

You smiled back, hoping the look in your face had even just a fragment of the love he showed you, and placed your fingers on his palm. “Of course.”

The ring fit perfectly.

You leaned down and kissed him, actively avoiding the questions at the back of your mind. The type of questions whose answers should’ve sent you running.

For example, Mark left this ring in the condo when you broke up. Up until now, you have had zero contact with him. So how did he manage to take it from the vault that only your fingerprint could open? It was one thing if he forced it open, but it was still intact.

“Sweetie?” Mark called.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”

“I promise. I’m sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist with ease. He buried his nose in your torso.

“Huh.” It came out before you realized it.

“What?”

“Just that… Viltrumites sure do heal fast.”

He tilted his head.

“You didn’t seem to be in pain when I kissed you, but your face and your arms should still be hurting. That’s what your chart says.”

A beat. A smile. “Yeah, we do heal fast.”

“That’s good. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“Then you should take better care of me. Make sure I don’t do anything stupid or reckless.”

You giggled. “I will.”

He mumbled something into your stomach.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“I’m telling the little one that I’m excited to meet them.”

You felt the tension leave your shoulders and you patted his head. “Me too.”

***

Mark breathed in your scent. God, he missed this. He missed you.

Poking holes in the condoms wasn’t as useless as he thought. He would’ve done more, like switch out your pills, but you definitely would’ve noticed that.

It was cute how careful you were. In fact, he appreciated it. He didn’t want to share your attention with some brat, but it was an effective way to keep you by his side.

He rubbed his nose onto your abdomen. “If you die young, that’d be great, too.” Nothing like a senseless tragedy to bind two people together. He already has proof that you love him so carrying this thing to term wasn’t necessary anymore. Though he definitely won’t protest in seeing you round and full, waddling around, helpless and pouty and adorable. He was getting hard just thinking about it.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that,” you said.

Channeling his inner puppy, he beamed up at you. “Just telling the little one that I’m excited to meet them.”

A/N: The next chapter will be the final one for this Mark Variant's origin.

@danart501

Part 5

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queen-of-the-avengers · 2 days ago

Text

I Kissed A Girl

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1k (including lyrics)

Warnings: high sexual tension

Summary: You go to the club and unwind from a stressful week, not knowing you’re going to try something you end up liking more than your boyfriend.

Square Filled: a round a firsts for @womenofmarvelbingo (previously @blackwidowbingo)

Author’s Note: this is based on the song I Kissed A Girl By Katy Perry

This was never the way I planned Not my intention I got so brave, drink in hand Lost my discretion It's not what I'm used to Just wanna try you on I'm curious for you Caught my attention

You grab your fourth drink from the tray and enjoy the burn as you toss the shot back. It’s the end of the week, and what better way to unwind than to be out with your girls at the club? It’s not even work that has you stressed, it’s your boyfriend. He’s treating you more like his mom rather than his girlfriend. It’s exhausting and takes a real toll on your body.

“So, what’s the latest Theodore drama?” your best friend, Harper, asks.

“Well, I was supposed to hang with him tonight, but he decided to blow me off for his ‘boys’. I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in a month. We text, but it’s bland. It’s like all the effort with him has disappeared.”

“Dump his ass!” Violet, your other friend, yells over the loud music.

“Seriously, he’s such a loser,” Luna agrees.

“Maybe I should. There’s no spark anymore. He’s a good boyfriend if you don’t count the way he doesn’t put me first.”

“That’s not a good boyfriend,” Harper says. She grabs another drink from the fifth round and hands one to you. “Here, have a shot. You need to loosen up more.”

‘You’re just trying to get me drunk,” you laugh but take the drink anyway.

“That’s true.”

“Well, I need to go to the bathroom. Be right back!”

You down the shot before pushign your way through the crowd. You’re already buzzed, so it seems like there are more people in the crowd than there actually are. On your way back, you notice a woman dancing by herself in the middle of the dance floor. Men try to get her to dance with them, but she ignores them and continues to feel herself up. She looks so beautiful, you can’t pass her and not dance with her.

“Care for a partner?” you ask.

“Sure,” she grins.

“You here by yourself?”

“Well, not anymore,” she flirts.

You’ve never flirted with a woman before. You’ve only ever had boyfriends. This is something completely new to you, and you’re not upset about it. You step out of your comfort zone and start to dance with her to the beat of the music.

Her lips are cherry red, and you find yourself thinking what it would be like to kiss them.

No, I don't even know your name It doesn't matter You're my experimental game Just human nature It's not what good girls do Not how they should behave My head gets so confused Hard to obey

You don’t know her name, and you honestly don’t want to know it. You just want to be in the moment and enjoy the feelings she’s pulling out of you. Like how it feels really good to dance with her, to have her attention on you. You pull her closer to you so you can speak closer to her ear.

“Can I buy you another drink?”

“Sure,” she smiles.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

You make your way back to the bar where your friend sare at. They have a direct line of sight to you on the dance floor, and they’re no less than shocked.

“What are you doing?” Luna asks.

“I honestly have no idea. I have no clue what her name is, and if I’m being completely honest, I kind of want to kiss her.”

“Go for it,” Harper encourages. “Fuck Theodore. He’s not here.”

“You know what? Hell yeah. I’m going to go for it.”

You grab two drinks once they’re ready and head back over to the stranger. Natasha came here to unwind from a grueling work week. She never expected to meet someone, much less meet a woman. She’s always used her body to seduce men for intel and other things she’s needed. She’s never once envisioned herself with a woman until you showed up.

“Here you go,” you say when you reach her.

“Thank you.”

Natasha downs the drink in one go, but some of the liquid drips out of her mouth. You watch the drop of alcohol slide down her jaw, down her neck, and disappear into her cleavage. Fuck. You shouldn’t be thinking such dirty thoughts about anyone, especially since you have a boyfriend.

Still, that’s not enough to stop you.

Us girls, we are so magical Soft skin, red lips, so kissable Hard to resist, so touchable Too good to deny it Ain't no big deal, it's innocent

The beat of the music rushes through your veins, and you pull Natasha closer to you. She grabs your hips and moves them along yours in tune with the beat. Your eyes are hooded, with your gaze on her lush red lips. So kissable. She’s hard to resist, so you wrap your arms around her neck and press yourself closer to her.

Her eyes meet yours, and you can see the want, the need, inside of them. It looks like she wants this as much as you do, so you throw all fucks out the window and go for it.

I kissed a girl and I liked it The taste of her cherry chapstick I kissed a girl just to try it I hope my boyfriend don't mind it It felt so wrong, it felt so right Don't mean I'm in love tonight I kissed a girl and I liked it I liked it

You lean in and press your lips to hers delicately just in case you got this whole thing wrong. However, she doesn’t pull away from you. She deepens the kiss when she tilts her head to the right, and she swipes her tongue over your lower lip. The second your tongue touches her, it’s like a spark goes off.

The spark you’re missing with Theodore. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s because he’s a him and not a her. Fuck Theodore. You’re giving this night to yourself. Falling in love isn’t on the cards for tonight, but you’re going to go home later and know what it’s like to kiss a woman, this woman.

Natasha pulls away from you and whispers something in your ear, but you’re too drunk to understand what she’s saying. You watch her walk toward the bathroom, and you grin at the taste of her cherry chapstick.

Fuck, you kind of liked it.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel fluff #marvel angst #mcu #mcu fluff #mcu fanfiction #mcu angst #mcu fanfic #mcu fic

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nochepsicodelica · 3 hours ago

Text

Part I

"Hey, uh-uh. What did we say about stealth-ing in the house?"

Crap. You stand in the kitchen for a few seconds longer, thinking about how you're going to play this off.

"I didn't even make a sound, your hearing is amazing, baby!" You say, attempting to boost your lover's ego to distract him from this for now.

"Didn't hear you, I saw your shadow scurrying after you into the kitchen. Now quit stalling and come here."

"I reek of sweat and blood. Maybe I should shower first," you divert once again.

"Get over here or I'm coming to you, and I'm not gonna be a teddy bear about it."

You sigh and put your duffel bag down, dragging your tired feet to the living room. Before Toji can get a look at your mug, you put a hand over your mouth, not touching, just hovering over it. Finally, you step out into the bright, warm toned light, and look at Toji, like a bunny in the face of an enormous bear that could crush it with a single paw.

He crooks a finger, beckoning for you to come closer. From where he sits, he can see a scratch beneath your eye and one on your cheek.

"I know you're tired, but I need to see my girl," he says, making your heart shake like a rattle.

You drop your hand and take more purposeful steps towards him, ready to crawl into his embrace like you always do after the day begins to close out.

"Yeah, come here, baby," he says, making room for you on his lap, and sure enough, you weren't lying. As you settle onto his lap, the combination of your sweat and the irony smell of the dried blood on your clothes is potent. Does that stop him from holding you tight? Hell no, he handles you like you're fragile, because he knows you are. Your tiredness allows you to be that way after a long day of showing the contrary. He can't ever stress enough to you how much he understands that.

"What'd you eat for lunch?" Toji asks, rubbing your back while you rest your head on his shoulder.

"Lance and his wife invited me to go get ramen with them, but I wasn't that hungry then, so they gave me a couple granola bars," you mumble.

"Nice people. They really do treat you like you're one of their own kids."

"Mhm," you hum, turning your head to bury your face in his neck. He smells like safety and comfort. You come home to this every day.

"Let me see your face, doll," he murmurs. "I'm not gonna yell at you or get you in trouble or whatever bad thing you think is gonna happen. Just wanna see your pretty face," he says, in response to your hesitance.

You sigh, nervous for no reason. It's really not that bad, but it is noticeable. Slowly, you pull away from his neck and sit up for something you think will be incredibly anticlimactic, but... anything for Toji.

He stares at you, long and hard, inspecting every inch of your face for deep serious cuts. So far the only major damage is your busted lip.

"Are you mad?" You ask, as he runs the pad of his thumb over a thin, jagged cut on your cheek.

"No reason for me to be. Does your lip still hurt?" He asks, unable to look away for too long. Your lips are one of his favorite things to look at and he stares at them plenty, so it's not unusual for you.

"Not really," you respond, shaking your head. "It hurt like a bitch when it happened, but not so much anymore. Lance had some extra disinfecting wipes in his glove compartment so I cleaned it up a little on the way here. I'm fine."

"Hm. Any serious damage to your body?" Toji asks, massaging your shoulder blades, instinctively. "Arms, legs? How's your back?"

"I'm fine, baby," you insist, smiling at all the concern he's showing.

"Any scrapes on your hands or knees?"

"Probably, but i'm okay. Seriously, i'm fine."

"How 'bout a warm bath?" He suggests.

"I'm f--" you start, expecting another question of concern. "Wait, um..."

"A nice... toasty bath," he utters softly, carefully, to further entice you. "with those relaxing bubbles you love so much."

It sounds amazing, but only one thing could make it perfect.

"Can you stay with me? In the tub, I mean," you clarify. "I'll do a pre-wash. Get all the nasty off and... and i'll call you in once i'm done. You don't have to, of course," you add, a sheepish laugh following. "But, I would love you a million, billion, gajillion, if you did.

"Sounds perfect, doll," he agrees, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. Normally he would turn that last bit into a full fledged banter about you loving him when it's convenient to you, but your energy is limited, so he'll put it on hold for now. "You let me know when you're ready."

Despite him asking that of you, he does not let you out of his sight at all. He leans against the doorframe of the bathroom and watches you. Watches you remove your worn, filthy clothes. Watches you scrub your body down, head to toe. Your back has faded scars scattered over it, you have little cuts just below your ribs and scratches on your waist, and yet Toji thinks you've never looked more beautiful. He can't imagine you without a few scuff marks. He met you that way, he knows you that way, but all in all, he loves you in all ways, whether you've been grazed, you're healing, or scarred.

This may be one of his favorite rituals to do with you. Lying back against the tub with you sitting between his legs and resting against his chest, you jump between guessing how you both got your scars...

"Hm... severe rope burn?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?"

"You know the one I have on my ankle? Yeah, rope burn. Your turn."

"That's a blade's doing, isn't it?"

"Nope, this is my chains' doing. Yeah, I know, I know. Laugh it up, doll. Even the best mess up sometimes."

...and appreciating the fact that you're both so good at what you do, that you're still here.

"Gimme a kiss, baby," Toji requests, smirking fiendishly as his gaze darts between your eyes and your lips.

"Mm-mm," you say, shaking your head with a teasing grin. "Not with my lip all ugly like this."

"Not ugly. You look hot as fuck. Now give me a damn kiss."

You give him a quick peck, and he scoffs like you offended him with something so chaste.

"You wanna try that again, and give me a chance to, you know... be ready?"

"No, not really," you jest, gasping when he pinches your butt under the foamy water to show his disapproval of your response. "Alright, alright. Just be gentle," you plead, caving in to his needs, as usual.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, grinning victoriously as he pulls you in closer to get a proper taste of your lips. They're soft as ever, despite their current, temporary appearance, and kissing you is as sweet and satisfying as it's always been. Nothing will ever change that for him.

"Fucking love you," he murmurs, the words a soft breath against your lips.

"Love you, too, baby," you respond, before going in for more.

A/N: Reader and Toji have different handlers. Lance is reader's handler, Toji still works with Shiu.

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boopiemadz · 2 days ago

Note

hi! i don't know if you're taking requests at the moment but if you are id love to see something similar to 'crashing into you', purely in the sense that its a cm/yj crossover, where reader is a profiler and part of the bau and they have a bit of a thing going on with spencer and they get called on a case (to new jersey i guess) and they have to deal with one of the other yellowjackets, preferably travis, who is like a witness or something, but they used to go out/date and the feelings haven't really gone away or maybe they were just super close and its like reuniting with an old friend (even though there's trauma), either way i want their reunion to be really happy cause they haven't seen each other in years, but also a bit tainted by the memories of what they did.

sorry if your not taking requests at the moment!! i adore your writing and i haven't seen anyone else who does cm and yj crossovers, especially someone who writes for travis (i adore travis!)

These CM x YJ asks are so fun and hard at the same time. I wanted to add smth about reader being scared of going on the plane cus of the crash but it was too long already... Ended on a choice cus I cant choose between my huzz (plural) so up to you! Also thx sm for liking my stuff, means so much.

WARNINGS!

idk just dont read if sensitive ig?

[Murder or reunion]

The jet's engines hummed quietly underneath you as you and the team gathered around the small conference table, files and coffee cups across its surface. Hotch stood, arms folded, voice steady as he outlined the case.

"Paramus, New Jersey. Two men found murdered outside a rural bar, roughly thirty-six hours apart. Both victims had defensive wounds, blunt force trauma, and evidence of overkill."

You flipped open the thin case file in front of you, scanning the grainy crime scene photos. The killings looked chaotic. Personal.

"No obvious connection between the victims," Emily said, tapping her pen against her notepad. "Different ages, different social circles, even different neighborhoods."

"Which could mean a spree killer," Morgan added. "Or someone picking targets of opportunity."

Spencer leaned forward, frowning thoughtfully. "Overkill usually suggests rage. Maybe the victims represent something to the unsub?"

"Local PD says there was a bar fight the night of the second murder," JJ chimed in, glancing at her notes. "Witnesses are spotty, drunk and unreliable. But there was at least one person they think might have seen something important."

You nodded, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "We should start with him. Try to establish a timeline and figure out if the victims knew the same people."

Hotch agreed. "When we land, Reid, Y/L/N, you'll take lead on the witness. Morgan and Prentiss will canvass the bar staff. JJ and I will work with local law enforcement to coordinate."

You glanced across the table at Spencer, who offered a small smile, the kind of simple, grounding thing you appreciated before diving into the chaos.

---

As the plane began its descent, you stared out the window at the sprawling New Jersey woods below, feeling that familiar pull in your chest.

You stepped out of the SUV, boots crunching against the cracked concrete of the bar’s parking lot. New Jersey in the spring had a way of clinging to you, the humidity, the smell of the woods, and today it clung harder than ever.

It felt strange being back.

You hadn’t set foot in New Jersey since you’d left for the Academy, eventually finding your place at the BAU. At first, you told yourself it was because of your career. In reality, it was the memories, memories of before, and everything that came after. Of the Yellowjackets, the crash, the wilderness...and the way you’d never really been the same.

You shoved the thought aside and focused on the case. Spencer walked a half-step behind you, the two of you crossing the lot toward a battered patrol car where a local officer was waiting.

“They said the witness is inside,” the officer said, jerking a thumb toward the bar. "Name’s Travis Martinez. He’s a regular, knows a lot of the crowd here."

Your heart stalled in your chest.

The name hit you like a jolt, a bright flare of something you hadn’t felt in years. You swallowed hard, trying not to let anything show on your face. Travis.

It couldn’t be your Travis...could it?

You exchanged a quick glance with Spencer, who didn't notice your sudden stiffness. He just nodded politely to the officer and gestured for you to lead the way inside.

---

The door creaked as you pushed it open, and the bar’s interior came into view, dark wood, dusty light filtering through grimy windows. Sitting at the far end, shoulders hunched, was a figure you recognized immediately. Travis.

Older, rougher around the edges, but it was him.

You froze for just a second too long, your hand still on the door. His head lifted at the sound, and when his eyes locked with yours, his face cracked open into something that looked a lot like relief.

And just like that, it all came rushing back.

The years. The crash. The promises made in the woods. The way you’d left, and the way he hadn’t.

Spencer’s voice broke through your daze. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, pushing down the storm inside you. "Yeah," you said. "Yeah. I just...recognize him." And before Spencer could ask, you were already moving forward, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

Travis stood up from the barstool, and for a moment you both just stared at each other, drinking it in, years of distance crashing together in one second.

"Hey," he said, voice rough, a little uncertain. You smiled, small, shaky. "Hey." And then he pulled you into a hug.

It was instinctive, bone-deep. Travis’s arms wrapped tightly around you like he thought you might vanish if he let go. You clutched the back of his jacket, squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden sting.

It had been so long. Longer than you realized. When you finally pulled back, you caught the way he studied you, like he was checking if you were real. If you were you.

"You look good," Travis said, voice low. "You too," you answered, stepping back to find your footing again. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you from a few feet away, curious, maybe a little confused.

And under that...something complicated.

You couldn’t blame him. Things between you and Spencer had shifted a few months ago, after a case in Boston, late night at the hotel bar, both of you cracked open and vulnerable. One kiss. Soft, hesitant, like neither of you were sure if it was a mistake or something inevitable. You hadn’t really talked about it since.

It had made being around him a little...messy. Tender. Fragile.

And now here you were, hugging someone else like you’d never lost a single day between you. You turned, clearing your throat. "Uh, Spencer, this is Travis Martinez. Travis, this is Dr. Spencer Reid, my... my coworker."

Spencer stepped forward, offering his hand politely. His smile was gentle, but you could tell he was cataloguing everything, the way Travis looked at you, the way your voice had softened when you said his name.

"Nice to meet you," Travis said, shaking Spencer’s hand. "You too," Spencer replied, ever the professional. The moment hung in the air, thick and strange.

You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to ground yourself. "We, uh, need to ask you a few questions about what you saw the other night. If that's okay."

Travis nodded immediately. "Of course. Anything you need."

---

You hovered nearby while Spencer conducted the interview, your posture relaxed but your mind razor-sharp.

Travis sat opposite him at a scratched-up table near the back, he looked every bit the ghost of someone you used to know, older, rougher around the edges, but still him. Still the boy you once survived hell beside.

Spencer flipped open his notebook, pen ready. "You said you got here around 8:30?"

Travis’s gaze flicked between you and Spencer, but it lingered on you. "I did. Had a beer, played a few rounds of pool with some locals."

"Did you notice anything out of place?" Spencer pressed.

Travis shrugged. "Not right away. But about an hour after I got here, this guy started pacing near the front door. Kept checking his phone. Didn’t order anything. Just...watching people."

You leaned in slightly, reading the tension in Travis’s voice, that old instinct you hadn’t needed to use around him in years. He was telling the truth.

Spencer nodded. "Can you describe him?"

"White guy. Late forties, maybe early fifties. Scruffy, bad skin. Jacket that looked like it hadn't been washed in a decade."

As Travis spoke, your mind flashed back to the earlier reports: witnesses had mentioned a man loitering at multiple crime scenes. Same rough description. You tapped Spencer’s shoulder lightly. "This matches two of the other witness statements."

He nodded, already flipping through his notes.

"And this guy," you said, stepping forward, "...you said he left before anything happened?"

Travis’s eyes pinned to yours. "Yeah. About ten minutes before the fight outside."

A fight that turned into a murder. You and Spencer exchanged a glance, it was coming together.

Just then, your phone buzzed urgently. Another text from Garcia: - Got a hit on traffic cams. Ratty jacket guy spotted two blocks from the bar 15 minutes ago. -

Spencer shot up from his chair, already gathering his things. "Let’s go."

You turned to Travis, the old pull between you two tightening for a second, his worried eyes, your heart hammering too loud in your chest.

---

The SUV roared to life under Spencer’s hands as you navigated using Garcia’s real-time updates. "He's heading south," you said, pointing to the alleyway two blocks over.

Spencer swerved sharply, tires screeching against the curb. You both jumped out before the car even fully stopped, drawing your weapons.

The alley reeked of trash and wet concrete. Ahead, under the broken glow of a flickering streetlamp, you spotted movement, a hunched figure scrambling over a chain-link fence.

"FBI!" Spencer barked, taking off in a sprint.

You were right behind him, adrenaline burning through your chest as your boots pounded the pavement. The suspect stumbled as he landed, giving you the opening you needed.

You tackled him hard, slamming him against the ground as your knee pressed into his back. The man struggled wildly, spitting curses, but Spencer was already there, cuffing him expertly.

"You’re under arrest for the murder of Jamie Collins and Mark Jameson" Spencer said breathlessly, snapping the cuffs tight.

The suspect thrashed once, then sagged, defeated.

You both stood over him for a second, catching your breath. You grinned at Spencer, the rush of the chase making you giddy.

You flushed slightly but rolled your eyes, nudging him with your shoulder. "Teamwork."

Spencer just looked at you for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

---

Back at the local precinct, after turning over the unsub and giving a quick preliminary statement, you finally slumped onto a beat-up bench outside.

Spencer appeared a minute later, two cups of terrible vending machine coffee in hand. He handed you one with a small smile.

"You did really well tonight," he said quietly, sitting beside you. "Not that you don't always. "

"Thanks, Spence."

There was a quiet beat between you, not uncomfortable, but loaded with something you hadn't really let yourself acknowledge since that kiss a few months ago. It had happened after a particularly bad case, in the dim glow of the BAU’s parking garage. A moment of weakness...or maybe something else. But neither of you had really talked about it since.

Before either of you could say anything more, the door to the precinct opened with a creak, cutting the silence. You glanced up to see Travis standing in the doorway, his familiar posture tense but slightly relieved. His gaze met yours, and a flash of recognition flickered between you two, the same connection you always shared.

"Got him, just identified him in the lineup." Travis said, his voice low but certain.

You stood up, the tension from the night lingering as you approached him. His eyes softened when they landed on you, and for a brief moment, it felt like no time had passed since the last time you saw each other in the wilderness.

"Good," you nodded, trying to keep the professional mask on. "He won't hurt anyone else."

Travis’s jaw tightened slightly, and he stepped forward, his gaze lingering on yours a little longer than necessary. "Yeah," he agreed, then glanced at Spencer, who was still standing by the coffee machine, silently observing the exchange.

"I didn’t expect to see you back here, not after..." His voice trailed off, and you knew exactly what he meant. After everything.

You swallowed, not knowing how to answer. Travis had been a part of your life, for better or worse, during those months in the wilderness, and everything you went through there, together, and then apart, still felt like a tangled knot inside you. You and he had reconnected after rescue, but things didn’t last. The trauma, the guilt, the distance, it all kept pushing you both further apart.

You rubbed the back of your neck, unsure how to ease the sudden weight that had settled between you two. "I never thought I’d be back in New Jersey either. But here we are."

"Yeah," he said with a small smirk, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to make you think maybe this wasn't as awkward as you’d imagined. "Funny how that works."

Spencer cleared his throat from the corner. "Well, we’ve got our guy, and the case is wrapped up. I’m going to head to the jet soon."

You nodded absentmindedly, still focused on Travis. There was a long pause, the tension in the air thick and palpable, as if both of you were hesitating to say what you really wanted.

"How’ve you been?" you finally asked, voice quieter than you intended. "Really."

Travis studied you for a moment, his eyes a little sad, but there was a warmth there too, a familiarity you had missed. "I’ve been better. Trying to make sense of everything that happened... It’s...a lot. But I'm managing."

"Yeah, I get it."

He smiled faintly, his eyes glimmering with something unsaid. "I’m glad you’re doing okay... or at least I hope you are. It's good to see you again."

You hesitated, then spoke with more certainty. "You too." Travis shifted a little closer, his voice quieter this time. "We should catch up sometime. Just... talk."

You nodded slowly, heart racing. "Yeah. I’d like that." His gaze softened as he pulled out his phone. "Give me your number?"

You took a deep breath and reached for your phone too, entering your number into his with a lingering moment of contact. The simple act felt loaded, full of what-ifs.

"Thanks," he said, meeting your eyes once again. "Take care of yourself. And hey...I know it’s not always easy, but... don’t forget to live a little too, okay?"

A small, bittersweet laugh escaped your lips, though you couldn't stop the softness in your voice. "I’ll try."

As Travis turned to leave, he shot you one last look, then nodded a silent farewell. You watched him go, but as soon as he left, the weight of the decision settled on your shoulders. Spencer was still waiting in the doorway, his gaze unreadable as he gave you a half smile, clearly aware of the interaction that had just taken place.

You took a deep breath and walked over to Spencer, who raised an eyebrow at you. "You two seem...friendly."

You glanced over your shoulder at the door Travis had exited through. "Yeah, something like that."

Spencer didn’t push, but there was a momentary flicker of something in his eyes, something that made you wonder if he was seeing more.

But as you stepped into the jet to fly back home, your phone buzzed. A message from Travis:

-Let me know when you’re free. I meant what I said.-

---

And then there was Spencer, still in the background, still there, in his own way, someone who was beginning to mean more than just a colleague.

The airplane doors closed, leaving you with the choice you didn’t want to face yet:

Spencer - the steady presence who knew you inside and out,

Travis - the shadow of your past, full of history and unresolved feelings.

And you weren't sure which one you'd choose, or if you could.

But you’d figure it out, eventually.

#yellowjackets #bleh #travis martinez #yellowjackets fandom #viral #travis martinez fanfic #travis martinez x reader #fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x yellowjackets #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #choice #two man

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cruel-as-sin · 2 days ago

Text

i don't want your body, but- | frankie morales

↳ summary: you run into your ex at a bar. only he’s not alone, and for reasons you can’t quite figure out, you’re put off by that fact

word count: 1.5k

song: somebody else | the 1975

pairings: ex!frankie morales x gn!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), sexual references but no smut, grinding/sensual dancing, heavy angst, aftermath of a bad breakup, reader is lowkey still mad about it, by lowkey i mean highkey, neither one of them has moved on, heated shouting match, lots of crying and hard feelings, one singular slap (reader slaps frankie), one singular kiss, one singular shove (reader shoves frankie), mentions of nausea/urge to vomit, drinking, no use of y/n, unhappy ending (and i’m not sorry), frankie is kind of an asshole in this i'm not gonna lie, this will hurt your feelings (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: this is my entry for @chaotic-mystery’s wired 4 you challenge! this was such a fun challenge and SO much fun to write, i’ve never written for a pedro character before but i’m hoping there will be much more to come! enjoy, and maybe grab some tissues lmao

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Look, I can’t do this.” Frankie’s breath is shaky, his voice low, that tone that makes you know he’s about to have something to apologize for. “We can’t do this.”

The words cut through you like a knife, stopping you in your tracks. “What do you mean?” The question comes out more desperate than it should, but you can't bring yourself to be angry. Not now, not yet, not when the only thing you want to do is beg and plead with him to stay, not when the only thing you’re thinking is that this can’t possibly be real, there’s no way this is happening to you right now.

“I’m sorry.” He anticipates your move towards him, taking a step back before you can latch onto his hand with your own.

He’s killed so many people, done things that keep him awake every night, things that have fucked him up forever. But the hurt on your face right now might be the worst thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m sorry.” He says again, another step away from you, towards the bed of his truck. Ignoring your pleas, your begging for him to stay, to explain himself, to make this work. Your shouting, because how could he do this, why would he do this, how dare he fucking do this- he ignores it all.

So that was the last time you ever saw Francisco Morales, pulling out of your driveway with the pieces of your broken heart in his hands.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The first time in five months you see Frankie, he’s grinding on a girl across the bar from you.

Vibrant lights and disco music illuminate the dance floor, the rest of the world fading out around you as you catch sight of him. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, maybe it’s the fact that it’s almost midnight, maybe it’s the alcohol- but your whole world hones in on him, right then and there.

Dancing with her. The way he used to dance with you.

You feel like you’re going to be sick. Stumbling out the back door into the alleyway, huddling over a trash can and trying really hard not to throw up.

It shouldn’t bother you anymore. Five months and you haven’t heard a single word from him, not even a fucking text, but of course he still had to show up at your favorite club.

He knows it’s your favorite club. Maybe it's his new girl’s favorite, too, but that would really just rub salt in the wound, wouldn’t it?

Typical Frankie.

Your fingers dig into the edge of the trash can as you draw in sharp, ragged breaths. Your whole body hurts, your heart pounding so fast you think it might actually come out of your chest. Maybe that would be a good thing- maybe that would fix this stupid feeling of disgust and grief and regret and some twisted desire to have him again.

You hate him.

But if you have to go back in there and see him again, you’re not sure who you’ll hate more- him for doing it, or yourself for how it makes you feel.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

She’s not really his girlfriend.

You don’t know that, of course. You don’t need to- why would you? You’re not exactly speaking anymore. You haven’t been since he broke up with you. He needed to, to keep you safe, but you didn’t understand that. He reckons you still don’t- that’s why you ran away at the sight of him.

Well, that, and the girl who is now clinging to his shoulder and trying to get him to stay. But the moment he watched you slip out the back door he had this urge to follow you. An itch he couldn’t ignore, couldn’t scratch, except with you.

"I'll be right back. Just stay here." He says casually, gently pushing her off of him so he can make his way through the crowds of people and towards the door you left out of.

He knew it was a mistake, coming here. But she insisted on it, and like an idiot, he couldn't refuse. He's not sure why he keeps indulging her, why he keeps having her over to his place and fucking her senseless, why he's latched onto this girl instead of moving on like he does with all the other one night stands he takes.

Maybe it's because she smells like you.

When he reaches the door, he pauses for a second, wondering if he should follow you. If it wouldn't be better to just leave you alone, maybe even leave the place altogether and never come back. If you'd even want him there at all.

Probably not.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

You step away from the trash can as the door swings open, trying not to seem as pathetic as you're sure you look to whatever stranger has come out here to smoke. You know you look awful- dry heaving, red eyes, tear stains all over your face.

But it isn't a stranger that walks through that door.

It's him.

Francisco fucking Morales, the guy who dumped you in two minutes in your goddamn driveway and broke your stupid heart.

The guy you came out here specifically to avoid.

Did he follow you? Jesus, you’re gonna give him a piece of your mind-

His brows furrow in concern as he takes a step toward you. The nerve, to walk in your direction after he's the one who walked away, the absolute fucking audacity to act like he gives two shits about your well-being-

“Shit, baby, you okay?”

Baby.

You slap him.

For a moment, neither of you move, both frozen in shock over what just happened.

You've never hit him. You've never hit anyone. And you certainly weren't expecting that to actually work, given the former profession of the man standing in front of you, raising a hand to the red spot on his cheek.

You hope it stings.

You kind of want to kiss it better.

His concern melts into anger as he looks at you. “What the fuck was that for?”

You’re so mad you have to laugh. “What the fuck do you think?”

He sighs, clenching his jaw. “Look, I’m sorry, alright?”

“Oh, you’re sorry? Is that it?” You take a step back, shaking your head. “I’m supposed to just take you back after a fucking sorry?”

“No, you’re not supposed to just take me back. I just wanted to apologize.” He says in frustration.

You can't believe this, you can't fucking believe this. He's been leaving you alone all this time, but now he's all over you like it all never happened, like suddenly your feelings do matter. “For what, huh?” You shoot back. “Do you even know what you did wrong?”

“Everything!” He snaps. “I did everything wrong.” He runs a hand over his face, taking a deep breath.

You don't say anything. For a moment you don't even move, too shocked by the admission- but it's not enough. Not for all the hurt he caused you, not for five months of pain and hurt and the never-ending question of why.

Even though you don't say anything, he must see it in your face, knowing you so deeply even now. He takes a step forward, his voice lowering, a tone you used to listen to. “Baby, please, listen to me-”

“Don't fucking call me that!" You try to slap him again, but this time he does grab your wrist, looking at you unimpressed as you roughly tug your hand away.

"Are you done?" You didn't think he could piss you off any more. That tone used to turn you on. You hate him, you want to beat his pretty face fucking senseless, you can't bring yourself to move again.

“God, Frankie. I- you-" You step back, beginning to pace back and forth across the alleyway. He remains still, unmoving, watching your futile attempts to get out this energy without using him to do it. "You can't just walk out here, trying to come back into my life, acting like you care about me-”

"I do care about you!" He interrupts, taking a step towards you.

"Don't bullshit me." You don't even look at him, you can't, because if you look at him you might stop, and you have to keep being angry.

"I'm not bullshitting you-"

“Don't fucking bullshit me, Frankie!” You're certain half the bar could hear the way you're shouting at him right now, but you don't care. "You dumped me, you broke my heart, and I don't want you back, you asshole, so just leave me alone and go torment some other poor soul stupid enough to buy into your nonsense-"

You're choking on your own sobs when he reaches out and grabs you, his hand wrapped around your arm, his expression serious.

“Would you just shut up and kiss me?" His curls are damp with sweat, deep brown eyes staring into yours as if they might be able to hypnotize you.

Your lips curl into a sneer, grabbing his arm and pulling it off of yours. "I'm not gonna kiss you, you sick motherfucker-"

And then he’s whining your name in that little pleading tone of his, and suddenly you are kissing him, lips crashing onto his like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. He tastes like shitty bourbon and salty tears and someone else’s chapstick and it’s only when the last taste hits your tongue that you can find it in yourself to pull away. Tears well up in your eyes when you look at him, and you both know the kiss didn’t feel the same as it did before. That vibrant feeling wasn’t coming back, and it never would be.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. “But we can’t keep doing this.”

You think for a second that maybe this is all some sort of dream. A sick, twisted nightmare, because there’s really no fucking way he would do this to you twice.

But he does.

There’s no begging this time. No shouting, no pleading. Just resigned defeat as you watch him walk away. Through the alley, around the corner, the sound of a truck starting up in the distance.

You’re crying. Strangely enough, though, you don’t feel anything at all. Maybe he’s right, maybe this really is destined not to work.

Or maybe, maybe, he’s just too much of a coward to enter a fight he can’t win with a loaded gun.

tagging some of my fav ppcu writers: @gothcsz @pedgito @sceletaflores @pedroscurls @amanitacowboy @moonlight-prose @yxtkiwiyxt

#cas one shots #wired4youchallenge #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #ngl i'm so nervous posting this #entering a new fandom with a bang!

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emmiesoverthemoon · 2 hours ago

Text

what's a little ink?

pairing: han jisung x reader

word count: 7.3k

summary: you wanted the upper hand. you came for a tattoo. you also came for him. and somehow you ended up in his hoodie, eating his eggs, and wondering how a bet turned into this stupid, soft thing you just can’t resist wanting

tags: tattoo artist au, friends to lovers, fluff and smut. porn with plot. sweet, sappy, and gross romance. enjoy

requested by @burlesquerade hope u like it honey

It all started with a simple, completely ridiculous bet. You and Han had been hanging out for hours, as you often did, swapping old stories and making fun of each other’s quirky habits. Laughter echoed around the cozy living room, the kind of laughter that was easy and natural, the way it always was when the two of you were together.

"Okay," Han said, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leaned forward, eyes glinting with that playful spark you knew all too well. "If you can beat me at this stupid game one more time, I will get you whatever you want as a prize."

You raised an eyebrow, already suspecting he might be setting you up for something ridiculous. "Whatever I want? Really?"

"Yep. No holds barred. You name it, and it’s yours," Han assured you, his tone full of confident mischief. "But if I win…" He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. “You have to let me tattoo you.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Tattoo me? Really? That’s your big gamble?”

Han’s smile grew wider. “I’m a tattoo artist, remember? It's a fair trade. I think you’re too scared to let me do it.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, your fingers tapping idly on your cup. “Scared? Please. I’m not scared of a tattoo.”

His eyes narrowed, a challenge sparking in their depths. “Oh, so now you’re saying you can handle it? Alright then. You’re on. But we both know I’m going to win.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “Big talk for someone who has no idea what they’re up against.”

The game you were playing—a mix of cards, trivia, and guessing games—was silly, and it didn’t take long for the competition to become heated. But, much to your surprise, you did win. By a narrow margin, of course, but a win was a win.

Han’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from gloating too much. You had been expecting him to be smug, but now, as the reality of the situation sank in, you saw a flicker of something else cross his features.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, trying to hide his grin. “You won. So what do you want?”

You leaned back in the chair, considering your options. There were so many things you could ask for—something extravagant, maybe—but you had been thinking about this for a while. Han had been inking people for years now, and you had always wondered what it would feel like to have him work on you.

So, you decided to go for it.

“I want a tattoo,” you said with a straight face, barely able to hide the excitement in your voice.

He blinked at you. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Totally,” you answered, your grin impossible to hide. “You’re going to ink me, Han. And you can’t back out.”

He stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to make sure you weren’t joking, but then the challenge returned in his eyes.

“Well, if I have to do this, I get to choose where,” he said, his tone slightly mischievous. “No complaints, okay?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Fine. As long as I get to decide what the design is, I’ll leave the location to you.”

Han smirked and held out his hand. “Deal.”

The text from Han came just before noon.

“Hope you’re not chickening out. Studio at 3. Wear something loose. ;)”

You stared at your phone longer than you meant to, heat crawling up your neck. Chickening out? Hardly. But that stupid winking face was another story. He always knew how to push just the right buttons—just enough to make your pulse quicken, just enough to stir things that should probably stay buried.

Still, you showed up. Of course you did.

His studio was tucked into a quiet side street downtown, its glass windows fogged slightly from the early spring chill. You had been here before—countless times, really—but never like this. Never with your skin on the line. Never with your heart threatening to beat out of your chest for reasons that had very little to do with ink or needles.

The soft chime above the door rang as you stepped in. Han was already inside, hunched over a sketchpad, his brows knitted in concentration. A pencil twirled between his fingers as he tapped it against his lower lip, eyes flicking to you the moment you walked in.

And just like that, the air shifted.

He smiled, slow and crooked. “You came. I’m impressed.”

“You told me to. I don’t exactly think that counts as bravery,” you replied, trying to play it cool, even though you were already peeling off your jacket, already catching the way his eyes flicked to your collarbone with something unreadable.

Han rose from his chair, brushing his fingers through his soft brown hair. “I sketched some ideas. Wanna see?”

You nodded, joining him by the desk where several sheets were spread out. The designs were delicate—subtle, intricate things, clearly drawn with you in mind. One of them caught your eye: a minimalist crescent moon nestled inside a trail of tiny stars, the lines fine and whisper-soft.

“I like this one,” you murmured, fingers brushing the paper.

“I thought you might.” His voice had dropped a bit. He was watching you closely, as if your reaction meant something more than approval. “It’s gentle. Quiet. But it lingers.”

You swallowed.

“I’ve decided where to put it,” he added after a beat, stepping closer.

“Oh?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Do I get a hint?”

Han smiled, tilting his head just slightly as his eyes traveled—unapologetically—over your exposed shoulder, down the dip of your neck. “Upper shoulder. Right where it curves into your neck. Here.” He reached out, fingers grazing the exact spot, the barest ghost of a touch. “It’s a place you never see, but everyone else does. Intimate. Subtle. Kind of like the moon.”

You froze. It was a good idea—too good, actually. Because now, your body was responding to more than just nerves. The closeness. The delicacy in his voice. The way his fingertips lingered, resting there a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“I trust you,” you whispered, hoping it would ground you.

Han met your gaze. For once, he looked serious. “Then lie down for me.”

The chair was cold at first, the studio quiet but for the low murmur of music and the faint clatter of his tools. You lay on your side, hair pulled up and shirt slightly off one shoulder, baring the space where he would work. The air kissed your skin, but it was Han’s presence—his warmth—that you felt most acutely.

He cleaned the area with methodical care, the scent of alcohol and antiseptic somehow comforting. But it was the way his hand curved around your shoulder, the way his thumb brushed the nape of your neck, that made you hyper aware of every inch of yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Mhmm.”

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”

You chose not to tell him that it already did—but not because of the needle.

As the machine buzzed to life, the first kiss of ink stung. You flinched, just slightly, and felt his other hand firm on your back in response. Steadying. Anchoring.

He worked in slow, precise strokes, the pressure rhythmic, hypnotic. But each time his fingers brushed your skin, each time his breath tickled your shoulder from how close he leaned—it lit something warm and aching inside you.

His voice broke through the quiet after a while, low and slightly hoarse. “You’re really still. Most people twitch like hell when it’s here.”

You exhaled, barely moving. “I think I just… don’t want to mess you up.”

“You couldn’t,” he murmured. And for a second, the machine paused. His hand stayed, resting lightly over the fresh lines. “You’re kind of perfect like this.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare ask what he meant. But in the pause between one stroke and the next, the silence pulsed—thick with something fragile, something not quite spoken yet.

He resumed working, but something had changed. His touches had always been skilled, steady, but now there was a new kind of deliberateness in the way his fingers slid across your skin—slower, more lingering, more aware. The buzz of the machine became background noise to the static dancing along your spine.

Your breath came shallow and controlled, each exhale purposeful, but no amount of focus could erase the way heat pooled low in your belly each time he adjusted your position, each time he leaned in just close enough that his breath grazed the shell of your ear.

"You’re warm," he said suddenly, voice barely audible over the low thrum of music.

You tilted your head, cheek brushing the leather of the chair. “Is that your way of saying I’m sweating too much?”

A quiet laugh. "No." He wiped the spot gently, fingers spread wide against your upper back. “Just saying... your skin feels alive.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to shiver.

He paused to dip the needle again, but his other hand stayed pressed against you—thumb dragging absently along the edge of your spine. And then, as though the words slipped free without permission, he added, “It’s kind of driving me crazy.”

The machine stilled. Your eyes snapped open.

“What?”

Han blinked, as if he had not meant to say it aloud. But the corner of his mouth lifted anyway, a half-smile that was equal parts sheepish and satisfied. “Nothing. Just... hard to stay focused when you’re under my hands like this.”

Your pulse spiked. “You’re the one who insisted on choosing the placement.”

“Maybe I wanted an excuse to touch you like this. To drive you crazy”

The air between you crackled. He was close now—too close. His hand still rested against your skin, fingers slightly curled as if resisting the urge to grip tighter. You felt it in your bones: the shift from friendly banter to something heavier. Something hungry.

The tattoo needle remained idle, forgotten for the moment.

Your voice came soft, but steady. “Are you always this... handsy when you’re working?”

He leaned in slowly, slowly, until his mouth hovered just behind your ear. “Only when the canvas makes it impossible not to be.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the heat of him, the deliberate pause before he moved again—not toward his tools, but toward you. His hand slid from your shoulder, knuckles brushing the side of your throat in a line so featherlight it made your skin pebble.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You said you wanted to drive me crazy, too.”

“Is it working?” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, exhaling. “I think you already know the answer.”

Han chuckled under his breath, but there was a tightness in it—like restraint stretched thin. Still, he didn’t kiss you. Didn’t push further. Instead, he pressed a hand to your waist and guided you gently back into place, the spell not broken, only deferred.

“I should finish,” he said, almost hoarse.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Finish.”

But every second after that was charged. Every brush of his hand, every hum of the machine, every stolen glance when you dared to peek up at him—all of it thrummed with the knowledge that something had shifted. And neither of you could pretend it hadn’t.

You lost track of time. Moments bled into minutes, drawn out by the quiet rhythm of his work and the unspoken weight between you.

By the time he shut off the machine, your body felt like it had become a tuning fork—tight with tension, humming with everything unsaid.

“That’s it, you're done,” Han said quietly, voice thick.

He reached for a clean cloth, gently dabbing the inked area. The sting had dulled into a soft ache, but the way his hand moved over your skin—slow, deliberate, reverent—was what left you breathless.

He lingered there, thumb brushing just above the fresh lines. “You did good. Barely moved.”

You shifted onto your elbows slightly, twisting to catch his face. “Is that praise, or are you just surprised I didn’t faint?”

His gaze met yours. For a second, he said nothing. Then, a smile tugged at his lips—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re a lot tougher than you let on.”

You sat up, pulling the collar of your shirt gently over one shoulder. “Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

Han stood there, still holding the cloth, still watching you with that unreadable expression. The tension between you was no longer subtle. It stretched between your bodies like a wire, thin and tight, vibrating with things neither of you had said out loud.

You looked away first.

“Let me pay you,” you said, reaching for your bag.

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “This wasn’t about that.”

Your fingers froze on the strap. You turned slowly. “Then what was it about?”

He hesitated, jaw tight. The weight in his gaze softened for a beat—something bare flickering through, like he wanted to say everything but chose instead to say:

“I wanted something of mine on you.”

The words landed in your chest like a drop of ink in water—sinking, blooming.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence folded around you again, but it was thick, pulsing, the air saturated with all the ways you almost touched.

Finally, you smiled, small but real. “Well... now you’ve got it.”

He laughed under his breath, but it was quieter this time. A little more careful. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

You moved toward the mirror, pulling your shirt slightly aside to see the finished piece that now lay protected by second skin. The crescent moon curved delicately against your skin, soft as a secret, sharp as a wish you hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

It was beautiful. It was everything you could have asked for.

You caught Han watching your reflection—eyes fixed not just on the ink, but the shape of you, the moment of you. Like he had never really allowed himself to look until now.

And still... he did nothing. And neither did you.

Just two bodies, standing too close, tied together by a single piece of ink and a silence that spoke louder than anything else.

You turned from the mirror, fingers brushing down the edge of your collar one last time. The skin was still tender beneath your touch, but not as tender as the weight in your chest.

“I should go,” you said, voice a little too light. A little too careful.

Han nodded once, but he did not move from where he stood. “Right. It’s late.”

You moved toward the door, bag slung over your shoulder, shoes forgotten under the bench. The silence followed you like smoke—slow and curling and hard to breathe through. You could feel his eyes on your back.

But just as your hand touched the knob, you paused.

“…I’m not usually like this.”

The words escaped before you could catch them.

Han’s voice came from behind you, lower now. “Like what?”

You didn’t turn to face him. “This affected.”

A beat.

Then: “Me neither.”

You turned then. Slowly. He was closer than he’d been a moment ago. Still not touching. Still not reaching.

But close.

The streetlights from outside filtered through the frosted windows, casting soft shadows over his face—his expression was unreadable again, but his eyes were not. They were dark and warm and searching. Like he wanted to speak with his hands instead of his mouth.

“I should walk you out,” he offered.

“I don’t need—”

“I know.” A pause. Then, his voice was gentler, “Let me anyway.”

You nodded.

He opened the door, and the cool air of the hallway hit your skin like a shock—like stepping out of a dream. The clack of your shoes echoed softly as you both walked, side by side, neither of you speaking.

You reached the door to the street. The city breathed on the other side. Stillness clung to the space between you like fog.

“Hey,” Han called, just as you stepped onto the threshold. His voice pulled you back. “Wait.”

You turned, heart stuttering.

He was standing close again. Too close. The kind of close that felt deliberate. His hand hovered near your waist, fingers flexing once, like he was debating whether to touch you again.

He didn’t.

Instead, his voice dropped. “If I kiss you right now… would that mess things up?”

Your breath hitched.

The world held its breath with you.

You let the silence stretch. Let the ache of it crawl up your spine. And then you said—quietly, honestly:

“I think not kissing me might mess things up more.”

And still—still—he did not kiss you. He only looked at you like he wanted to memorize the moment, the space between your mouths, the way you had just told him everything without saying it outright.

He smiled, slow and heavy with intent. “Then maybe I’ll wait until it really ruins me.”

Your throat went dry.

“Night,” he murmured, stepping back.

And just like that, the door closed between you.

But your heart stayed in his hands.

It was past midnight when your phone lit up.

"You still awake?"

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering, heart already answering before you could.

"i never really went to sleep"

Three dots appeared, then vanished. Then again.

"Me neither"

A beat of no incoming messages passed, then:

"I'm keeping myself up thinking about earlier''

Your breath caught.

"the tattoo?"

"Not exactly.."

You didn't respond right away. You didn’t have to. The air in your room had changed—thicker, tighter, like his voice might pour from the cracks in the wall's paint if you leaned in close enough.

And then the screen lit up again—this time, a call, to which you answered—not after panicking for a few seconds, of course.

“…Hey.” You whispered into the microphone.

His voice was low, rough from too many unsent words. “You looked good tonight.”

You swallowed the simmering embarrassment down. “You saw a lot of skin.”

“Not the part I meant.”

A silence stretched. Not awkward—intimate. It curled through the receiver like warm breath against your neck.

“Come by tomorrow,” he said finally. “I need to check your tattoo.”

“You just want to touch me again.”

“I'm not gonna sit here and lie to you by saying I didn't love every second of touching you. Come by tomorrow, please?”

Your skin flared at the bluntness. There was no smirk in his tone. No teasing this time. Just heat. Quiet and real.

You whispered, “Okay.”

The next day, you were back at his studio.

You told yourself it was just for aftercare, but the second you walked in, saw the way he looked up at you—eyes dark and steady—you knew you were both done pretending.

“Shirt,” he said softly, gesturing to the seat.

You sat. You peeled the fabric from your shoulder, the same stretch of skin that had sparked the night before and haunted his thoughts since. His hands were gloved, but his touch still felt like bare electricity.

He leaned in, inspecting the ink, but the space between you crackled. “Looks good,” he murmured. “You’ll heal fast.”

“So I can go?” you teased, voice thinner than usual.

He gave you no answer. Just peeled off the gloves, tossed them aside, and placed his bare hand against your back—palm flat, warm. Possessive.

“You came back,” he said. “That’s what I wanted.”

You turned your head, letting your cheek rest against your shoulder, watching him. “I did as I was told, Han. So what now?”

Han stepped around to face you. He reached up and touched your chin, tilting your face to his. The air between you shrank to nothing.

“Now I kiss you.”

And this time, he did.

His mouth was warm, unhurried, like he was tasting something he had waited weeks to touch. His fingers cradled your jaw, and you melted into it, into him, into the truth that had been aching beneath your skin for days.

He pulled back, just an inch.

“Still messing things up?” he asked, breath brushing your lips.

You smiled. “Only in the best way.”

The kiss tasted like every moment that came before it—charged, aching, sweet with restraint. His mouth moved against yours like a secret unraveling, like he had memorized the shape of your lips before ever daring to touch them.

You leaned into him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer like instinct. Like gravity. Han followed the movement without hesitation, one hand sliding around your waist, the other brushing the side of your neck—soft, reverent, as if you might vanish if he held you too tightly.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, your foreheads touched. Your eyes stayed closed.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes. “Then show me.”

The words cracked something open between you. Quickly, he sat beside you on the tattoo bed and pulled you onto his lap.

He kissed you again—deeper now, his hands no longer tentative. One slid under your shirt, fingers warm against the small of your back, the other braced at your hip like he needed the anchor. You shifted in his lap, and before you realized you had even moved, he groaned low in his throat at the feel of you straddling him, bodies pressed with no space between.

Still, he slowed. Just for a breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded, nose brushing his. “More than.”

His lips returned to the bare side of your throat—soft at first, then with the scrape of teeth. Your hands threaded into his hair as you tilted your head for him, shivering when he dragged his mouth down the slope of your shoulder.

“Han,” you breathed.

He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed against your skin.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said. “But not just this.”

You stilled, heart thudding.

“I want every version of you,” he continued. “The fire, the softness, the silence. I want the way you look at me when I'm not looking. I want the way you talk like you are not afraid but touch like you’re terrified.”

You exhaled, chest caving. “You noticed everything?"

“I tried not to.”

He leaned back to meet your gaze. His hands moved with more intent now, but still gentle—still you-first. His thumbs traced the curve of your hips beneath your shirt, and you shivered under the slow build of it.

And then, still holding your waist, he laid you back against the padded bench—carefully, gracefully—like you were something rare. Like he had dreamed of this exact moment in the quiet between days.

Your shirt came off slowly, inch by inch. His hands explored like a map he was finally allowed to touch. Every kiss was a promise: I will not rush this. I will learn you inch by inch. I will memorize every sigh.

When his mouth found yours again, the kiss burned hotter—teeth clashing gently, breath shared. You tugged at his shirt, and he pulled it over his head in one clean motion, your hands already seeking skin, already desperate to feel.

Still, even in the heat, he slowed now and then—traced your ribs with a single finger, kissed the inside of your wrist. Whispers scattered between kisses.

“I want you,” he said. “But I also want you.”

You arched into him, fingertips splayed across his back, heart wide open. “You have me.”

The second his shirt hit the floor, your hands were on him—tracing the taut muscle beneath warm skin, nails catching just enough to make him hiss. His mouth was back on yours before you could take your next breath, more forceful now, more needy. Tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your spine arch and your legs tighten around his hips.

Han groaned when he felt it—your thighs drawing him in like a vice, like you already knew exactly how this would end.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth. “You feel too good.”

“You haven’t even felt me yet,” you whispered back.

His eyes darkened.

He pulled you up in one fluid motion, strong hands gripping your thighs as he laid you down atop the workbench, your back pressed against cool wood, your skin burning beneath his palms.

He kissed down your throat, not slow anymore. Messy, greedy, open-mouthed kisses that left your pulse stuttering. He bit lightly at the curve where your shoulder met your neck, and you gasped—head tipping back, legs spreading instinctively, begging for more contact, more friction, more.

His hands slipped beneath the band of your pants, thumbs dragging over the sensitive skin at your hips.

“These need to come off,” he growled, voice thick with want. “Right fucking now.”

You lifted your hips to help, letting him tug them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. The heat in his gaze when he looked at you—all of you—bare on his table, flushed and panting, legs spread for him like it was the most natural thing in the world—

It made your stomach flip, made your core throb.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, like he was angry about it. “So fucking pretty and wet already, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

And he did.

One hand pressed your thigh open, the other sliding between your legs, fingers stroking through your slick folds in a rhythm that was maddeningly light. He teased your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching the way your hips jerked, your mouth parted around soft gasps.

“You gonna let me make you come with just my fingers first?” he murmured, leaning close, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you grip them before I fuck you. Want you so messy I can’t think straight.”

You whimpered, back arching. “Yes—please, Han—”

He slid one finger in, slow, letting you feel the stretch. Then two. Then a curl of his knuckles that had you crying out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the table.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Grind on my fingers. Let me see how desperate you are.”

You did—hips rocking, thighs trembling, your core clenching around him as he worked you open with deliberate pressure, circling your clit with his thumb until the pressure built fast and dizzying.

“I can feel you getting close,” he said against your throat. “You gonna come for me, baby? Right here on the table where I ink people’s skin?”

“Fuck—Han—yes—”

You shattered with a cry, legs shaking, body arching against his mouth as he kissed you through it—murmuring things you could barely process, words lost in the white-hot rush.

And when you finally came down, breath heaving, he leaned back and licked his fingers clean with a satisfied smirk.

“Think you’re ready for my cock now?”

You nodded, dazed. “Please.”

He undid his belt with one hand, gaze locked to yours as he stroked himself—slow, thick, already slick from the sight of you. Then he lined up, ran the head through your folds once, twice, teasing your oversensitive clit just to watch you twitch—

And then he pushed in.

You both groaned—deep, guttural—like relief and hunger all at once. He filled you in one slow, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You were soaked. Sore. Already wrecked.

But he did not stop.

He fucked you—hard, deep, each thrust lifting your hips from the table, your hands clawing at his back, your moans turning to whimpers, then cries. His name over and over.

Your moans spilled out in sobs as your second climax hit you like a dam bursting. It was hot—blinding—your release painting his cock in pulsing waves, your entire body locking up beneath him. All the hunger, the want, the times of aching tension you had swallowed back whenever he so much as looked at you with those dark, unreadable eyes—it all came out in that moment. You clenched tight around him, and he groaned loud and low, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“God—look at you,” he rasped, voice wrecked, pride and awe tangled in every word. “So good for me. So perfect when you come.”

But then, his hips stopped to a jarring halt. He was still buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. You could feel the tension in his body—every muscle taut, his hips stuttering in that way that told you he was right on the edge, right there—

But holding back. Just for you.

You cupped his jaw, breathless but steadying. “You didn’t come.”

He shook his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanted to feel you first. Wanted to see—fuck—how tight you get when you come around me.”

Your body gave a little twitch at the memory, still oversensitive, still full. But a flicker of something else lit behind your eyes.

You kissed him—slow and deep—and then, with a sly smile, clenched around him deliberately.

He choked on a moan, arms trembling where they braced beside your head.

“Baby—don’t—”

“You always so in control?” you whispered, brushing your lips along his jaw, down his throat. “Or are you just that good at hiding when you want to break?”

He groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “Please—fuck—”

You rolled your hips beneath him, just a little. Just enough.

“You’re still so hard,” you murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Still deep inside me like you need to be. You want to come? Want to fill me up?”

“God—yes.”

“Then allow me.”

You pushed him gently, and he let you—collapsing back into the chair beside the bench, cock glistening and flushed as it slipped free, twitching with the aftershocks of restraint. He barely had time to breathe before you dropped to your knees between his legs and wrapped your hand around him—tight, slow strokes from base to tip that had him gasping and clenching the arms of the chair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmured, kissing the head of his cock, licking the slit just to taste the salt of him.

His hips bucked and he cursed—head thrown back, abs tensing.

“Sensitive already, aren’t you?” you purred.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

You took him into your mouth before he could finish the sentence—deep and warm, tongue swirling as you bobbed your head, one hand cupping his balls, the other pressing down gently on his hip to keep him from thrusting.

He was loud now, whimpering, begging, gasping your name like prayer.

And when he came—god—

It was with a broken moan, back arching, thighs shaking under your palms. You swallowed everything, licked your lips, and looked up at him through your lashes as he tried to remember how to breathe.

His eyes were glassy, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising in jagged waves.

You smiled. “Still in control?”

He laughed—wrecked, breathless. “Fuck no.”

You climbed into his lap again, your bare skin still warm, flushed and tingling, and curled against him with a quiet little hum.

He wrapped his arms around you like instinct. And then, softly:

“…Round two’s gonna ruin us both.”

You grinned against his neck. “Good.”

The studio held comfortable silence for a moment.

Only your breathing filled the space—shallow and warm, mingling with his where you straddled him on the tattoo bed again, skin flushed and shining in the low amber glow of the work light. The air smelled like sweat and sex, care, and ink—hot, heavy, and honest.

Han was still beneath you, arms slack, mouth parted. His chest heaved, his cock softening between your thighs.

You dragged your fingers along the lines of his jaw, smug and satisfied. “Speechless?”

He blinked once. Then again. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he rasped. “Just… trying not to fuck you so hard this bed breaks.”

You laughed softly—until his hands shot to your hips and slammed you down onto his thigh.

You gasped, the sudden friction making your oversensitive body jolt.

“I let you ruin me once,” he growled, voice low and wrecked. “Your turn now.”

You barely had time to react before he stood, arms beneath your thighs, lifting you like nothing. Your back hit the nearest wall—your bare skin flush to cool concrete, legs wrapped around his waist, his cock already hardening between you again.

“What—Han—”

“You think you can just look at me like that,” he snarled against your neck, grinding up between your soaked folds. “Touch me like you own me. And then walk out of here? Nah.”

You shivered. His cock pressed right against your entrance.

“Han—”

“Look at me.”

You did.

He didn't give you a warning. Just a brutal promise, growled against your skin; “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name—but still remember mine when your hands are between your legs for weeks after.”

Then he was inside you again—deep—in one smooth, merciless thrust, hips snapping forward so hard your back hit the wall with a dull thud.

You gasped—high and breathless—arms clinging to his shoulders, nails biting into skin.

“Han—fuck—”

He caught your cry in a kiss that was anything but sweet. All tongue, teeth, and desperation, lips crushed to yours like he needed your breath to survive.

Your walls fluttered around him already—sensitive from the first round, still dripping wet and raw, but ready despite the ache. He filled you so completely, so perfectly, it stole the air from your lungs.

“I felt this pussy clench around my fingers,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to slam into you again. “But it’s nothing—nothing—compared to how you grip my cock. So fucking tight. So wet.”

You moaned—helpless—every part of your body trembling as he started to move.

Hard. Fast. Focused.

Your back scraped against the wall with every thrust, the studio echoing with the filthy slap of skin on skin, the sound of your choked gasps and his rough groans.

“You want control?” he hissed, fingers digging into the underside of your thighs, forcing them open wider. “Then take it.”

He pulled out.

You nearly cried from the loss.

Then he moved you back to the table, your knees hitting the workbench edge as he turned you, bent you forward, pressed your chest flat to the table.

You barely had time to breathe before he plunged back inside from behind, the new angle making you cry out, high and broken.

“Louder!” he commanded. “Let the whole damn building know how good I fuck you.”

And louder you were when he found that spot inside you—over and over again, the pace brutal and relentless.

He gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet every thrust, the obscene sound of your slick arousal growing louder with every stroke. Your legs started to buckle—nerves frayed, every inch of your skin alight.

“F-fuck—Han—I can’t—too much—”

“You can. You’re taking it like a fucking dream,” he rasped, reaching down, rubbing your clit in tight, wet circles that made your vision blur.

Your whole body tightened—shaking, clenching, desperate to come again, and again—

He leaned over you, lips to your ear, voice hoarse:

“Come on my cock again, baby. Milk it. Let me feel that pretty pussy worship me.”

And you did.

You shattered—body convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream as you came hard, squeezing him so tight he cursed and slammed into you with one final, brutal thrust.

He came with a shout—loud, raw, high—hips jerking as he spilled inside you, his hands fisting in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a moment.

Ruined. One tangled, sweaty, aching mess.

Then his hands softened—smoothed up your back, traced the curves of your hips like reverence.

He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“…Still remember your name?”

You laughed, wrecked and breathless.

“Remind me?" you whispered.

You did not remember collapsing—just that one moment he was still inside you, and the next, you were draped across the tattoo bed like laundry left out to dry. Your skin tingled, nerves alight, thighs sticky and trembling, your mind still floating somewhere just above your body.

And Han?

Han was slumped in the chair again, legs spread, one arm thrown dramatically over his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered into the crook of his elbow. “I think I blacked out. You short-circuited me.”

You snorted, face still pressed to the cool surface of the bench. “You short-circuited me. I’m literally leaking.”

He scooted the chair to get a full view of what you were talking about, eyes glassy but mischievous. “Good. I want it dripping down your thighs next time you show up in those little skirts you wear.”

You blinked. “Next time?”

Han grinned, wicked and lazy. “Oh, baby. This is so not a one-time thing. I’m gonna put a stamp on you like a repeat customer loyalty card.”

You rolled onto your side, raising a brow. “You’re gonna fuck me five times and give me a discount on a flash piece?”

He laughed—loudly. Like you caught him off guard. “God, you’re a menace.”

“You’re the menace. Who says that shit mid-stroke?” you shot back, mimicking his earlier line with mock dramatics: “‘Forget your own name but still remember mine?’ Who writes you?”

He leaned forward, dragging his fingers up your bare spine. “No one writes me. I just improvise.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So… you freestyled your way into making me cum thrice and see stars?”

He winked. “What can I say? I’ve got bars and stamina.”

You smacked him with a rolled-up paper towel, but he caught your wrist and pulled you into his lap, arms curling around your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

Then—softer, like he almost did not mean to say it aloud:

“…I really like you.”

You stilled, looked over to him and kissed him gently, pouring every single ounce of reciprocation your being had to offer him. Because maybe he was a cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man—but he was your cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man.

Even when he was a little bit of a menace.

The silence after pulling away was heavy—not the uncomfortable kind, more like an exhale. A shared, serene stillness, your heartbeat slowing while his lips ghosted along your jaw, your collarbone, the tender edge of your throat.

He had not moved far.

Still close. Still inside your gravity.

Then Han shifted, propping his head on one elbow which rested on the arm of the chair, eyes sweeping your face like he was memorizing something. His fingers moved before his mouth did—brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb dragging down your cheek.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, still dazed. “Hey.”

He hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but because this, somehow, felt bigger than everything you both had already done.

“You don’t have to go home tonight.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His voice stayed soft, careful, “I mean… you could stay. With me.”

You stared.

He rushed to fill the silence, eyes darting between yours.

“Not just for more of this—though God, don’t get me wrong, I want more of this—but like. We could crash at my place. Order food. You could steal my hoodie. Wake up and make terrible coffee together. You could see what I’m like in the morning. Spoiler: not sexy. Kind of grumpy. But you’re good with chaos, right?”

You laughed—but something in your chest ached, cracked just a little.

Because he meant it—this wasn’t just about lust anymore. Not even about proximity or chemistry.

It was a choice.

He was asking you to stay, to see him past the high, into the quiet.

You leaned up, kissed him once—slow and certain.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered.

And the way he looked at you then—hopeful and smug and so unmistakably fond—made you feel warmer than anything else that night.

Sunlight crept in like it was in on a secret, painting lazy gold across your bare shoulder.

You stirred, slowly, blinking awake to the smell of coffee and something warm—eggs?—cooking in the kitchen nook. Your body ached, in all the right places. Inner thighs sore. Lips swollen. A fingerprint or five pressed like stamps into your hips. You stretched, wincing slightly, and smiled.

And Han—God, Han—was nowhere in the bed, but his hoodie had been draped over your legs like a blanket, his scent wrapped around you like a sigh.

You slipped it on, oversized and soft, sleeves swallowing your hands, and padded barefoot across the polished concrete toward the sound of gentle humming and the clatter of a pan.

Han stood with his back to you—shirtless, hair wild and sticking up in twenty-seven different directions, tattoos flexing as he flipped something in a pan. There were two mugs of coffee already out. One black. The other just the way you liked it.

You leaned on the doorway, biting your smile.

He sensed you, because of course he did.

“You’re up,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder. And then, softer, like he couldn’t help himself: “Fuck, you look good in my hoodie.”

You padded up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face on his nape.

“You’re feeding me. You really trying to make me fall in love with you?”

He chuckled, flipping the egg once again with a practiced hand. “That was the plan, yeah. Ruin your body, then win your heart with food.”

You laughed against his skin. “Tactical.”

He turned the stove off and turned in your arms, resting his hands low on your hips, looking down at you with sleepy warmth in his eyes. You felt it then—not just the physical closeness, but the easiness of it. The comfort. The pull.

“You staying the whole day?” he asked, voice quiet now, vulnerable in that way he rarely let show.

You nodded, brushing your lips over his collarbone.

“Only if you kiss me like that again,” you teased.

He grinned.

And did just that—slow, sweet, a kiss with no agenda other than to keep you there.

Later, with your stomach full, your limbs loose and drowsy from the best kind of indulgence, you found yourself curled up on the couch—Han’s head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the messy strands of his hair.

Some terrible movie was playing on his television. Neither of you was really watching it. The remote lay forgotten on the floor. His fingers traced idle patterns on the bare skin beneath your borrowed hoodie, the both of you half-clothed, half-tangled, fully comfortable.

“This is dangerous,” you murmured.

Han cracked one eye open. “What is?”

“This. Us. You looking at me like I hung the stars and made your coffee.”

He smirked without moving. “You did, though. Kind of. That coffee was perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed anyway.

His expression softened, gaze dropping to where his hand rested just beneath your ribs. “You should let me tattoo you again,” he said after a long beat.

You looked down at him. “Now?”

“No,” he smiled, “not now. But someday. Something small. Just for me. Somewhere only I get to see.”

Your stomach flipped at the idea. You tried to play it off. “That’s a lot of trust, letting you draw on me permanently.”

His fingers slid a little lower, dangerously close to a place that still pulsed with the memory of last night.

“You already let me ruin you once,” he said with a grin. “What’s a little ink?”

You snorted, swatting at him half-heartedly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re still here,” he countered easily, nuzzling into your thigh like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You sighed contently as you carded your fingers through his hair again.

“Yeah,” you whispered, half to him, half to yourself.

“And I'm here to stay.”

drops this in your hands and runs off into the sunset

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325

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prettydaisygirl · 17 hours ago

Note

can’t wait for part 3 of rafe x reader zombie xoxo

Here you go, my love! It's actually technically part 5 (I can't get these two out of my head) but I made it so the parts are in chronological order on the masterlist! Hope you enjoy <3

zombie au with Rafe Cameron x fem!reader who comforts Rafe after a nightmare ✿ 1.5k words

cw: zombie apocalypse, fem reader, blood and guts, established relationship(ish?), Rafe has a nightmare, reader helps Rafe this time, discussion of Rafe's past violence and behavior (not in detail)

rafe cameron masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

Rafe grunts as he tugs the sharp end of his crowbar from between the zombie’s eyes, foot braced on the monster’s stomach. It comes out with a loud squelch, and you watch with your hands on your hips, lips puckered in disgust. You should be used to it by now, but can you ever really get used to the smells and sounds of rotting corpses?

Rafe shakes the remnants of blood and guts from the end of the crowbar and onto the pavement, turning to you. He looks different now, you think, older and firmer than he was at the beginning. You’re sure you are too, the end of the world changes people.

“Is that the only one you saw?” Rafe asks, sliding the crowbar back into his backpack like a sword, easy to grab. You step closer to him, hand naturally reaching to wrap in the fabric of his shirt as you glance around through the trees.

“I think so,” You say, eyes scanning around. But there’s no movement.

“Fuckin’ things.” Rafe kicks the zombie’s body again and you flinch. You hate that part of you that thinks maybe the person is still in there.

Rafe shakes his head, hair swishing around his face. It’s getting long now, and you reach up to brush some of it out of his way. His features soften and he slides a hand around your back, his eyes turning up to look at the sky.

“Storm’s comin’ in.” Rafe’s voice is low and raspy, and you find your gaze following his to look up at the dark, ominous clouds.

“It’s always storming.” You say, eyes squinted before you lower your gaze from the sky to Rafe’s face.

“C’mon,” Rafe tilts his head back toward the farmhouse. He takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers as you both make the short trek back to your base.

The two of you check the inside of the house too, even though you already did once this morning. Rafe’s been diligent, especially recently. When you check the last room and call it all clear, Rafe returns to the living room to light a fire in the fireplace.

Tonight’s dinner consists of old cans of Spaghetti-o’s and a stale granola bar that the two of you split down the middle. You eat with your head on Rafe’s shoulder, and he doesn’t shrug you off like he used to, he leans back into your side and lets himself relax.

Rafe is taking first watch tonight. He always does, letting you sleep first unless he is tired and drained enough to admit he needs it.

“Goodnight, Rafe,” You whisper to him, the light from the setting sun vanishing quickly. He sits by your side, brushing a hand over your cheek. His fingers trail back and tangle into your hair as he lowers his lips to yours for a lingering kiss. You still get butterflies when he kisses you, you think you always will.

When he pulls away, your lips chase after his and he smirks a bit, just a slight raise on one side of his mouth. Rafe doesn’t kiss you a lot, mostly at night when you’re both tired and he lets his guard down for just a moment. You cherish each and every one of them. You know suffering and death like the back of your hand nowadays, and this… whatever this is with Rafe is something to give you joy.

“Goodnight.” Rafe whispers back to you as the last light from the sun fully disappears below the horizon.

He wakes you up in much the same way. A soft hand sliding over the back of your neck, your shoulder. Lips pressing gently to your cheekbone, then the corner of your own.

“Wake up.” He whispers, and your eyes flutter open. You smile tiredly and sit up. Rafe leans in to place another kiss to your lips and you wonder what has got him feeling so affectionate. You don’t complain, though.

You take your place on the chair at the window as Rafe settles down to get comfortable. He was right, you think, as you watch the storm rage outside. It’s hailing, and the rain is heavy enough you’re surprised it didn’t wake you.

About an hour into your watch the storm changes. The loud rain is now accompanied by low, rumbling thunder and short flashes of lightning. You almost find it soothing, flipping slowly through the pages of your book.

It starts with a whimper.

You think you imagine it. Eyes lifting from the page to scan over Rafe’s sleeping form. He’s exactly where he was when you looked at him a few minutes ago, he hasn’t even shifted. You continue to read.

Rafe lets out another whimper, this time louder and his brows push together in a frown. You raise your head again, tilting it gently as you watch him. Your eyebrows match his as you frown too.

Another rumble of thunder has you closing your book and setting it aside. You jump when you hear Rafe’s voice.

“No,” He says, but it’s muffled like he can’t fully open his mouth. His body jerks, legs twitching, and you pick up the flashlight, moving by his side in an instant.

“Hey,” You say quietly, unsure of what to do. Your hands hover over his body, nervous of his potential reaction.

“No!” He says, stronger this time, and his legs jerk again.

“Hey, Rafe,” You say, brushing a hand over his shoulder lightly, ready to pull away if he should lash out in his sleep. “Rafe.”

He wakes with a gasp, sitting up quickly and you lean backwards to avoid getting hit by him.

“You’re okay,” You assure him, rubbing a hand over his back and you can feel him trembling, his shoulders shaking.

“Fuck.” Rafe grunts but it’s choked. He brings his hands, sweating and shaking, up to his face. You aren’t sure what to do, so you just continue to slowly rub his back.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, trying to keep your voice soft and soothing. He shakes his head for a moment before he takes a long, heaving breath. His body relaxes a bit and he looks up at you.

“That was fuckin’... scary…” His words shake almost as much as he does and you wrap your arm around him, encouraging him into a hug. You two have hugged but never like this.

Rafe’s body is tense as you pull him close, but he doesn’t pull away. Neither do you. You just sit there, holding him and rubbing his back, listening to the storm.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask him quietly after a while, but he tells you he doesn’t. You wonder if you were in it. You decide to talk about something else, then, maybe to get his mind off of it.

“Rafe?” You say his name softly.

“Yeah?” He asks, head against your chest.

“Do you think we would’ve been friends? If you had met me before?” The question is innocent. You don’t know much about Rafe’s life before the End. You know he had two little sisters and a dad who you can guess wasn’t very nice to him. He doesn’t talk about friends or school or anything else, and you don’t usually ask. Today is the exception.

Rafe snorts loudly, and you don’t know whether to feel offended or pleased. “Hell no,” He pulls away from your chest to look at you. His eyes are rimmed red and you feel your heart clench even as his cocky smirk comes back to his handsome face. “I would not have talked to you.”

Okay, now you are a little bit offended. “What do you mean?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I was… a spoiled brat. And a dick.”

“You’re still a dick.” You remind Rafe and he shoots you a playful glare.

“I’m just saying,” Rafe says as his heart finally calms and he lays back against the mattress. He brushes his hand up and down your arm and you sit beside him, watching him from above. “I wouldn’t have given you a second look. And that’s not to say you aren’t…”

You raise your eyebrows and Rafe clears his throat.

“You’re beautiful. But I wasn’t looking for beautiful, I was looking for… revenge. Violence.”

The last words surprise you but Rafe doesn’t elaborate. You shouldn’t be surprised to hear he has experience with violence, given how he handles the zombies. You thought maybe he did karate as a kid or something.

“Well, I would’ve talked to you,” You say, and Rafe chuckles. “You’re rude.” Your tone is playful.

“I’m not being rude, I’m being honest.” Rafe says, and you soften. He smiles and brushes his thumb over the inner part of your elbow. “Thanks for waking me up.”

“Will you be able to sleep again?” You ask, and Rafe nods. “Do you want me to read to you?”

“Please.” Rafe says, and you stand, taking your place in your chair again. You open the book, clear your throat, and start to read.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

#daisy's writings #rafe cameron zombie au #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron drabbe #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe obx #obx rafe cameron #obx au #outer banks

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starryeyedwolves · 2 days ago

Text

Watch Me

It started, like many things between Sirius and Remus, with a bet.

They were in the Gryffindor common room, the hour late enough that only the Marauders and a few upper-year stragglers remained. James was lazily flipping a Snitch between his fingers, Peter was attempting to teach himself how to do card tricks and failing miserably, and Sirius—well, Sirius was bored. And when Sirius Black was bored, chaos usually followed.

“I’m so bored I could kiss someone,” Sirius declared dramatically, flopping backward over the arm of the couch, his legs dangling in the air like a cat who had never heard of dignity.

Remus didn’t look up from his book. “Then go find someone to kiss. I hear the Bloody Baron’s free.”

“That’s cold, Moony,” Sirius said, mock-offended. “You wound me.”

James snorted, catching the Snitch again. “You’re always going on about kissing, Sirius. Bet you couldn’t even make Moony blush.”

Remus’ eyes flicked upward for the briefest of seconds. “Please don’t make this a thing.”

But it was already too late.

Sirius sat up like a wolf catching the scent of prey. “Is that a challenge, Prongs?”

James grinned. “Bet you a Galleon you can’t do it.”

Sirius smirked, a slow, dangerous thing. “Watch me.”

Remus sighed and snapped his book shut. “I hate all of you.”

Day One:

Remus was late to Charms the next morning. He slipped into the classroom quietly, hoping not to draw attention. He found a spot next to Sirius, who had—oddly—saved him a seat.

“Morning, sunshine,” Sirius said with a grin so wide it should have been illegal.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

“No, you’re intentionally weird. That’s worse.”

“Just trying to brighten your day.”

Remus eyed him suspiciously, but the class began before he could question it further. Sirius behaved unusually well—taking notes (or at least pretending to), passing Remus his quill when he dropped his own, and even whispering helpful corrections during their paired practice.

It was unnerving.

By the time class ended, Remus was thoroughly suspicious. As they walked out, Sirius leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Nice jumper. Brings out your eyes.”

Remus blinked. “Did you just—compliment me?”

Sirius shrugged and smiled. “Is it working?”

Remus stared. “Working for what?”

Sirius only winked.

Day Two:

Remus walked into the Great Hall for breakfast and found his plate already loaded with his favorite things. The others were seated, snickering quietly.

Sirius beamed. “Made sure you got the good bacon before James devoured it all.”

Remus squinted at him. “You never serve anyone but yourself.”

“Thought I’d try something new.”

James snorted into his pumpkin juice.

Remus sat, cautiously poking at the food. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on?”

Peter coughed loudly and muttered something about “owls” and “library fines.”

Sirius leaned his chin on his hand, smiling at Remus like he hung the bloody moon. “Can’t I just appreciate you, Moony?”

Remus stared at him. “No.”

But despite himself, a blush crept up his neck. He ducked his head, pretending to butter his toast.

James kicked Sirius under the table and mouthed, one point.

Day Three:

Remus was in the library, blissfully alone, until Sirius appeared and dropped a chocolate bar onto his open book.

“Peace offering,” Sirius said.

Remus looked up. “For what?”

“For whatever crime I’m inevitably going to commit to make you blush again.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “So you admit it.”

Sirius winked. “You’re clever, Moony. But I’m determined. Also, I have chocolate.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Sirius plopped into the chair across from him and unwrapped his own chocolate. “Ridiculously charming, maybe.”

Remus huffed. “That’s debatable.”

“You’re debating it, though. That’s a start.”

Remus tried to focus on his textbook, but he could feel Sirius’ eyes on him the entire time. It wasn’t even the challenge that bothered him now—it was how convincing Sirius was. Like maybe he meant it.

Like maybe he wasn’t just trying to win a Galleon.

Day Five:

Remus was halfway through brushing his teeth when Sirius burst into the dormitory wearing nothing but a towel and his usual overconfidence.

“Morning, Moony,” he said, stretching, towel threatening to slip.

Remus did not blush.

He did, however, choke on his toothpaste.

Sirius grinned. “You alright there, mate?”

Remus spat into the sink. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Death by attractive roommate? Not a bad way to go.”

“You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore.”

“I was being subtle?” Sirius asked, genuinely surprised.

Remus glared. Sirius just laughed and sauntered off, towel swinging.

James called from behind the curtains of his bed, “That was a two-pointer, easy.”

Day Seven:

They were out by the lake, lying on the grass. It was late afternoon, the sun dipping low and the sky tinged gold. James and Peter had gone back inside, but Sirius and Remus lingered.

“I’m calling off the bet,” Remus said suddenly, not looking at him.

Sirius propped himself up on one elbow. “You’re surrendering?”

“I’m just—tired. I don’t like being messed with.”Sirius frowned. “I’m not messing with you.”

Remus finally turned his head. “Then what are you doing?”

Sirius was quiet for a long moment. “Trying to figure out if I can tell you the truth without ruining everything.”

Remus sat up. “That’s not cryptic at all.”

Sirius laughed softly. “I like you, Moony. Not just in a mate way. In a ‘bloody hell, he looks good even when he’s correcting my grammar’ way.”

Remus froze.

Sirius looked up at him, eyes more vulnerable than Remus had ever seen them. “I made the bet to hide it. Because I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same. But then I kept doing things, and you kept almost blushing, and I realized—I didn’t care about the bet anymore. I just wanted to keep making you look at me like that.”

Remus blinked. “Like what?”

“Like I’m not a total lost cause.”

Remus didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and touched Sirius’ wrist.

“I thought you were flirting to win a Galleon,” he said. “So I tried not to blush.”

Sirius’ mouth twitched. “Tried and failed a few times.”

Remus smiled, small and shy. “I like you too, you idiot.”

And that was it. That was the thing that finally made Remus blush, right down to the tips of his ears.

Sirius saw it and grinned. “Told you I could do it.”

Remus leaned in close. “You earned that one. No bet.”

Then he kissed him, soft and sure, and Sirius forgot all about the Galleon.

The Galleon sat in the center of the Marauders’ dormitory table for two full days, untouched.

James stared at it like it might sprout legs and walk off.

“You’re not going to take it?” he asked finally.

Sirius, lying upside down on his bed, a quill dangling from his mouth, gave a distracted, “Hmm?”

“The Galleon. You won, didn’t you? Moony blushed so hard he looked like a tomato.”

Remus, from his corner, muttered, “Still here, thanks.”

Sirius rolled over, letting the quill fall to the floor. “Keep it, Prongs. You need the money more than I do.”

James narrowed his eyes. “You’re being disgustingly noble, which makes me think this is less about the bet and more about the fact that you’re dating him now.”

Remus choked on his tea. “We’re not—”

Sirius sat up. “We’re not?”

Remus gave him a look, and Sirius smiled like he’d been told Christmas was coming early.

“Oh,” James said, smirking. “So we are.”

Peter finally looked up from his magazine. “Are what?”

“Together,” James said.

“Like, snogging?”

“Like, more than snogging,” Sirius said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Remus groaned and buried his face in his book. “This is going to be unbearable, isn’t it?”

James grinned. “Unbearably adorable.”

The first few days were awkward in the way only teenage feelings could be. Sirius kept catching himself reaching for Remus’ hand in hallways. Remus kept pretending he hadn’t noticed. They sat a little closer, talked a little softer, smiled a little more.

It was like learning to walk all over again—except this time, every step risked falling face-first into each other.

And maybe that was okay.

One evening in the common room, Sirius leaned against Remus on the couch, legs thrown over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Tell me a secret,” he said.

Remus didn’t look up from his book. “That’s not how secrets work.”

“Come on. One little Moony secret.”

Remus glanced at him. “I’ve already kissed you. Isn’t that enough vulnerability for one lifetime?”

Sirius poked his side. “Please.”

Remus sighed. “Fine. I hated you, third year.”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

“Your hair was longer than mine and shinier. I found it offensive.”

Sirius grinned. “So you have noticed my hair.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Regretting this already.”

But he didn’t move away.

The war crept closer with each headline.

But between the cracks of chaos, life still happened: Remus and Sirius walked to class side by side, fingers barely brushing. Sirius would lean in during breakfast, whispering ridiculous theories about McGonagall’s secret punk band. Remus would laugh with his whole face.

They kissed in quiet corners and behind curtains in the library, hearts racing like they were still afraid to want this, to name it. But wanting didn’t care what they were ready for. It took root anyway.

One night in the Astronomy Tower, Sirius brought a blanket and a bottle of something purloined from the kitchens.

Remus lay beside him, watching the stars. “We’re not the same boys we were in first year.”

Sirius turned to look at him. “No. We’re braver now.”

“Or dumber.”

“Or in love,” Sirius said, without fanfare.

Remus was silent for a long time.

Then: “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Sirius pulled the blankets up around both of them. “You’re the least dangerous person I know.”

Remus gave him a skeptical look. “You do realize you’re in love with a werewolf, right?”

Sirius smiled, brushing a kiss into his hair.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “And he’s in love with me too.”

Graduation came in a blur. War didn’t wait. They joined the Order. Got assignments. Saw friends fall.

But they also got each other.

James and Lily moved into Godric’s Hollow. Peter drifted.

Remus and Sirius found the flat by accident—a “To Let” sign crooked in a dusty bookshop window. Sirius insisted. Remus resisted. Then he caved, as he always did when Sirius looked at him like that.

They bought mismatched dishes. Painted one wall blue. Burnt a dozen meals. Grew a life, not despite the war, but defiantly in the middle of it.

The first time Remus says “our place”, Sirius almost drops his mug.

They're in a tiny flat two floors above a Muggle bookstore, the walls still bare, the furniture a chaotic mix of secondhand charm and whatever James and Lily could sneak past Mrs. Potter without her noticing. The place smells like dust and cloves and something that might be hope.

Sirius is sitting cross-legged on the floor, unpacking books into haphazard stacks while Remus stands by the window, shirtless, steaming tea in hand. The late-afternoon sun makes the scars on his back glow like cracks in glass.

“So,” Remus says casually, “we’ll need a charm for the front door if we’re going to keep Order files in our place.”

Sirius looks up.

“Our place.”

Remus freezes. “Did I say—?”

“Yes.”

They both go still for a moment.

Then Sirius grins.

“About damn time.”

They argued. A lot. Sirius left towels everywhere. Remus read too much and spoke too little when he was stressed. But they always found their way back to each other in the end.

Love didn’t erase the hard parts. But it anchored them.

One night, Sirius asked, "If I died tomorrow, what would you want me to know?"

Remus didn’t hesitate. "That you made everything make sense. That you are loved. Without condition."

Sirius kissed him until the words stuck.

They got missions. Dangerous ones. They came back to each other, every time.

"Bet you a Galleon we make it out," Sirius

They made it out.

The war ended the way most storms do—not all at once, but in slow, broken breaths.

Voldemort fell.

Not vanished, not destroyed, not forgotten. But gone enough that Death Eaters started hiding instead of hunting, and the Order stopped whispering at night.

Sirius and Remus returned to the flat with dirt under their nails and blood still dried at the collars of their robes. Neither said anything for a long time. They sat on the floor, backs against the kitchen cabinets, knees touching.

“Did we win?” Sirius asked eventually, voice low.

Remus let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I think we just survived.”

The weeks that followed were strange. A blur of funerals and debriefs and the weird, guilty freedom of not having to look over your shoulder anymore.

They slept through most of it.

Remus took to waking up before Sirius just to watch him breathe. He'd sit in the window with a book, not really reading, sipping cold tea while sunlight tried to warm the hardwood floor. Sometimes Sirius would roll over and mumble something—always soft, always half-conscious—and Remus would smile into his mug.

One day, Sirius walked in from the post with a small box.

“I bought us mugs,” he said, holding them up.

One said Mr. Moony. The other said Mr. Padfoot.

Remus blinked. “Are you proposing?” Sirius grinned. “Not unless you want me to".

There was a beat. A pause. A choice.

Remus leaned against the table. "Ask me when you mean it. always mean it".

So Sirius did. That night, over burnt curry and half-drunk wine, sitting in pajama bottoms and old t-shirts.

“Marry me,” he said, holding out the same mug.

Remus took it.

They didn’t sign papers. They didn’t wear rings. They just started saying “our place” and “our bed” and “I love you” in the kinds of ways that made it clear they meant forever.

Sirius cooked breakfast. Remus made the tea. They learned to dance slowly in the kitchen, even when there was no music. Sometimes they talked about the war. Sometimes they didn’t. Healing didn’t ask for a straight line.

One night, Remus sat beside him on the fire escape, blanket around their shoulders.

"Do you think we deserve this?” he asked.

Sirius nudged their knees together. “We made it. That’s enough.”

Remus leaned his head on Sirius’ shoulder. “I used to think I wouldn’t survive this.”

That winter, snow fell thick and slow over the city. Their flat smelled like cinnamon and dust. The world was still bruised, but it was turning. They lit candles at the windows and stayed up late reading to each other. They kissed quietly, like they were still learning how.

“Bet you a Galleon,” Remus murmured one night as Sirius pulled him close in bed, “that we’ll still be here in fifty years.” Sirius laughed into his collarbone.

“Watch me.”

And he did.

#the marauders #marauders #marauders fandom #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #peter pettigrew #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #remus and sirius #remus x sirius #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #wolfstar fanfiction #my fic #my fic writing #my writing

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dazaih · 24 hours ago

Text

sweet - luke skywalker x reader

luke skywalker is living on tatooine as he prepares to rescue han solo from jabba’s palace. you’re one of many bounty hunters sent to capture him. your mission complicates, however, when the lonely jedi is far too enthusiastic about your company.

bounty hunter! gender neutral reader x pre-rotj! luke

chapter warnings: light drinking, canon-typical violence

a/n: this is just an au where luke is supposed to be keeping a low profile as he hides out on tatooine after esb but he misses his friends and is way too social with strangers as a result. that is all

Luke Skywalker wasn’t easy to find. You weren’t sure if he was evading capture with his Jedi powers, if the Rebels were keeping him well hidden, or both, but your search had spanned two months now and your patience was growing incredibly thin.

You’d heard that the kid had blown up the Death Star, but you weren’t sure why Vader’s orders were to take him alive, or why so much effort was being spent on finding a single pilot. You didn’t normally take large bounties like this, as it was just so much more of a hassle, but under the collapsing economy of the Empire, you were running out of options. This pilot was going to singlehandedly put food on your table. You had a job to do, and more competition than you could handle, but what other option was there?

In your building frustration, you had started getting a bit sloppy. Your ship’s fuel tank being nearly on empty was a clear indictor of that. So, with no other option, you had to stop for fuel on the worst possible planet: Tatooine.

On top of that, you would have to dock at Mos Eisley. Your luck was growing worse by the minute.

Begrudgingly, you landed your ship, haggled with the station crew, and still paid more to fuel up than you should have. By the end of the interaction, you were about to blow a fuse, your anger reaching its limit. You hadn’t been this pissed in a long time, your growling stomach not doing much to ease your stress. So, with very little credits and a sour attitude, you made the trek over to the cantina.

What a shithole, you thought as you walked inside. The cantina wasn’t incredibly crowded tonight, but it was still relatively lively. The band was playing something a bit more relaxing, and you could see the setting suns from the seat you had taken at the bar. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

The bartender appeared in front of you, staring at you expectantly as your eyes roamed his selection. He didn’t bother with a greeting, but that was fine. You didn’t need one.

“Just beer is fine,” you mumbled, watching as he pulled one out and popped the cap off, “Thanks.”

“You wanna start a tab?” he asked, tired eyes boring into you.

“Yeah, why not.”

You supposed you’d dock at Tatooine for the night. It wasn’t like your bounty would be on this dead end planet anyway. If anything, he was more likely to be tucked away in a secret base, not allowed to leave in fear of being attacked. His status as a wanted man was quite well known, and there’s no way the Rebels would risk letting such a talented pilot slip out of their hands.

“You got anything to eat around here?” you asked, feeling your stomach growl once more.

The bartender must’ve heard it too, because he looked at you with a deeper grimace.

“I can make you a sandwich out of Haroun bread and Worrt meat,” he offered.

Gross, but you’d take what you could get.

“That’s fine, thanks,” you murmured.

He was nice enough to make the sandwich warm for you, and he did his best to make it look appetizing, even adding a little seasoning. You weren’t used to experiencing the kindness of strangers, so you weren’t quite sure how to respond, but you hoped that your gratitude was clear to him.

You studied the patrons as you ate, finally taking in your surroundings in full. A few men were playing some sort of card game you’d never seen before in the far corner, a prostitute sat talking to a potential client in a table to your right, and a few people were sitting close to the band. Prostitutes, gamblers, drunkards—this was all what you’d expected out of a Mos Eisley cantina.

“Ah, so you’ve made it another day.”

You momentarily thought that the bartender was speaking to you, but that hardly made sense. You looked up to see a new customer had entered, sliding into a barstool on your left, leaving an empty seat between you. You couldn’t see the person’s face, as the hood of their cloak concealed their features. From where you sat, you could only make out the outline of their side profile, the dim lighting and setting suns not doing you any favors.

“Seems like it,” the person replied.

The voice was much softer than what you’d expected out of a mysterious cloaked figure on Tatooine, but that was hardly as surprising as their drink order.

“Blue milk?” the bartender asked.

“Please.”

“Not dark blue?”

“I won’t be drinking tonight.”

Who comes to a bar and orders milk? you wanted to ask, but you bit your tongue for now. You still didn’t know whose identity that fabric was concealing, but judging by how friendly they appeared to be with a bartender in Mos Eisley, you were certain they were trouble.

“Suit yourself, kid. Anything else I can get ya?”

The figure seemed to contemplate this for a moment, gloved fingers drumming against the countertop thoughtfully.

“Got anything to eat?”

“That one right there is eating a Worrt sandwich,” he said, pointing at you, “That’s all we really have tonight. Sorry.”

“That’s dreadful,” they said quietly, not bothering to look at your plate, “I don’t need anything nutritious.”

“You’re asking if I have dustcrepes.”

“Sorry,” the voice was sheepish now, and you were willing to bet that the person under the hood was blushing, “Haven’t had anything sweet to eat in a while. I was just curious.”

“They’re not actually sweet, kid.”

“Nothing sweet ever came from Tatooine.”

The bartender laughed before disappearing for a moment, bringing back a plate with a singular dustcrepe on it. You were surprised to find that it didn’t look that bad.

“I hope this isn’t your only one,” the figure said softly, not yet sticking their fork into the treat, “I don’t want to take it from someone else—“

“Just eat the damn thing, kid. You’ve done enough for me. Least I can do is let you have the last dustcrepe.”

Hesitantly, the gloved hand cut a small piece of the crepe off, and you watched as the person’s shoulders relaxed when they finally took a bite. You had finished your sandwich now, but it wasn’t enough after several days of eating dried fruit and nuts, so you really couldn’t be blamed when another growl sounded from it.

The bartender turned to you, but the figure did not, now just sitting perfectly still.

“I know Worrt meat ain’t much. I’m sorry,” he apologized, wiping some sweat from his brow with a towel.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, embarrassed by your appetite, “I just haven’t been eating a lot lately. It’s my own fault. Thanks for the sandwich.”

You jumped in your seat when you saw the gloved hand extending in your direction, but the reflex to grab your blaster was tamed when you saw that half of the stranger’s dessert was being presented to you.

“What?” you asked, bewildered.

“Take half,” they insisted, nudging the food in your direction, only tilting their head slightly. You could make out their nose and a small part of their lips, but the dark shadows the hood was casting still made discerning any details difficult.

“No,” you replied, still confused, “I just ate. You haven’t eaten yet.”

“You’re hungry,” they said simply.

“It’s yours. You bought it.”

“Have you ever had a dustcrepe?”

“What? No?”

“Then at least try it.”

“He’s not gonna give up,” the bartender interrupted, a small smile on his lips, “He’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it. Just the type of guy he is.”

“Don’t ask me to take off my clothes,” the stranger mumbled, and you nearly laughed in spite of yourself, “But he’s right. I’ve decided that you’re going to share this with me, and it seems like you want to, so take it.”

Reluctantly, you took the crepe from his hand, your fingers brushing his as you did so. You felt no heat from his palm, and you made a mental note that he must have had some type of prosthetic. Interesting, but not nearly as important as the treat you had just bitten into, which was probably the best thing you’d tasted in a long time.

“Good, right?”

“It is,” you admitted, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s one of my favorites, and I think everyone—“

He was cut off by someone tapping his shoulder, and he reflexively spun around in his seat to see who was trying to get his attention, consequently turning his back to you.

“I haven’t seen eyes like that around here in forever,” the culprit—one of the prostitutes you’d seen earlier, you realized—said, and you were suddenly envious that this woman had seen the kind stranger’s face and you had not.

“Oh,” the man said, seemingly dumbfounded, “But I was here yesterday?”

“It’s a shame you’re hiding such a handsome face,” she continued, ignoring his comment and taking a seat in his lap, “It’s a crime, really.”

“Thanks?” he all but squeaked, his hands flying up in an attempt to put some space between the two of them.

“Leave him alone, Pella,” the bartender huffed, sounding tired.

She sighed and climbed off of him, instead standing behind him and spinning him around to face the counter again.

“But just look,” she said, one hand on his shoulder and the other on top of his hood, “At those eyes.”

Before he realized what she was doing, she yanked down his hood, exposing his face to the entirety of Mos Eisley. The bartender rolled his eyes and no one else seemed to be particularly interested in the interaction, but you were floored.

Yes, he was beautiful. He had wispy blond locks that curled around his ears and a jaw that was strong but cheeks that were soft. You weren’t facing him directly, and yet you could still understand what she had meant about his eyes. They were a light blue, like the crystal waters of a much kinder planet than Tatooine, and shone even in the dim lighting of the cantina. His looks, however, were only a secondary thought to you at the moment, because there, in a tiny bar in the Outer Rim, sat Luke Skywalker.

“Son of a bitch.”

His eyes flickered to you in an instant, and he seemed to realize that your hand was hovering above your holster before you did.

“Don’t try it,” he pleaded, looking back up at you, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You weighed your options for a moment, and ultimately decided on unsheathing your blaster anyway, lunging out and grabbing the woman, pressing the barrel of your weapon to her temple. She screamed and kicked your shin, which hurt quite a bit, but you weren’t about to let anything stand in the way of you and this bounty.

“Hey!” the bartender shouted, coming out from behind the counter to confront you, “I make you a sandwich and you start pointing blasters at women in my bar? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“My business is with him,” you replied coldly, staring at Luke, “Drop any weapons you have.”

He was standing now, and with a sigh, he unclipped a blaster from his utility belt. You eyed him skeptically, but he just shook his head.

“Lost the saber when I lost the hand,” he told you, wiggling his gloved fingers at you in a way that almost felt sarcastic, “What now?”

His attitude wasn’t as annoying to you as it should’ve been, but you still glared. Keeping your blaster pointed at the woman, you quickly reached into your pocket, tossing a pair of handcuffs at the bartender.

“Cuff him. And if they don’t look tight enough, I’ll shoot her. Understand?”

When the bartender hesitated, you shoved your blaster harder into her temple, making her cry out in pain.

“I’ll be fine,” Luke told him, giving him a soft smile, “You don’t need to worry.”

The bartender still frowned, but he reluctantly reached forward, grabbing the cuffs.

“Behind his back,” you ordered.

Luke rolled his eyes and turned around, offering his hands to the bartender. He didn’t react as the cuffs were fitted tightly around his wrists, but you could see that they had to be painful.

“Okay,” you breathed out, shoving the woman forward and taking hold of Luke instead, “We’ll be out of your hair now. Apologies to the lady, and thanks for the food.”

“I’ll be fine,” Luke called out over his shoulder, apparently unbothered by your blaster pressing into his side as you guided him to the door, “Thank you for the crepe!”

When you exited the cantina, you roughly shoved him forward, now keeping your blaster level with his back.

“Walk that way,” you demanded, pushing him towards the direction of your ship.

“You shouldn’t have scared that woman like that,” he said quietly, though he obeyed your orders and began walking.

“She’ll be fine. She’s alive, isn’t she?” you countered.

“You didn’t have to threaten her.”

“She’s a prostitute at Mos Eisley. I’m sure she’s seen scarier people than me.”

“So? She’s still a person. And she has nothing to do with this.”

“Are you scolding me?” you finally asked in disbelief.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking ahead as he continued to walk, “I’m not trying to scold you. I just meant that other people didn’t need to get involved.”

In the span of thirty minutes, Luke Skywalker—the pilot who blew up the Death Star and wielded a lightsaber—had shared his crepe with you, scolded you for scaring a woman while trying to take him as a hostage, and then apologized for it. You briefly wondered if you had passed out from exhaustion and were having some sort of lucid dream.

“Why are you on Tatooine?”

“I’m from here. Why are you?” he countered, though it was without venom.

“Why are you here now? And because I almost ran out of fuel looking for you. I had no idea you’d be drinking blue milk in Mos Eisley, of all places. What’s up with that?”

He shrugged, silently continuing his trek. You walked a little faster and shoved your blaster into his spine as hard as you could, making him falter slightly.

“What?” he snapped, turning to look at you.

You tried not to lose your breath at the sight of his golden hair gleaming in the sunset, the sky’s soft orange hues making his blue eyes seem even more striking. You failed, exhaling deeply as you stared at him, bewildered by his beauty.

“What?” he asked again, this time with furrowed brows and genuine confusion.

“Nothing,” you grumbled, “Answer my questions.”

“None of it really matters,” he replied, turning and walking again, “Just stuff that doesn’t really concern you or your mission, I guess.”

“You don’t even know what my mission is. Why are you on Tatooine?”

He was silent for a moment, but eventually decided to humor you.

“You were expecting me to have another weapon. Was the lightsaber mentioned in my profile when you took the commission?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “It stands out. Not many people have those these days.”

“I suppose not,” he hummed, “Well, like I said, it’s gone. And I need another one. So here I am.”

“That doesn’t explain anything. Why are you here?”

“Looking through a dead guy’s stuff for some information on building a lightsaber myself. Among other things.”

“Among other things,” you mocked, rolling your eyes, “Why do you need a lightsaber anyway? Nothing beats a long range blaster.”

“You sound like my friend,” he said, chuckling quietly, “I’m a Jedi, so I need a lightsaber.”

“You’re not a Jedi,” you scoffed, not believing him for a second, “They’re extinct, but even if they weren’t, you wouldn’t be one. You haven’t even tried to fight me once. You’re weak.”

“I don’t need to fight you,” he said simply, “Because you won’t hand me over.”

The statement surprised you, and you felt the dam holding back the pent up frustration from the day snap. You finally made it to your ship, and you roughly shoved him inside, dragging him to the front of the small vessel and pushing him down into the co-captain’s chair. You loomed above him, pointing your blaster at the center of his forehead now, glaring at him.

“I will,” you seethed, your other hand falling to his shoulder to keep him in place, “I wish I could just kill you now and save myself the trouble of having to hear your voice all the way to the rendezvous point.”

“Where’s the rendezvous point?” he asked, cocking his head at you as if you weren’t holding a loaded weapon to it.

“I’m not—What the fuck is wrong with you? You should at least humor me a little and act like your life is in danger. This is bad for my self esteem.”

He laughed at that, showing off his stupidly perfect white teeth.

“My life’s not in danger,” he said, bringing his hands out from behind his back and holding them up to show you that his handcuffs were gone, “See? I’m all good.”

You stared at him in disbelief for a second, his freed hands mocking you and all you’d worked for.

“I’m gonna kill that bartender,” you announced calmly, turning to exit your ship again. You pushed the button to open the cockpit’s door, but it only parted halfway before slamming shut again. Puzzled, you smashed the button again, much harder this time, only for the exact same thing to happen. Finally, you turned to Luke, whose hand was outstretched, open palm facing you and the door.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, letting it fall back to his side, “But I can’t let you kill the bartender. He’s a nice guy. Also, he was true to his promise. He really had those cuffs on tight.”

“What did you just do?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“The Force,” he explained, still seated, “I’m a Jedi. I told you that. You should tell the Guild to update their records.”

You circled him slowly, now even more suspicious of him than before, and you raised your blaster again.

“I think Vader would understand if I killed you now. You’re freaking me out a little.”

“You’re funny,” he said sincerely, waving his hand again and sending your blaster flying across the room, “You seem to have a pretty good sense of humor. We could’ve had a nice conversation at the bar instead of doing all of this.”

You stared at your weapon in the corner, once again at a loss for what to do. You were a pretty talented bounty hunter, and you were confident that you could put up a decent fight against Luke, but you had no experience fighting Jedi.

“I’ve had a really long day,” you confessed, eyes darting between Luke and your blaster, “I’m pretty emotionally exhausted. I’m too tired to even be that pissed at you right now, and I really wish I wasn’t, because I really want to beat the hell out of you for giving me such a hard time, but unfortunately, I’m broke, and this job was supposed to be my ticket to financial security, so if you could just stop fucking things up and—“

“And what? Go and die quietly?” he interjected, quirking an eyebrow at you, “I’ve got things to do too, y’know. Can’t get myself killed just yet.”

“He wants you alive.”

“And then when I won’t do what he wants, he’ll kill me. I don’t have time for that right now.”

“Darth Vader put a bounty out on you and you’re worried about it getting in the way of your work schedule?”

“It’s important work,” he offered, shrugging again.

“Funny,” you huffed, feeling quite defeated, “Well, fuck me I guess. Why didn’t you take the handcuffs off sooner? Actually, why did you even come with me in the first place?”

“I haven’t spoken to someone my own age in two months. And you seemed nice.”

You had never been called nice a single time in your life. You were stunned, swallowing hard for a moment before speaking again.

“Well, sorry to have disappointed you.”

“You didn’t disappoint me. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I never get to talk to anyone these days. Being stuck here for two months has been draining, and—“

“You’ve been here for two months?” you asked, backtracking slightly.

“Yeah, around that long. Why?”

You had gone to eight different planets looking for this guy, and the entire time, he had been here, drinking blue milk and making friends with bartenders.

“Ah,” he said then, as if he understood your frustration, “Sorry to have caused you so much trouble. I’m sure it’s not nearly as much as whatever my bounty is, but since I can’t let you take me in, I can at least give you some of the credits I have—“

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you offering to compensate me when I just kidnapped you?”

“You didn’t kidnap me,” he corrected you, “I came willingly. And it’s fine. You were never going to actually turn me in anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I fully intended on bringing you in before you started moving shit around with your mind.”

“I can just tell,” he said simply, shrugging again.

You sighed, collapsing into the pilot’s chair and crossing your legs.

“Well, since I can’t shoot and kill you, and now I also can’t kidnap you, I guess you’re free to go.”

Just as the words left your mouth, your ship made a horrible creaking noise, causing you to shoot up out of your chair. To your surprise, Luke followed suit, gently placing a comforting hand on your arm. You wanted to slap him away, but you found yourself liking the light touch more than you anticipated, your cheeks flushing. He really was beautiful, but he was still supposed to be your bounty.

“It’s just the wind,” he reassured you, offering you a small smile, “But I wouldn’t go out in that right now. It could mean that a storm is approaching.”

“A storm? It doesn’t rain here, does it?”

“Not that kind of storm,” he replied, “A dust storm. It could be nothing, but when the wind picks up like that at night—“

He was interrupted by another strong gust rocking the ship forward, and he winced. He leaned forward to look through your windshield, and sure enough, considerable amounts of sand had started blowing through the air, and the suns had now nearly fully set. Even if you wanted to get Luke off of Tatooine, there was no way you could travel in this.

“If you want me to leave, I should probably do that now,” he said awkwardly, staring through your windshield.

“Is letting you out gonna blow a ton of sand into my ship?” you asked tiredly.

“Um, probably. Sorry.”

“How long will this last?”

“I’m not sure. Could be an hour, could be more. They usually get worse at night and settle by morning.”

“I just want one stroke of good luck,” you groaned, running your hand through your hair, “Whatever. Just stay until it’s over.”

He gave you a curious look at that, which would’ve been cute on anyone else; however, seeing as he had just extinguished your dream of financial stability, you were still a bit resentful.

“Okay,” he replied, smiling a little, “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“I’m not doing it for you. My ship is already falling apart, and exposing the inside to a dust storm is just gonna be another nail in the coffin.”

“If you say so,” he hummed, sitting back down, “So, you’re a bounty hunter?”

“We don’t need to make small talk.”

“Yes, we do. It’ll be awkward if we don’t. And I’m genuinely interested. Like I said, I haven’t seen someone my own age in two months. You can humor me a little.”

You sighed, long and drawn out to make your misery clear to him.

“Fine,” you hissed, “Yeah, that’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not really. You’re pretty laidback for a bounty hunter.”

“And now you’re insulting me. You’re the gift that keeps on giving, huh?”

He had the audacity to giggle at that, and you could’ve sworn that your heart stopped beating for a moment. There was no way that this was the same person who blew up the Death Star. There had to be some sort of mistake.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. Just that you’re not wound so tight that you start killing everyone in your path. Most bounty hunters are like that, in my experience at least. Not to generalize or anything.”

“You have a lot of experience with bounty hunters?”

“Well, yeah. I’m a bounty, after all.”

“Right,” you huffed, crossing your arms and relaxing a little, “And what? Others have found you before?”

“You’re the sixth this month.”

You sputtered for a moment, unable to conceal your surprise. You’d known that you probably weren’t the first person to run into Luke, but five others? This month?

“You’re full of shit,” you argued, narrowing your eyes at him, “Those are hunters from the Guild. You would have been captured by now. I don’t believe you.”

“Sorry?” he replied, looking a little uncomfortable, “You don’t have to believe me, but I don’t really have any reason to lie to you.”

“Yes, you do,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your ship made another horrible noise then, and your stomach churned when another gust of wind forced itself against your only mode of transport.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, standing and walking towards the entrance to your ship, “But if you’re really worried about sand, we should stuff some fabric in these cracks. You should really have this resealed, actually. Do you not get cold from the air seeping in?”

“What, you’re making renovations now?” you scoffed, standing and following him as he walked down the corridor, “Hey! Where are you going?”

“To get fabric,” he called back, and he was gone.

You jogged to catch up with him, only to be floored when you saw him wave the door to your quarters open with his hand. That should’ve been impossible, but you supposed he was full of surprises.

“You can’t just barge into my room,” you snapped, putting an arm in front of him and slamming the button to shut the door.

“Don’t complain when your loading ramp is covered in sand tomorrow morning.”

You stared at him for a second before begrudgingly relenting, slamming the button once more. He smiled at you as he stepped into your quarters. You were hoping that he wouldn’t try to read you by studying your room, but your hopes were shattered when he made his way to a small desk in the corner.

“Is this an N-1 Starfighter?” he asked, staring at a model ship you had sitting on the desk, “I used to collect model ships. I never had this one though.”

“Yes,” you snapped, stepping between him and the desk, “I killed a guy for that. Don’t touch it.”

“Can I touch it?”

“I just said—“

“I won’t break it. I swear. I can be delicate.”

“Fine,” you hissed, reluctantly placing the model in his hands, “But if you break it, you have to let me take you to Vader.”

“Sounds fair,” he agreed, even though trading his life and freedom for the chance to hold an N-1 model hardly seemed fair to you at all.

You tried not to look at him at all as he admired the ship in his hands. You tried not to notice how his eyes lit up and his entire body visibly relaxed. You hadn’t even realized he’d been tense until now. His gloved thumb gently traced the doors, and with all the care he could muster, he tapped the tiny droid you had placed inside.

“It even has an astromech,” he mused happily, and for whatever reason, he felt compelled to meet your eyes then.

His beauty was truly unfair. Even in the dim lighting of your ship, his eyes still sparkled, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like in broad daylight. Divine, surely.

“Um, yeah,” you replied, voice strained, “I found that separately.”

“It’s a good addition,” he praised, smiling at you, “I have an astromech myself. Flying isn’t the same without him.”

“The R2 unit,” you said, recalling its mention in his commission profile.

“His reputation precedes him then,” he chuckled, shaking his head fondly, “Makes sense. Big personality for a little droid.”

“I wasn’t aware that droids had personalities.”

“I’ve met droids more personable than some people.“

“Seems more likely that you’re just projecting your big personality onto them,” you scoffed.

He smiled at you again and gently placed the model back into your hands.

“Thanks for letting me look at it. That’s probably the nicest model ship I’ve ever seen.”

“Whatever,” you murmured.

Your ship made another creaking sound then, and tilted more than it should have at the next gust of wind. To your horror, you were knocked off kilter, N-1 model flying out of your hands as you fell towards the floor.

Luke caught you before you collided with the ground, but you hardly cared. You shoved him off of you as you scanned the ground for the model ship, and you began to panic when you couldn’t find it.

“It’s fine,” he assured you, and your head snapped up to see the tiny N-1 Starfighter hovering level to where you’d been holding it. You looked to see that his other hand was outstretched; he appeared to have used his powers to keep both you and your prized possession from hitting the floor.

Relieved as he gently moved the model back into your hands, you sighed and placed it in your desk drawer. You’d keep it there until your ship stopped swaying in the violent winds of Tatooine. You didn’t bother thanking him.

“Do you have any extra sheets or blankets? We can use those to seal the gaps for now,” he said, reminding you of why you’d both come into your quarters in the first place.

“A few, yeah,” you mumbled, pulling some extra sheets from the drawers under your bed. You tossed a couple into his hands, and the two of you exited your quarters and made your way back to the entrance.

He got to work immediately, stuffing the sheets into the cracks that ran along your door. You didn’t offer assistance, instead standing with your arms crossed in front of your chest as you watched him. He was out of sheets, but a small portion of the seal still remained unattended.

“Do you have any more?” he asked, turning back to look at you.

“No,” you snapped, glaring at him, “Can’t you use your cloak?”

He cocked his head at you then, and pursed his lips together in what may have been annoyance. Seeing his expression venture anywhere near irritation was surprising to you at this point, and you wondered if you should continue giving him a hard time just so you could see him lose his composure a little. Maybe then you could finally gain some insight into why the Empire regarded him as such a great threat.

“I told you not to ask me to take my clothes off,” he joked weakly, though he looked a little uncomfortable.

“It’s the perfect size. Why not?”

“I just don’t want to,” he huffed, seeming torn between honoring your request and keeping his robe on.

“Not very noble of you, Jedi.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, eyes narrowing at you, “You’re trying to get under my skin. If I’m stuck here until the storm blows over, shouldn’t we at least be civil?”

“Your stoicism is annoying me. I can’t be civil if I’m annoyed.”

He stared at you for a second before sighing, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Sorry?” he replied, brows furrowed, “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be acting, but I can be quiet for the rest of the night if that helps.”

For some reason, you were beginning to regret trying to annoy him. He wasn’t actually growing irritated with you; he just seemed hurt.

“I’m going to bed,” you said then, deciding this was a bandaid fix to your growing uncertainty surrounding your bounty, “I guess you can leave when the storm calms down, since I’m apparently not going to turn you in. Don’t break anything.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, seemingly surprised by your response, “Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” you murmured, and with that, you stormed off towards your quarters, managing not to look back at him a single time.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Sleep didn’t come easily to you. Perhaps it was because you had left a supposed Jedi unattended in your cockpit, or maybe it was because of the harsh wind blowing against the side of your ship, which was already in worrisome condition. Regardless of the reasoning, you were struggling to rest.

After a few hours of trying in vain to sleep, you finally decided to give up. In your night robes, you ventured back into the cockpit, half expecting Luke to have vanished into the night.

How wrong you were.

There, having leaned the co-pilot’s chair as far back as it would go (which wasn’t very far, admittedly), sat Luke Skywalker. His knees were pulled to his chest, and his head rested against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. A shiver passed through him, and only then did you realize that he wasn’t wearing his cloak. You walked back towards the entrance door then, only to see that he had, in fact, shoved his robe into the remaining gaps. You sighed, a degree of guilt you hadn’t felt in years creeping up on you and gripping your conscience.

Reluctantly, you returned to the cockpit and roughly shook him by his shoulders. He jolted awake, eyes wide as he momentarily panicked. Much to your dismay, he immediately relaxed upon realizing it was you. This was an insult to your career.

“Is the storm over?” he asked, voice strained and raspy from sleep. You hated how attractive you found it.

“No,” you mumbled, unable to stop yourself from staring into his soft, tired eyes, “Come on.”

Confused, but willing to follow you anyway, he stood, trailing behind you as you led him back towards your quarters.

“Get your cloak,” you snapped when you passed the entryway, and he quickly complied.

“Some sand might get through—“

“I don’t care. Just take your shit.”

“Okay,” he replied, stifling a giggle. You rolled your eyes.

When you entered your quarters, you climbed back into bed. He stood, looking a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything. Begrudgingly, you tossed a pillow down onto the rug next to your bed.

“Not being able to see you is stressing me out,” you said then, trying to sound as menacing as you could. Apparently, your efforts were in vain.

“Aw,” he hummed, taking a seat on your rug, “That’s sweet. Thank you.”

“I meant—“ you began, but you sighed in defeat when you caught sight of his sleepy smile, “Okay, whatever. I’m going back to sleep. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, still grinning at you, “Goodnight. Thanks for the pillow.”

You didn’t reply, instead turning on your side so you wouldn’t have to look at him.

This was the most troublesome bounty you’d ever agreed to.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You weren’t sure why, but you awoke with a start, unable to breathe. You gasped and reached for your weapon, your fight or flight response immediately kicking in. When you were able to fully open your eyes, you realized in terror that you were face to face with a Trandoshan, his hands around your throat and his claws digging into your skin. Eyes widening, you managed to clutch the small knife you kept under your pillow, and shoved the blade into the side of the creature’s neck. He howled out in pain just long enough to allow you to roll out of your bed. You hit the floor hard, but managed to recover as you finally made it to your feet. Your blaster sat on your desk, and you made a beeline for it as you continued to cough from the assailant’s attack on your throat.

As your fingers wrapped around the handle of your blaster, you suddenly felt claws digging into your ankle, pulling you backwards and making you hit the ground again. You gasped, the air having been knocked out of your lungs, but didn’t release your hold on your blaster. The Trandoshan lifted you by your ankle and slammed your body onto the floor, your head making a horrible sound as it collided with the steel below. Grunting, you held onto your blaster for dear life, trying to think clearly enough to fend off the attack on your life.

You feigned unconsciousness if only to stave off another collision with the floor. The Trandoshan moved to kick your blaster from your hand then, but in a panicked effort to save yourself, you rolled to the side. You caught your attacker off guard enough to fire a shot to his knee, but knowing Trandoshans and their cockroach-esque abilities, it wouldn’t be enough. You fired off another shot into the creature’s neck, near where you’d shoved the blade, and you finally managed to bring him to the ground. Heart beating fast, you pointed your blaster at his head and kept your finger on the trigger until you were sure he was no longer breathing.

Hearing a commotion elsewhere on your ship, your adrenaline motivated you to race down the corridor and into the cockpit. To your horror, you saw that three more Trandoshans had infiltrated. You were confused by the corpse of one sitting on the floor next to a defeated assassin droid, but your confusion was quickly resolved when you caught sight of Luke standing on top of the co-pilot’s chair. He was unarmed, and yet a Trandoshan and assassin droid lay dead on the ground. You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

“You are outnumbered,” one of the Trandoshans hissed, blaster pointed at Luke.

Luke caught sight of you then, and before you knew what was happening, your blaster was flying through the air and into his hand.

“Hey!” you shouted, but he ignored you as he quickly fired a round into the two Trandoshans standing in front of him. You weren’t able to warn him about the lack of ammunition in your blaster before it was too late, and he frowned as he realized that he no longer had a weapon. The last Trandoshan charged at him then, but he dodged the attack by jumping off of the chair and landing gracefully on his feet.

The attacker shot at him as he skillfully evaded the bullets. You were impressed, but you couldn’t help but frown as your floors were maimed. Luke kept him firing until the Trandoshan was out of ammunition as well, leaving him with no choice but to engage the Jedi in close combat. Luke had no problem with this, practically dancing around the Trandoshan as he fended off his attacks. The creature did finally land a hit on him, however, and you winced as blood trickled down his nose.

You ran towards your arsenal then, deciding that Luke no longer had the situation under control. You picked up two more blasters and then scurried back into the cockpit, ready to shoot down the intruder. When you arrived, however, the Trandoshan’s feet were no longer touching the ground. You followed his panicked gaze until your eyes landed on Luke, whose outstretched hand appeared to be the culprit behind the floating creature in your cockpit. His expression was sharp as he clutched his hand into a fist, and with a final gasp, the Trandoshan fell to the ground, dead.

Luke panted, walking backwards until the back of his knees hit the co-pilot’s chair. He collapsed onto it then, trying to catch his breath as he sat with his head in his hand.

Only then did you finally begin to realize the danger he posed. You had struggled to take out one Trandoshan, and he had managed to kill four and an assassin droid in the same amount of time. He was only armed for two of those kills, and you felt a little sick at the realization that you had been sleeping in the same room as a man who could choke people with his mind.

Blood trickled from his nose and down his chin, but he seemed rather indifferent to it. Sighing, you approached him cautiously, blaster still in your hand as you neared the man in your cockpit. He must have sensed you growing near, because his eyes flew open and he looked up at you.

“Hey,” he greeted you softly, his voice strained, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

You stared at him for a second, bewildered by the implication that he’d intended to fight off all of the attackers on his own while letting you sleep.

“One of them made it into my quarters,” you replied, unsure of what else to say. His face fell, and he stood to survey your body for an indication that you were hurt. You weren’t sure how, but he managed to find one, and you froze when his gloved hand caressed your cheek.

“You’re injured,” he said in between his ragged breaths, hand moving to touch your forehead, “Where’s your ‘fresher?”

You blinked at him and pointed down the hallway, unable to protest as he grabbed your hand and dragged you to your own restroom. Blood still dripping down his face, he made you sit on the lid of the toilet as he searched for a first aid kit. He really must have had some unnatural ability to find what he was looking for, because he returned with it in his hand.

“You’re bleeding,” he told you then, kneeling in front of you as he put a cloth under your nose, “Blow.”

You obeyed, a little dazed, but he stopped you.

“Not that hard,” he chuckled, and you rolled your eyes and blew your nose a bit more gently. He folded the cloth then and made you lean forward a bit, placing it in your hand and making you hold it. He then guided your other hand to pinch your nose.

“Sit like that for a few minutes. Don’t blow your nose again unless I tell you to.”

“You’re bleeding,” you told him, your own voice coming out as nasally. You cringed at the sound, but he giggled.

“Yeah, but you’re the one with a likely concussion. I’m alright.”

He leaned over your sink as he tended to his own nose, and you frowned when he spit a bit of blood into it, quickly rinsing it down by turning on the faucet.

“Who were they?” you finally asked, beginning to sort through the haze in your brain.

“Trandoshans. Dangerous, known for hunting Wookiees—“

“I know what Trandoshans are,” you snorted.

“Sorry, right. You’re a bounty hunter. I didn’t know what they were until a few months ago when they started trying to kill me, but then again, I’m from the middle of nowhere. Anyway, yeah. They broke in—you really need to get your doors fixed—because they saw us leave the cantina together. They were after me. I’m sorry that you got hurt.”

He sounded so sad towards the end that you could hardly stand it, and you couldn’t get over how ridiculous he was for apologizing for attracting additional bounty hunters when you were the one who had kidnapped him in the first place.

“I made you come here against your will. Don’t apologize for my mistakes,” you murmured.

Perhaps it was the mental fog resulting from your possible concussion, but you felt a little more relaxed around him than before. Considering how you’d just seen him decimate an entire group of bounty hunters, it was certainly a little ironic. Still, he was tending to your wounds and profusely apologizing when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with, and you couldn’t help how fascinated you were by his actions. You’d never met anyone like him.

“I could’ve left. I’m from Tatooine, you know. I could’ve handled the storm,” he mumbled, spitting some more blood into your sink.

“I told you not to. Because of the sand,” you reminded him.

“But I should’ve known that staying was risky. I put you in danger because I was being selfish. I’m sorry,” he said seriously, meeting your eyes with an expression so sad that you wanted to throw up.

“It was my poor judgment. Not yours,” you replied, voice quite stern despite the nasally pitch that pinching your nose made inevitable.

“No,” he mumbled quietly, cheeks a little red, “I wanted to stay. I was looking for a reason to. It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“What?” you asked, confused by his admission, “Why? I was trying to kidnap you.”

“I mean, I could’ve gotten out of that,” he replied, gesturing towards the bodies in your cockpit, “I just didn’t want to. You’re really interesting, and like I said, I haven’t spoken to anyone my own age in two months now, and you’re really funny—“

“You’re insane,” you mused in disbelief, “You’re so lonely that you’d befriend someone who’s actively trying to get you killed?”

“You make it sound embarrassing,” he grumbled, frowning. It was cute.

“It is embarrassing,” you teased, staring at him as he tried to stop his nose from bleeding, “You should be more careful. What if I had hurt you while you were sleeping?”

“I would’ve woken up,” he argued, “Look, I’m not trying to sound arrogant or anything, but I really think I could’ve held my own against you. And besides, you weren’t gonna turn me in.”

“How would you know?”

“I sensed it,” he replied, grinning. A little bit of blood had pooled around his teeth. Sighing, you tore off some toilet paper and stood, shoving it into his mouth. He squawked in surprise, hitting his head against the wall as he walked backwards. After you wiped the blood from his teeth, you threw the tissue into the garbage alongside the cloth you’d been holding under your nose. He continued to stare at you in utter disbelief, as if wiping the blood from his mouth was the craziest part of this night.

“You can’t be serious,” you said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“You just put paper in my mouth,” he replied, “Warn me next time.”

This was the most emotive you’d seen him all night. You couldn’t conceal your amusement.

“So I can do it again if I warn you?” you asked, wondering if the punches he’d endured had given him a concussion as well.

“Sure? But I almost bit you, like, reflexively. So just let me know before you do something like that.”

Of course he was only so stressed because he was worried that he might’ve hurt you. You rolled your eyes and laughed in spite of yourself. Only when his expression softened did you realize what you’d done.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” he said sincerely, smiling at you with blood still trickling down his face. You rolled your eyes at him.

“I think you have a concussion,” you huffed, crossing your arms and watching him in the mirror as he tended to his injuries.

“Probably,” he laughed, pinching his nose, “I need to stop getting hit in the face. It’s fine every now and then, but this has happened quite a few times this month.”

“You’re gonna get a permanent brain injury or something. Why not just leave Tatooine if so many bounty hunters are tracing you back to here?”

“Jedi stuff,” he replied, grinning as he made eye contact with you through the bathroom mirror.

“Sounds like a load of shit. Nothing is worth risking your life every few days.”

“Rich, coming from a bounty hunter.”

“Except for money,” you clarified, and hearing him giggle as a result felt like a small victory to you for reasons you didn’t really want to think critically about.

“I value knowledge more than money,” he said, “But if you must know, I do have other business on Tatooine.”

“So you’ve said. You never elaborated.”

“My friend is stuck here. I’m working on getting him out,” he told you simply, tossing his bloodied tissue into the trashcan and shrugging.

“Sounds like your friend might be more trouble than he’s worth if you’ve had to put up with a bunch of bloody noses while coming up with a plan.”

“He’s trouble,” he agreed, smiling, “But he’s certainly worth it. He’d do the same for me.”

You weren’t sure if you’d ever had a relationship like that—one where you’d risk your life to save the other person. You weren’t surprised that someone like Luke would have plenty of deeply meaningful friendships, though. You could see how his friends would treasure him, and how he’d do the same. That seemed to be the kind of person he was.

“I’m sure he would,” you replied, somewhat absentmindedly as you admired him.

“Do you hear that?” he asked suddenly, turning to face you with wide eyes.

“No?”

“The storm is over,” he declared, and he practically raced out of your bathroom and into the cockpit to see for himself. He paid no mind to the bodies of the bounty hunters he stepped over, his demeanor greatly contrasting the rather morbid scene.

He was right. The twin suns were beginning to rise, the air now appearing somewhat clear.

“Have you ever seen a sunrise on Tatooine?” he asked then, watching you as you stared out at the pink sky. You shook your head.

“Then we should go see it,” he decided, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the entrance ramp.

“If I’m not turning you in, I need to pick up another commission. I should go—“

“You should get checked out by a medical droid before you fly this thing. You definitely have a concussion.”

“You’re not a doctor,” you argued as he pulled your sheets from the cracks in the door, folding them before placing them on the ground, because of course he would.

“Which is why we should get you to someone who can confirm what I already sense,” he replied somewhat teasingly, “Let me show you the sunrise first. Your head will probably hurt afterwards because of how bright it’ll be, and then I’ll feel vindicated and we’ll find a medical droid. Sound good?”

“I have a job,” you protested, but he was already pulling you outside.

“You can’t do your job with a head injury,” he said, and before you could put up any further complaints, he was dragging you outside.

Following your bounty to go watch the sunrise was not how you had expected this job to go; however, in spite of yourself, you felt the smallest ember of joy begin to burn within you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

He was right about three things.

The first was that the Tatooine sunrise was truly something to behold. He had climbed onto the roof of the tallest building in Mos Eisley, and you begrudgingly followed him. As the twin suns began to make their debut, however, you were glad that he’d made you do this. You didn’t think that Tatooine had any beauty to offer, but you were quickly proven wrong by the scene unfolding before you.

The second was that you had a concussion. He found a medical droid for you after you had, in fact, complained about the brightness of the suns once they had fully emerged, and you were told that you had a very mild head injury. You’d be fine, but the droid advised against flying for the next few days. Luke seemed all too pleased by this news, and offered to let you stay with him for a bit. He was likely just lonely as a consequence of being on Tatooine by himself for so long, but someone wanting you around was still a foreign and strangely pleasant feeling. In spite of yourself, you relished in it.

The third was that you were not, as he’d said from the very beginning, going to turn him over to the Empire. How could you? Anyone who spent more than a few minutes in his presence would struggle to put him in harm’s way. In fact, he was probably using some sort of mind trick on you. That was the only explanation for the sudden softening of your calloused heart. He must have this effect on everyone, and that’s what made him so dangerous.

Even with your skepticisms, you were injured and trapped on a dangerous planet with no one else to rely on. So, when your stomach rumbled that evening and he reluctantly told you that he only knew of one place for food in Mos Eisley, you finally agreed to follow him back into the cantina.

The prostitute from before scowled at you as soon as you entered, but to your surprise, the bartender just shook his head, as if he had been expecting this result all along.

“Evening, Luke,” he greeted him, sliding a glass of blue milk onto the counter as the Jedi took a seat, “I see you’ve made another friend.”

“Something like that,” he replied, and you knew he was grinning even though his hood covered his face, “Could we maybe do another sandwich, if it isn’t too much trouble?”

“Two?” he asked, and when Luke nodded, he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Think he’ll still serve me beer after I almost shot his customers?” you whispered, and Luke, of course, giggled.

“You need water. You shouldn’t drink with a concussion,” he chided, hand patting your knee like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your stomach flipped at the contact, and you almost fell out of the barstool when he kept his hand there, clutching his blue milk with the other.

The bartender emerged then, carrying two sandwiches. Luke thanked him and ordered you a water, much to your annoyance, and happily ate his sandwich with one hand. When the bartender returned, he brought out another dustcrepe. Luke perked up immediately.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much better these make me feel,” he said sincerely, cutting the dessert in half and sliding the plate over so you could reach it more easily.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he replied, “I appreciate your help around here.”

You weren’t sure what he was referring to, but it wasn’t really your place to ask questions, seeing as you’d pulled a gun on two of his patrons yesterday. You also didn’t have a hard time believing that Luke would go out of his way to do something nice for the owner of a Mos Eisley cantina. It was incredibly on brand for him.

At some point, the bartender caught sight of Luke’s hand on your knee, and you were somehow even more embarrassed by this than the fact that you had threatened to kill his customers the day prior. You blushed furiously as the man raised a knowing eyebrow at you.

“He won you over,” he mused, a small grin playing at his lips, “Did he give you the shirt off his back?”

“His cloak,” you murmured, scowling and looking away. The bartender laughed, and Luke looked up from his dustcrepe to smile at you.

Although he had been right about everything else, there was one thing he’d gotten wrong.

“Nothing sweet ever came from Tatooine.”

It’s what he’d said the day prior while sheepishly asking for a dustcrepe. You’d thought the same until yesterday, but now, as he sat in front of you, you knew he was wrong.

After all, Luke himself had come from Tatooine. And what was he if not sweet?

Needless to say, you lingered on the planet long after your headache had subsided.

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