#no hesitation. no flinch. she was absolutely about to shoot him in the head if he didn't back down immediately.

[andromeda3116]

tiny little details: throughout the entire series, riza subtly shows perfect trigger discipline, she only ever places her finger on the trigger when she is about to shoot

and when she points the gun at roy, her finger is on the trigger

[kingminie]

until forever falls apart | 01.

pairing: kim taehyung, reader 

genre: angst, exes au. 

warnings: emotional cheating, infidelity, swearing, detailed smut, chain smoking as a coping mechanism.

word count: 11.8k

description: you’ve never been much of a believer in the phrase ‘first love never dies’ but it seems as if the universe badly wants to prove it to you — and you’re absolutely and royally damned the moment you find out that the phrase holds truth. 

or alternatively, you come as a stand-in photographer for your cousin’s prenup shoot and you find out that it’s your secret ex who’s about to get married, and kim taehyung really doesn’t make it any less easy for you. 

01 | ongoing.

Love has always been easy for you — both falling into or getting out of it, but more of the latter, really. 

However, there are things about this so-called ‘love’ that you don’t quite get — will probably never get — and it leaves you in a sticky position when friends come to ask advice that roots from such a concept.

It always ends in a snotty mess and a sigh of I don’t know why I came to you for this at the end anyway. It makes you feel like shit; a clueless, ignorant, wondering piece of shit because how is it that everyone seems to have been looking at love and defining it from a single different lens with a unified perspective, and you’re stuck at seeing it from the other endpoint.

It isn’t your fault you don’t assimilate hurt with loving, is it? It isn’t your fault that you don’t expect to clean up a colossal mess every time love comes to its end. And it most certainly isn’t your fault that when love ends, you let it go. It ended, and that’s that. For you, anyway. So, why exactly, do people fault you for having such a reaction at the conclusion of a relationship?

Why does it seem to be a taboo and something that’s unheard of when a month after a relationship ends, you find yourself not grieving over a love that’s lost? When and why does it seem to have become the standard to mope and pine and cry as if acceptance and moving on is an outlawed concept right after a relationship ends?

That’s because you’re a heartless, unfeeling bastard, that’s why, as your best friend, Jungkook, so likes to put it every single time. And maybe, it is the defeat and the eventual acceptance that people will never see things in your perspective that you just roll your eyes and move on with your day. 

Love, for you, is something that ends when it ends. A wound that closes, heals. It leaves a scar, sure. You remember the hurt, yes. But the initial peak of pain wouldn’t be there again if it healed, would it.

With all that, you’ve become unsure — of what to do, of what to say, of how to act — when people lament over a lost love. Which, at this very moment, is what exactly your sister is doing. 

All tears, snot, and hiccups under your blankets. 

Sobs wrack her body in an uncontrollable shake, a vibrating mess under the sheets as you’re left to wonder what the fuck to do with your hands. But you never get the answer because she wails, head lifting from the blankets, “How could he do that to me? Six years, six years! Six years he threw away for what, a year of meaningless sex with his assistant?” 

You don’t really think it’s meaningless when dear, dear respectable Hyunwoo decides to break off the engagement, but you keep your mouth shut and continue to awkwardly pat your sister’s back. 

Your hand stills just an inch away from her back when she looks at you, wet eyes and mouth set in a downward curve, and whispers, “What should I do now?” She sniffles and you flinch. Because her goddamn snot is staining your bed but fuck, okay, you can’t think about that now, “I love him.”

You hesitate, weighing the words you’re about to speak in your head and thinking about the consequences before settling for a question, “You–you’re not thinking about giving him another shot if he asks for it, are you?” 

At this, your sister remains silent and you sigh because yes, yes she will give him a chance in one heartbeat if the bastard do so much as give her a fucking petal and a printed ‘I’m sorry’ hallmark note.

“You don’t get it.” 

Ah, there it is. 

Of course, it’s always going to come down to you not getting it. 

Maybe your sister sees it, the anger bubbling in your gaze as you glare at her, because she scrambles to sit down with her legs underneath her, knees parallel each other as she kneels on the bed facing you.

And it would have been funny, seeing your older sister like this, but the searing exasperation breaks through and you let it, mouth opening, “No, you don’t get it. See, this is not just a matter of moving the fuck on. He fucked you over, Hana, so much that there’s no amount of apology or groveling he can do to fix that. He fucked his assistant when he’s due to walk down the aisle in a year with you and if that doesn’t spell out how much respect he has for you, for our family, and you still choose to remain blind despite that, then you came to the wrong person because I won’t coddle you.” 

“I care about you,” your voice softens and you see her shoulders slump, “This is not just about my once-it-ends-then-it-ends view on relationships. Hyunwoo did an unthinkable, unforgivable thing and there’s no going back from that. I’m not letting you walk back to the person who lacks respect for a relationship, much less for you. Do you get where I’m coming from?” 

Hana nods meekly, head hanging low before you hear her sniffle once more. It hurts to see her like this and you want nothing more but to pummel the son of a bitch who did this to her, “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head and you let out a breath, all air knocked out from your lungs when she slumps forward, arms snaking around your shoulders as she pulls you in for a tight hug, the phrase of ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ a litany on her tongue.  You squeak as her legs slither their way around you in a tight grip and she lets out a weak laugh that sounded much more like a wheeze before you push her off, feeling a wet blot on your shoulder. 

“I want to be you for a day. Not like you,” she mutters as she gets comfortable on the pillows, your pillows, “But be you entirely. I want this pain to vanish in a week and just forget about him.” 

She pauses, “Maybe after I key his car.” 

The pain doesn’t vanish, you think and tell her. “I just learned how to deal with it, Hana. And it isn’t overnight that I do it. And you will get over it too. Heal from it. Someday, one day.” 

The silence that follows is comforting, and you think she must’ve fallen asleep, just as most do after a good cry. But she hasn’t, you realize, when she rolls over once more and speaks in a quiet voice, “The way you are right now,” she pauses, only continuing when you give her a nod, “is it because of him?”

There are only a handful of people that could fit about who she means, you know that, but you refuse to speak of any of them and opt to ask her a question instead, “Which way that I am exactly are you referring to?” 

“The closed-off you,” Hana replies, a soft tilt to her words, “I had a theory, you know, that you moved on so fast from the relationships you had after because you were never really invested in the people after him. That he broke you, enough for you to place that, whatever you have around your heart that doesn’t allow people to hurt you. You love other people, but you never really allow them to love you as much because of it which makes detachment and parting easier when it ends.” 

You don’t really mean to, but the words Hana speaks are like a vacuum, drawing you into a place you’ve managed to tuck away in the very back of your mind. Memories rush in and you drown in it — of honey blond hair, rectangle smiles, and skin that smelled of oakmoss and jasmine. 

“Am I right?” 

You let out a laugh as you nudge a pillow towards your sister, “You and your unending theories. No, Hana. It’s not because of anyone in particular. This is just how I am, how I think. It’s just unfortunate that it's only the minority that shares the same sentiments as I do.” 

Hana looks as if she’d try to refute before deciding against it, groaning when her phone rings and you raise an eyebrow because who in hell would be calling her at midnight. She shakes her head, twisting the phone around so you can see who’s calling and you see the word Studio and you shrug before she takes the call, only hearing snippets of the conversation and it seems as if it's about work. 

Hana owns a photography studio — a hobby turned business venture with her friends. Your parents were against it initially, deeming it a ‘not suitable’ business for Hana, but your older sister is a head-strong bull and proceeded with her plans without a single support from your parents and of course, because she’s Hana Park, she can make anything succeed if she puts her mind to it. 

“—yeah, you goof, I’ll be right there, don’t worry. Why are you so stressed about this anyway, is this your secret wedding or something?” You lie closer to your sister and she mouths ‘Jimin’ before returning to picking her nails, “I get it, okay. Stop freaking out, I promise to be there tomorrow. M’kay, bye.” 

She heaves a dragged-out, exaggerated sigh just as she tosses her phone on the bed where it bounced, “You know, I’d assume it’s our dear brother’s prenuptial photoshoot tomorrow with the way he’s freaking out over the details. I’d actually think that if I didn’t know of him and his single ass and his emotional attachment to his bachelor title.” 

“It’s Sunday tomorrow, and you’re booked because of that phone call,” You list, “So I can only assume Jimin knows one of them and used his connections to book your exclusive ass into working on a Sunday.” 

Hana laughs, “You’re not wrong. Soyeon made the reservation for November, which is like, a month from now. Jimin moved it for tomorrow in such a rush last week for reasons I don’t know why.” 

“Soyeon?” You gasp, eyes going wide, “You’re not talking about Yang Soyeon, are you? Oh my god, how did I not know about this?”

Your sister snorts, ungraceful and loud, “Who would have expected for the youngest cousin in the family to be the first one to be wed, huh? Date’s set for April next year and I don’t even know who she’s marrying,” But she pauses and a frown mars her features, “I would’ve been the first one to walk the aisle and yet, here I am.” 

Wait. 

“Hana,” you start, “aren’t you meeting Hyunwoo’s parents tomorrow for brunch? To formally call off the wedding? Isn’t that what you came here for tonight, because you were having second thoughts of actually calling it off tomorrow?”

You see the realization dawn upon her, her eyes widening in recognition of the planned confrontation, her mouth dropping to a comical shape of the letter ‘o’ before she sits up so fast you actually ask if her back’s okay and you hear the frantic hits of her nails against the glass of her phone, the worry leaking thickly in her voice as she speaks to multiple people, all of which ending in a frustrated sigh and groan from your older sister. 

“Fuck!” she screams as she disconnects from a call once more, “I can’t find anyone to replace me, everyone’s either booked already or have plans for tomorrow. Fuck, shit, I’m screwed. Jimin’s going to kill me. No photographer’s available tomorrow, what am I going to do now, I—you.”

You still, nailed in place by her stare, “Fuck are you looking at me for?” 

It’s in this moment you feel the doom coming down on you from all the corners of the universe when Hana smiles, actually feeling it that you shiver. She picks up the phone, calls Jimin, asks if 10 o’clock is okay for everyone to gather tomorrow, kisses your cheek good night. 

Kiss of fucking death, you feel like. 

You’re never a morning person — nor do you have plans to become one — and you aren’t used to being awakened by a goddamn wet, slimy tongue licking your face all over. 

Hana’s laugh echoes around your room, followed by hushed good job from her and a shrill bark from her dog (you really did not know how Orion arrived here when the dog wasn’t even here last night), and you are never one to have thoughts of murder so early in the morning but your family has really been testing your limits. But then you remember that you willingly handed over to Hana the passcode to your apartment, something for emergencies and shit like that, but of course, she took it as an invitation to come and go as she pleases. 

Fortunately, she cleans up after Orion’s mess, thank god. 

Rolling over, you prepare to squint as protection against the glare of the sun since Hana had already pulled back the curtains, but you sit up at the lack of the sun’s intrusion into your eyes and see that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. The city that you can see through the glass window is quiet, still in deep sleep. As you should be just before Hana woke you up. 

“Dad’s going to have a fit when I tell him what you’re blackmailing me to do,” you groan, falling back on your pillow, “I’m running his business and here you are making me take photos of people Dad hates, well, by extension.”

Hana does nothing but flash you a grin, “You’re the only one I can trust to be on par with my skills, honey. Besides, I already have Dad booked in the freaking out area ‘cause you know, I’m a bachelorette now.”

You roll your eyes and you move off your bed, making it neat and tidy to which Hana scoffs before grabbing the mug of cold coffee right from her hands and chugging it all down. Looks like you’ll need more than a cup with what you’re going to be faced with today. 

“Is Jimin coming? My car’s in the mechanic, I’m getting it tomorrow.”

Hana nods before telling you just how far Jimin is from your apartment, “About Jimin, actually.” Your sister trails off and you feel an oncoming headache because of course, there’s more. 

“I didn't exactly tell him I can’t make it today so I’m trusting you to, um, calm him down when he freaks? He’s only weak to your charms and absolutely immune to mine.” 

Turns out a little while after that, Jimin’s absolutely immune to the both of you. Especially you.

“No, what the fuck. What—no.” 

Jimin stands frozen, fingers gripping the edges of the kitchen island. His eyes are wide, mouth open in disbelief as he listens to Hana’s explanations of why she can’t go today, her eyes flashing as if to call you for help but you only shrug because there’s really nothing you can do to help her out of this. She made her own bed, might as well let her lie in it. 

It irks you quite a bit though when Jimin starts to become unreasonable despite Hana’s crystal clear explanation as to why she’s unavailable today, and on a typical day, you know Jimin would understand, and would easily let it go because obviously, Hana’s life matters take precedence over a photoshoot that can be scheduled on a different day. Jimin today, however, is extra adamant on not having you take over the shoot and it might have very, just very slightly struck the wrong nerve in you.

“You know, Jimin, if this is a matter of your trust in my abilities, I’d gladly back out of this. I’m doing this as a favor to Hana, I’m not here to help you,” you quip, tight and low as you regard the both of them, “So, if you refuse to accept my help, then call your friend to find another photographer, better yet schedule another one with Hana.”

Hana starts to protest but Jimin shakes his head, turns to you with soft eyes and a pouting set of lips, “I’m sorry, that came off wrong. Really wrong. I swear I wasn’t trying to undermine your abilities, nor am I saying that there is anything to undermine because you’re good as shit at this, maybe even better than Hana, it’s just that—”

He cuts off his ramble mid-sentence as if to catch himself — to keep from spilling whatever his reservation about you being the stand-in for Hana, which you don’t really know what. 

Three things about Jimin are these: he rambles when he’s extremely nervous, fidgets with his thumbs when he’s scared, and refuses to make any eye contact if he believes he’s done something wrong. It’s always one of the three when it comes to him and never altogether. And yet, he stands in front of you, doing all three simultaneously and your heart plummets to the marble flooring beneath you because what is he so scared of, really, to be like this in front of you. 

“Look, if you don’t want me to do this, that’s okay,” You start to speak and Jimin turns to you and opens his mouth to speak when you shake your head. You aren’t finished speaking, “That is, if you have an alternative, if Soyeon agrees to reschedule, I’m sure Hana can fit them right in some other time—” You give a pointed look at your sister who rolls her eyes but nods, “—but if they don’t, you have no choice, Jimin. Unless you want to take the photos yourself.”

Jimin lets out a breath, agrees, and proceeds to call whoever he needs to and converses in a low tone that isn’t discernible to you, but Hana can hear and your eyebrows furrow in concern when her head turns so fast towards Jimin’s direction, panic clear-cut in her eyes as she picks up on whatever it is that Jimin is saying. She curses under her breath, turns ghostly pale before she pulls Jimin into one of the guest rooms, leaving you to your thoughts and your second cup of coffee. 

“You kept this?”

It’s a good three minutes after that Jimin’s voice pulls you out of your trance — your attention previously held by the large black ant that is now on top of an apple. You turn and your breath hitches at the rough sketch of the overly-familiar Pomeranian in his right hand. You shrug, “Jungkook must have left it there when he came over.” 

At this, Jimin raises his eyebrows. Stares at the picture a little bit too long before putting it back in place, under Jungkook’s purple-pink painting of a sunset, to the right of Jimin’s present two years before. He then looks at you, really looks at you, that you become unnerved enough to look away and pretend to busy yourself with some imaginary dust on the counter. 

You know. You know how the framed sketch is too clean, too in place, and too taken care of to be something that your best friend accidentally left behind. And you know Jimin knows this too with the way his eyes turn to you and you fear. Fear that pity would be reflected in them and so you stand abruptly, deaf to the frantic calls of Hana and you head straight to the building basement and settle comfortably on the passenger seat of Jimin’s car. 

You ran because you’re a coward — afraid to face questions you know you have no answers to.

Jimin enters not a minute later, silent and mum, but the silent looks your sibling keeps giving you is not something you miss no matter how discreet he tries to be about it. You brush it off though, citing the tense atmosphere to be the reason he’s doing so. 

But little do you know that this is the first of the many mistakes you will be making — the tiniest among all others.

The theme is simple. Glamour, editorial-esque Vogue-spread motif. Fit for the rich. Something that exudes elegance and opulence. Classy, simple, and elegant. You nod as you skim through the print-out Hana rushes to get to you through one of her employees, one hand busy writing ideas and suggestions. 

It warms your heart that despite all the things Hana has to face today, she hasn’t failed to make everything easier for you, as she always does. And everything’s in accordance, just as they should be. That is, except for one, someone. Jimin really cannot stop himself from shaking and you actually fear the poor boy is turning into a leaf, dancing in the wind, with how he physically cannot stop himself from moving. 

You’ve had enough of it — his nervous fidgeting, the frantic scan of his eyes among the crowd, the unending bounce of his knees — so you move to approach him, just in time to pluck out the cigarette he’s about to light in his hand and he jumps, “Minie, you’re making me nervous here. I’ve seen you nervous but it’s never been this bad.” 

Jimin looks at you and your chest constricts at the face he’s making. A beat, two beats before he lets out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry.”

You think of the exchange back at your apartment, the one where it came off as if he had no faith in you as Hana’s substitute and you let out a small laugh. You know Jimin would never think that. Flicking his chin, you shake your head, “It was me who took your words the wrong way, Min. You don’t need to apologize.”

He looks as if he wants to say more but a car pulls up, red and ostentatious with the way the roof is folded down, and you grin as you see your cousin, a matching upward curve to her lips. 

It isn’t new, really, when you catch sight of her hair — beautiful shades of cotton candy pink and pastel blue glinting under the sun. 

Beautiful, daring Soyeon, the darling of the Yangs. 

You nearly meet your end, though, that day if it isn’t for Jimin cursing and pulling you back when Soyeon isn’t able to stop her car at the designated yellow parking line and she too squeaks a wheeze when she steps on the brakes. The car comes to a stop, and you see her breath does too, before she throws her head back and laughs. 

“You’re fucking crazy.”

She sticks out her tongue before she jumps over the door, her flimsy taupe pants billowing after her. You only manage to let out a yelp of protest before she has you and Jimin in a bone-crushing hug and you feel your chest rasp to get some air in when she squeezes once more before finally letting go. 

“This is a two-people marriage we’re having today, right? You’re not marrying yourself here?” You ask and laugh as she rolls her eyes. It’s definitely her thing and it wouldn’t be a surprise if she did. “I didn’t even know you were in a relationship and now you’re getting married?”

She shrugs, a wide smile still on her lips, “It just happened,” Her eyebrows furrow when she looks over at Jimin who’s uncharacteristically silent and nudges him, “I still won’t forgive you. I know my groom’s your best friend but it doesn’t really give you a free-pass to have him here at six in the morning to get you coffee. Who does that?”

You don’t really hear what Jimin has to say to her because you’re bidding your goodbye to them both when one of Hana’s assistants — the one she had assigned to brief you over all the details of today’s shoot — pulls you from the conversation, apology written all over her face at the thought of interrupting you but as soon as she open her mouth to speak, you dismiss it with an its okay and you signal for her to go ahead. 

“This is the final list of the concepts Hana had brainstormed which one of the client is yet to choose from,” she hands you a thin stack of paper, a portfolio sandwiched between two clear binding covers, “The bride has already chosen the concepts she wants that are to be included for today’s shoot, so, all that's left is to hand the checklist to the groom for the shoot next week.”

Nodding, you skim through the portfolio and shit, it’s definitely good. 

You’re whisked away towards the building, directed towards the seventh floor of the rented building in which you’re told Soyeon’s groom is, handpicking his outfits for the day. 

You give the door a knock, hearing a bustle of people talking on the other side of the door, and when no one answers, you push the door open. You’re immediately greeted by a flurry of people walking back and forth, all of them either with stacks of paper in their arms or Brioni and Gucci suits in tow. 

It’s a mess, a downright mess you want to run from because you haven’t ingested enough coffee to face this. 

Which is exactly why you nearly cry when someone steps in front of you, a neat smile in place and a large cup of iced coffee in one hand, a hand extending towards you, “You look like you need this.” 

He tilts his head once, gesturing inside the room, “I’m Yoongi, Min Yoongi. Jimin texted me earlier that his other sister is standing in for Hana and I assume that’s you.” 

Something feels vaguely familiar about Min Yoongi and you list it off as a passing name Jimin had mentioned in the stories he had told you. 

“There’s a meeting room on the very far left, grumpy groom’s there,” Yoongi smiles, “Nice meeting you, um—”

“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N), nice to meet you too, Yoongi.”

You think as you walk that there’s no point in going over next week’s concept today since Hana can already make it by the next photoshoot and she would’ve understand better the dynamics of it all if they talk then, but okay, since you’re already here, might as well help all the way. 

Through the frosted glass of the meeting room, you see a silhouette, tall and broad. You have never been a people-person and meeting new ones really isn’t your strong point so you take three deep breaths, hand tightening on the cup of coffee Yoongi handed you, before pushing the glass door open. 

“Hi, I’m sorry I ran a bit late. It’s—” 

And you stop. 

You stop because you suddenly can’t feel the cold cup slipping from your grip. You stop because you feel the liquid pool at the very bottom of your shoes, sticky and wet and messy. You stop because you can’t breathe. You stop because your heart fucking stops too at the sight of Kim Taehyung. 

Beautiful, dazzling Kim Taehyung. 

First boyfriend, first love, now ex-lover, Kim Taehyung. 

Soyeon’s groom and soon-to-be husband, Kim Taehyung.

“Everything okay here?” Yoongi. You hear his footsteps behind you before you see him and you can’t be thankful enough at the interference that’s very much needed. 

But you allow yourself to be pathetic, just as you always are around Kim Taehyung. And because you can’t help it, frankly, when your eyes meet his and all sense that is good and common jumps out the window behind him. Because he looks fucking beautiful — him and his honey hair that’s now framing his face, a little bit longer, lighter. Because the room reeks of him, jasmine, vanilla, and oakmoss and it consumes you. The part of you that, despite it all, still longs for the Kim Taehyung from four years past.

On a good day and you meet him once more, you think you would have laughed. A fake smile and a head held high would’ve done it in front of him. But all it takes is one look now. One look, at the time when all your defenses are down, for the self-imposed chain that blocks it all to break and give, a domino effect in your mind as it all comes back; the whirlwind of feelings and emotions that the calamity of him brings forth. 

You nod, feeling the light touch of Yoongi’s fingers around your arm, and you anchor yourself with it. Pull yourself from drowning in him once more. “Yeah, sorry,” You breathe, “It slipped. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll have someone take care of it, don’t worry,” Yoongi waves you off when you bend down to start cleaning up your mess, nods toward Taehyung, “Go on, he gets grumpy if he’s left to wait.” 

Oh, you know. 

So, you do. 

You drag your legs to where Taehyung stands, feeling like you’re hauling wet logs for limbs. It’s silent, save for the sound of Yoongi’s shoes against the floor as he kicks at the fallen blocks of ice, and maybe, he takes the silence for Taehyung’s bout of pettiness because he hisses a quiet behave before he walks out. The silence becomes even more suffocating when now it’s just you and Taehyung. 

“So—”

“I—”

You shut your mouth when he speaks at the same time as you. 

You decide, though, to continue because you’re here for one thing and that one thing entails that you have something to say to him. But he doesn’t, he shouldn’t. 

“So, let’s talk about concepts. I’ve been told that Soyeon has already chosen the ones for today — for both your individual and couple shots, and you get to choose the ones for the shoot with Hana next week. Here,” you slide the portfolio across the table, taking a seat across his own without waiting for him, “Hana already made an outline for everything so, this, is basically a checklist you just have to choose from and—”

“How are you?” 

“—I’m just going to wait until you’re done filling them out so I can bring them back and start with—”

“(Y/N).” You finally look at him then and you look away the second you do because you’re trying so hard to keep yourself whole and you feel like one second more in his gaze and you’ll fall apart, “I’m sorry.” 

And you try. God, you try so hard to repress the tiny, evil voice that pushes you to throw reason out the window. But it comes out anyway, and there’s no stopping what flows out of your mouth after, “Why,” you laugh, “Sorry because you wouldn't have chosen Hana's studio if you knew I was the one to take your photos? Or sorry because you had my brother acting like a train wreck just to keep this from me? Don’t worry I won’t be here next week.” 

His face pinches, tongue rolling out to wet his lips, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then don’t apologize to me—” you grit, fists clenched and heart thundering, “—as if you assumed that seeing you has put me in a position that hurt me. Because it really doesn’t. Not anymore, Taehyung. So if you have anything to apologize for—” 

You cut yourself off because no, no he has nothing to apologize for. He doesn’t have to say sorry. One person deciding to walk out of a relationship doesn’t warrant an apology from them. An explanation, sure, but you don’t really need it from him. He made it clear enough all those years ago just before he slammed the door of your apartment shut that he just didn’t love you enough — not anymore then. 

It’s been four years. It’s been four long years and you should be over him — and you are, you’re certain that you are. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt because it does, fuck, it still hurts so much and you don’t know why. 

“—apologize to Jimin because I just know he feels like shit for lying to me because of you.” 

You commit your second mistake that same day in the middle of shooting Taehyung’s individual photos. Soyeon had gone for a nature theme this time and so you find yourself in the middle of the forest with a near-naked Taehyung in tow and thank heavens it rains because one more glimpse through the viewfinder at his well-oiled torso and you might have combust and run away from the photoshoot, Hana’s reputation be damned. 

Jimin seems to be attached to you now, becoming a human magnet not long after he had apologized so much he knelt, snuggling to your side every chance he gets that it’s suffocating you because he’s overcompensating but you don’t really have the heart to call him out. Not when he looks like a puppy whose tail got accidentally stepped on when you get around to even do so much as try. 

So, you let him become your shadow for the time being, finally letting out a huge breath of relief when lunch time comes around and everybody takes a break and you slip past him to the very back of the dilapidated cabin you stumbled upon just before the last shoot ended, not too deep into the forest that faces the river. 

Finally, you think, as you savor the peace, even though momentary. You’re glad to be away from the commotion and it makes you realize once more why you choose to be cooped up in an office. It’s because you really can’t handle this many people and it physically and emotionally drains you that you can’t think.

You pause when you reach into your pockets, the gritty warning from Hana and Jimin an alarm ricocheting in your mind how it’s an unhealthy habit and it’s going to fucking ruin you someday. But the short-lived guilt is replaced by justifications of how it’ll be a free-pass and your siblings can fuck off because they’re the reason you’re here in the first place. 

Besides, burning through one stick won’t hurt them if they don't know. 

So you let your fingers feel for the familiar leather case, pull the only stick inside and you’re so, so close to reaching your sweet release from this damned mental pressure when you realize you left your lighter at home. Letting out a curse, you clamp your mouth around the unlit cigarette, letting it hang and opting to indulge in its semi-sweet smell that goes so well with the rain. 

“Want a light?”

You still, the cigarette falling from your lips at the sudden fright. Down, down, and down until it’s washed away by the rain. What a waste, you lament. Sighing, you turn and see Taehyung who’s sporting a sheepish smile, the same familiar white in between his own mouth, lit unlike yours, “I’d accept, but there’s really nothing that needs lighting anymore.”

He has a shirt on now, you notice, flimsy and buttoned up halfway. His hair is tousled messily, now free from the rigid form it previously had, and you give him your back when you feel the urge to fix the fraction of hair that has fallen forward. You hear him take a drag and you smell before you see the tendrils of gray smoke when he releases and god, the small whiff, even in the tiniest fume, has your shoulder relaxing. 

“I’d offer one but I don’t have any spare with me,” you hear him say before you feel him move, “I’ll get the fallen one for you, if you want.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off before you see him lean against the other column, the change in position means that he’s now closer, closer than he’s ever been since the day you last saw him, years ago. And he’s close enough that the thin material of his shirt brushes against your hoodie when the wind moves. And you want to move too, only if it isn’t for the fact that one move and you’ll either fall into the river or be skewered by the worn down wood and you don’t really feel like dying today. 

Ironic, how you went for a smoke break to relieve the stress of the day, only to have it doubled. 

Now, this is where you make the second mistake. 

Because you really don’t mean to stare at Taehyung. You don’t mean to let your stare at his mouth linger a second too long that he sees.  It’s just unfortunate that the cigarette is in his mouth, and you stay fixated on the damn cigarette that you fail to see him catch your gaze and hold it. 

It’s unfortunate that you don’t take a step back when he takes one step forward. 

It’s unfortunate that you become pliant when his cold fingers softly grip your chin, coaxing your mouth to open and welcome the smoke that he blows from his own mouth, hot and intoxicating and tinged with the memories of all the nights past that he’s done this. 

It’s unfortunate that you take a long drag when he places the soft end of the cigarette from his mouth to yours, unhesitating and eager. 

“Feeling better?” He asks, gentle as he pulls the stick, planting it back to the hold of his mouth. You see a slight upward curve at the corners of it. 

This is bad. Wrong and unacceptable and absolutely inappropriate, you know. But you can’t help but accept when he offers one more drag, an offer of release. This time you pluck it out from his fingers, feel the warmth of him around the smoke, and inhale. 

It’s only when the embers die out that you feel it, the heavy feeling coming back tenfold as you realize the gravity of what you just did. Not for anyone else, but for you. The toll this will have on you when you go home and have all the time in the world to think about your stupidity. So before you get sucked into the void of self-destruction, you excuse yourself, not caring about the delicate drops of rain that fall but not before you turn back and shout your thanks. 

“Okay, you shared a smoke, so what,” you mutter to yourself as you dry yourself off. You’re two people who share a history, a history that’s now dead and gone. A flame that was once bright but has now burned out, never to be rekindled again. 

You enter the building with thoughts of rationalization that tries to justify what you’ve done as something harmless, clouding your mind enough that you don’t see Jimin barrel towards you with a smile on his face, only to be replaced with disgust when he breathes and chokes at the ghost of smoke that clings to your clothes. 

He rummages through a nearby luggage and returns with a bottle of perfume, “If you want your head still attached to your shoulders by tonight, you’d know better and douse yourself in that shit because Hana’s here to take over and you only have two minutes to shove Listerine down your throat before she finds you.” 

In the haste of trying to avert your sister’s wrath, you damn near shower the entire contents of the bottle, only to realize that night when you come home that despite the endless showers you take, you still smell like him. Because of all people, Jimin just had to take from Taehyung’s things and now you’re doused with him all over again. 

It’s later that night that you’ll fall asleep to the smell of jasmine and vanilla despite years of trying so hard to rid your apartment of any scents. 

Of any trace of Kim Taehyung.

The third and fourth mistake, you make five days later. A Friday that you’re miraculously off work early. Well, technically, you can get off whenever you want but as the faithful, loving, and overworking youngest child that you are, you’ve assimilated longer hours at your father’s company to productivity and so you’ve never really found reason to clock off early when you can do so much more if you stay a bit later than most.

Besides, the company won’t run by itself, so there’s that. 

Now, though, you wonder why you thought like that because as you walk down the street, everything looks divine. The setting sun settles on the horizon, sandwiched between two skyscrapers, bleeding purple and orange and pink and it’s breathtaking. Painfully so. For the first time, you indulge yourself in the sounds of the busy city and for a change, it’s peaceful despite the loudness. You can’t remember the last time you took a stroll like this, having been so immersed in work. The last time you walked down the street the like had been years ago, with—

The breath you take is sharp and sudden that it has you bent over on the sidewalk, coughing and wheezing your lungs out that people start to look. You flash a smile, sending a quick thanks to your sister’s ex-lover for choosing to establish the studio within a five-minute walk from the company building, and nearly combusting on the spot when you pull their glass door that clearly says push right after you nearly heave your lungs out from climbing 10 sets of stairs because the elevator isn’t working, coincidentally.  

“Hey,” you greet the people on the lounge before specifically turning to Younha — the one who had walked you through everything on the previous shoot, “Is Hana here? I have the initial photos ready if she wants to see. Played around and edited most of them.”

Younha looks sheepish as she raises her hand to her nape where she nervously scratches, “About that,” she grimaces, “Hana phoned earlier that she’s running a bit late tonight so she told me to look over the photos and pick the final ones with the client, but I don’t trust myself enough to do that just yet, so would it be okay if we go through it together?” 

You assure her it’s okay. And really, it is, because you’ve finished work anyway and it’s a Saturday tomorrow. You can afford to be late an hour or so. You watch her plug the USB on one of the computers lined up against the wall, see her gasp when she pulls up the photos. 

“Oh my god, these are beautiful. You’re telling me you shot each of these by yourself, edited them all on your own, all in less than a week,” Younha turns to you, eyes wide, “Can’t you come and work with us?”

You laugh, genuine and loud, “The raw files were already beautiful untouched. Just touched up some lighting here and there.”

“Yeah, and who took those raw shots, hm? Who coordinated every single thing that resulted in those shots looking like that? You, that’s who,” Younha seems to realize who she’s talking to and she blushes before muttering something else you can’t hear, “Also, about Hana—” 

Uh-oh. This can’t be good.

“—so she told me earlier if I can pick out the final photos with the client, right? And since you’re here,” Younha trails off and you still there is no way, no way that you’re going to sit hours dissecting each photo with Soyeon, worse if it’s Taehyung. You have your pride and you’ll cling to that even if it’s the last thing you do in this world.

No way in hell. “Hana’s on her way here, right? I think she can make it.”

Younha nods, a low hum before she answers, “She can. In two hours. Maybe. Not sure. Our client, however—” She tilts her head to the right. Towards the direction of Hana’s office. “—is here.”

It’s a sigh of defeat you let out. Walking away from here means you admit you’re a coward, walking in Hana’s office will mean you’re weak. See, it’s always a lose-lose thing for you everytime a certain Kim is involved. The very, and only, Kim who seems to be haunting every part of your daily life the past five days. Or in this current case, a future Kim but a Kim nonetheless. 

Younha smiles, the sly fox, when you place your bag back down on the table, “If I’m going to stay here for the night, might as well ask for coffee. Lots and lots of it.”

You only barely get the full sentence out but Younha is already on her heels with a mock salute.

You push the door to Hana’s office, making sure (twice) not to pull this time, and your eyes land on Kim Taehyung whose eyebrows rise in surprise upon seeing you. If he thinks you’re meaning to keep on meeting him like this, well, he’s wrong. The universe likes to spring surprises down your path of life and it just so happens that for now, Kim Taehyung might be its play thing — to torment you with, most probably. 

He sits on the couch that rests against the white wall, beside the windows that occupy the whole one side of the room that overlooks the city. Hana’s office is more like her office and a miniature studio, exclusive for her and whoever she decides to let in here, separate from the lounge and the main studio. It’s an industrial loft, made modern and more suited to her taste and it’s just so goddamn bright in here, you realize.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you mutter as the door clicks shut behind you. 

You head straight to Hana’s computer, turning it on and plugging the USB before you plop down on the office chair. “I had the photos with me and I dropped by to leave it for Hana but she apparently has things to attend to for the next two hours and you’re here already so, yeah.”

Taehyung only nods, silent and awkward when he stands. 

You sigh, “Grab a chair and come here, I guess. We have, like, a thousand photos to sift through. See if you’d like any changes done to them. The earlier we finish, the better.”

Three hours pass after that and you’re left with no Hana in sight, 325 file numbers listed down, a faint headache and tired eyes, a hungry stomach, and three accidental brushes of Taehyung’s hair on your cheek because what before is a ruler-long distance between the two of you has been reduced to mere centimeters, and Jesus Christ, you don’t know who moved between the two of you that it has come to such. You’re firm to say it isn’t you because your ass remains frozen, stiff as a board everytime Taehyung does so much as inhale. 

“Can you—” Taehyung clears his throat, pointing to the keyboard, “—move to the next one, please.”

You mutter an apology, pressing the right arrow and you see the photo move. Frankly, you aren’t paying attention. Not to anything, least of all the photos. It’ll be like knocking consciously on Hell’s door if you do pay attention. 

Because you can take being around Taehyung, you can easily detach yourself from reality when you are — and not feel anything, to look at him alone and think of him as an ex-friend, an ex-lover without the rest of the titles attached. But to look at the photos, the pictures you took, there’s no detaching from that reality. The reality that the man you had feelings for — might still have feelings for, but you push that thought back — is getting married, of all things. 

And you list this off as feeling weird, an ex marrying a cousin. You aren’t jealous, god, no. It’s just that — weird. Well, you think. 

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” Taehyung breathes and you still, unmoving as the statue on the corner of the room, “I’m going to order Chinese. I’m not going to last the rest of these photos if I don’t eat. Anything you want?” 

He might as well have slammed the mouse he’s holding with the way he casually lets it fall off from his hand to the table, leaning back on his chair and oh god, his head is leaning on the back of your chair. One move of your shoulder and the back of it will touch the side of his head. He has his phone over his head, elbows hanging in the air as he opens his phone with a click. He hums as he scrolls and this is so, so painfully domestic that you struggle to breathe. 

It’s been push and pull the whole night. He asks, you answer, and never the other way. 

Fifteen minutes that you’re plunged in deafening silence and you punch the air in your mind when Younha knocks, take-away bags at hand and a smile on her face. 

Taehyung hands you your food, places the utensils in neat order, pokes the straw through your bubble tea and gently places it in front of you and you stare. You stare because never in your life did you ever think you and Taehyung would ever be in this situation. Toeing around each other, walking on eggshells. 

There had been a time that silence wasn’t an option — it’s either you filled the quiet or he did; mouths off about Pokemon and stickers and dogs he met on a certain day, or silence filled with wordless communication through flesh and skin and heavy breaths. 

Never this — a fragile silence that no words could ever fill. But of course, Taehyung knows how to break that. Break you when he speaks, “I think we’ll have this one framed for the reception.”

You blink at the photo on the monitor, big and taunting. In it, Taehyung smiles, a wide rectangle stretch of his mouth as his chin rests on top of Soyeon’s head, the latter leaning her weight on Taehyung. It’s evident, palpable even, the happiness that’s shared between them. A running joke between the two of them captured on a permanent photograph only they can understand. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a smile, or an attempt at it, stretching your lips, “it’s beautiful. Definitely worthy for the reception. You can hang it in your home after.”

It’s an instinct – you’d like to believe so – when you feel Taehyung move beside you and you mindlessly mirror him, freezing the moment you take in the miniscule space that’s left as you both huddle to look at the monitor. A good couple inches you can count on one hand. And you refuse to move away because no, this is not at all affecting you. And it’s Taehyung, you justify, who’s currently invading your space. 

The third mistake is when you try to steal a glance at the corner of your eye because you think he’s engrossed with the picture. 

But then you see that he isn’t. Not when his stare locks with yours the moment your eyes move.  Had been on you all this time. 

The fourth is when he moves and you don’t. 

Not when his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth to wipe whatever it is he sees there. 

Not when he flashes you a smile – something so fond and warm and tender that renders you mute. 

Not when he succumbs to sleep an hour later, head lolling on your shoulder.

But the entire world moves when he stirs and the overhead lights hit something golden. It crumbles and caves beneath your feet when a locket falls out of the top of his loosely buttoned shirt. An identical locket to the one that now sits heavy on your chest – once heavy with the broken promises, but now empty of the love that first came with it.

You see his forehead wrinkle as he slowly wakes and you feel the start of the burn that first settles on your chest before it moves and starts from the corners of your eyes. You train your eyes on the monitor, fingers clicking away on the mouse and the keyboard faster than ever.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say. His head stays on your shoulder as he speaks. “What time is it?” 

“Quarter before ten—”

“I missed you,” he breathes and you hear him let out a soft laugh before he whispers, “I always miss you.”

It feels as if all the air in your lungs has been knocked out and you turn to speak when you see that he’s fallen back asleep. And god, you wanted to shout at him, let out the years of pent up frustration and grudge you’ve had all these past years and ask all the unanswered whys and hows. But looking at him now, after so, so long, you realize you do too. 

A tear drops and a multitude of realizations follow. 

You missed him. You missed him. You miss him. 

And fuck, you’re still in love with him, you realize. So much and enough to make you not think of the consequences of the realization that you do.

Not when his fiancée finally comes and places a chaste kiss on his lips.

Not when a wedding invitation lands itself on the desk towards you.

And especially not when the ghost of him lingers when they’re gone and you find yourself praying for it to stay just a little bit longer.

You did not plan for your Friday night to be like this at all. 

The initial – and final – plan was this: show up to the club your sister wanted you to show up to, make it look like you’re genuinely happy to be there, flee the moment midnight hits when your sister and her friends are too drunk to realize you aren’t there anymore, and sleep away in the solace your tranquil and quiet apartment offers. 

The night and plan had been going well, much to your delight. 

Just until the fleeing part, that is. Because the moment you press the unlock button to your car half past one in the morning, you see a very drunk Kim Taehyung eagle spread on the hood of your car, with only a rumpled halfway-buttoned shirt that’s tucked into his pants, one of his shoes already on the roof of the Mercedes. 

And so instead of proceeding to the sleeping part of your plan, here you are now, struggling under the weight of Taehyung as you try to push in all his limbs in the passenger seat because he refuses to go away. Why, of all people, must you be the one to find him like this? Other people would’ve paid no mind leaving him on the pavement but of course, the universe had to make sure it just had to be you because old, cruel fate had it out for you and your demise.

Two weeks spent in isolation from the rest of the world in an attempt to justify and get over the realization you had of still being in love with an ex and the world just dumps him in the hood of your car of all cars. 

“Kim Taehyung, I am not above violence, I will fucking knock you out if I have to if you step your foot out and kick me once more, for the love of god,” you heave, “Are you with Jimin?”

At this, he grins and nods, eyes half-closed, “Jimin went home. I think. Or wait, maybe he’s passed out in Yoongi’s tub. I think. I don’t know, do you think he’s still here? Wait, do you know Jimin? How do you know Jimin?” 

You sigh, “Give me your phone. I’ll get Soyeon to pick your ass up.”

Taehyung lets out a loud gasp, proceeds to choke on air before he looks up at you, “How do you know my girlfriend?” 

You pause for a second before rolling your eyes, “Phone.”

“It’s in my left pocket, can you get it for me? I’m so tired,” he whines, wincing as his head lands on the head rest. You reach over to pull his phone out, only to retrieve a pack of cigarettes but no phone. You freeze when his hand grips your wrist that’s still in his pocket, feeling your heartbeat in your ears when he leans forward, so close that you feel his breath on your cheek, “Butt pocket, sorry.” 

You take a deep breath as he continues to look at you with a grin. You move closer, angling your head away because you would be fucking cheek-to-cheek if you don’t and you pause just before you touch his back pocket, “No, you know what, you can get it yourself. Either that or I leave you out here on the streets.” 

Taehyung pouts but he moves his arm behind him nonetheless, proceeds to feel his other pocket when he finds the first one empty.

“My phone’s gone,” he huffs, “Oh! It’s in Minnie’s car!”

You let out a loud groan, rounding the car to open the driver’s side to look for your bag so you could use your phone and you let out another sound of frustration, louder this time, when you remember the picture of a beige bag being left underneath your couch’s pillow. You look over at Taehyung, a war in your head as to what to do with him, before you finally settle on the choice that you never, ever think you would’ve made. 

“Fine,” you grit as you turn the engine on, “I’m going to drop you off your house but I’m not gonna be held accountable for the reasons you’re going to have to explain to your girlfriend if she greets your drunk ass as to why the fuck her cousin’s dropping her fiance off, alright? Now, are you still staying in the same apartment ‘cause I’m going to drop you–”

Taehyung snores, body folding in on himself as he slightly shivers. You sigh, dropping your forehead on the steering wheel, enough to hurt and make the horn whine, “This is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Hey, Taehyung,” you shake him, poking his shoulders the way you know he hates, “Wake up and tell me your address, asshole. I’m not driving to the other side of the city only to find out you changed address. Hey.” 

He makes the tiniest wave of his arm before he goes back to sleep. 

You glance at the clock that says it’s now nearing three in the morning and you run your hands over your face because fuck this. 

Now, you head to your apartment with the plan of just dumping Taehyung in the foyer and letting him sleep there until he has his mind back in the morning – you figure he’d probably run off the minute he wakes up. 

“Hey, wake up.” You nudge him when you arrive and you sigh once more as he merely stirs, opening his side of the door before attempting to move out of the car only to heave when the seatbelt he still has on pulls him back.

With a grimace, you round to his side and lug one of his arms around your shoulders and basically carry all of his weight towards the elevator. You give a tight smile to the staff at the reception as you pass by, dismissing the offer of help. You nearly drop to your knees as soon as the elevator doors close, exhaustion flooding you all of a sudden. 

As soon as the door opens to the penthouse, you remove your hold on Taehyung and he slumps against the wall. You let out a breath before pushing him to one of the guest rooms where he immediately plops down on the bed after knocking his shoes off.  A small smile plants itself on your face and you reach over to pull the covers over him. 

Kneeling down on the floor beside the bed, you brush off the loose hairs that cover his face and you whisper, “You’re making it so hard for me.”

Deciding that you’ve helped him enough, you head to your room to change and shower – a long bout of internal battle against yourself as you try to wash off all that happened. 

It is an hour later when you’re already in your bed, tossing and turning that you find yourself a long way from sleep, and so you push the covers off of you to head towards the kitchen to find something to drink. The sun is starting to rise, you see, as you stare at the large windows, uneasy at the thought that Taehyung is there. Here. 

And you know you shouldn’t care anymore. You’ve done enough and beyond to help him, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t matter, really, because here you are, pushing the guest room open to check on him, a bottle of water in hand. He remains as he was the second he got here and you sigh as you pull one of Jungkook’s shirt and sweatpants from the cabinet, a spare he leaves in the case he unintentionally sleeps over, and you walk towards Taehyung before slowly shaking him awake. 

“Hey,” you speak softly as his eyes crack open, mind still swimming in alcohol, “you should change into this. Your clothes must be uncomfortable to sleep in. Here’s some water too.” 

His eyes open a little bit wider, voice hoarse when he speaks, “(Y/N)?” 

You swallow, “Yeah, it’s me.” 

“I can’t remember most of tonight, how did I—”

You smile, “And you probably won’t remember all of this when you sleep once more. Just change and drink this, Taehyung.”

A part of why you’re doing all the things you’re doing is the fact that you know he will forget this. 

He sits up, swaying as he does so, twisting the water open. You greet him good night, and just as you turn to head back to sleep, his hand dart out to grip your wrist – as tight as the grip that has your heart beating so loud in your chest as he does, “I’m sorry.” 

Without turning around, you answer, “You don’t have to be. I would’ve done the same for anyone else.” 

“No, you wouldn’t have.” 

Pressing your tongue against your cheek, you rip your arm away from his hold, now turning around to face him. He slowly stands, eyes trained on you. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, “I’m not saying sorry just because of tonight,” he speaks quietly, “This is an apology that’s long overdue. An apology I never had the courage to give you. An apology that I owe you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being the coward that walked away without an explanation. For not being the person I promised you I would be.”

“I told you,” you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t owe me an apology, Taehyung. It’s over and done with. Apologizing to me would mean that there’s still loose ends between us, and I’m telling you that there’s none. You may have burnt those ends the moment you walked away and I have burned mine in the years that followed. You don’t owe me anything.”

He’s closer now, so close that you feel yourself getting overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and his perfume. “Then why are you still wearing this?” 

You feel all the walls come down, then, when his fingers trace the golden chain of the locket. The once emblem of young and promised love, of an oath, of Kim Taehyung. The necklace that never was once removed from you since then. 

You chuckle, bitter and harsh, “You’re still wearing it too, Kim.”

You flinch as you feel the pad of his thumb wipe away at the trail of tears that has somehow escaped, “Leaving you was the only choice I had then. It killed me to walk right out of that fucking door but it was the only choice. For you, for me, for us. Even if it meant me becoming the asshole, it was the only choice.” 

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, you left me. And in my vocabulary and everyone else’s, leaving the person you claim to love without a single explanation is a shit move,” you nearly damn snarled, “I could’ve accepted you telling me you didn’t love me anymore but you fucking walked out without a single word. Well, I guess it worked out great for you, huh? You’re getting married now.” 

“I did l—”

“Don’t fucking dare say it,” you sob, feeling all the energy draining out of you in a second, “You’re four years too late, Taehyung.”

The chains that hold all the hurt and grievance of the past four years had been unlocked and with the thought of Taehyung not being able to remember this tomorrow, you let it all out. 

“I lied,” you whisper, lips and chest shaking as you breathe, “It hurts me seeing you now. So fucking much. Because you never wanted to get married. I remember when we were together you said that we could live without the titles, the labels, and the technicalities of it all, because you’d love me the same. So yes, it hurts. I can’t deny that it does when the things you didn’t want with me, things I wanted to have with you, you learned to want with someone else. Shit like this hurts because even if I was okay without all the titles, I thought then that spending a lifetime with you wouldn’t be so bad. But you made it seem like you never wanted marriage, not with anyone ever and so I accepted it, content even with just being with you.”

“But then you show up like this,” you say so quietly you don’t know if he can hear it, “You can’t expect it not to hurt, Tae, because it does. So, so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung lightly rests his forehead on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer me this one question,” you look up at him, “Please.” 

You feel him nod, “Anything.”

You feel it again, the suffocating claws that grips around your chest, the pain of unanswered questions and doubts, “Was my love not enough for you?”

You feel it before you hear it, when he nods against your head, hands coming up to hold your cheeks, “No, no, god, no. It was more than enough. It was so much more than enough that you became someone who didn’t deserve someone who couldn’t reciprocate the amount of love you were giving me. I’m sorry.”

“I miss you, Tae.” You whisper, and you can barely see him through the tears, “And it’s so, so wrong and I shouldn’t be doing this but fuck, I do. Four years and I still miss you and now you’re here, back in my life, and yet you’re still the farthest you’ve ever been from me.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he is – so far away from you and will never be close enough anymore – that you think maybe this is the long-awaited end. The closure you’ve once longed for but never had. Maybe there really was no reason for him leaving you beyond the fact that he didn’t love you anymore – and maybe that was enough reason. You just didn’t want to accept that fact. Maybe it’s time that you do. 

After Taehyung, you’ve become someone who believed that love is something that’s easy to let go, when in fact, all this time, it is the love you had for Taehyung you’ve never let go of. And maybe, it was never love for the people that came after him and so it became easy for you once it’s over, once it ended. Because what has started that really counted has never reached its end, for you anyway. Because it will never be the same. 

Because they weren’t Kim Taehyung. 

“Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve it,” he smiles a small smile as he wipes a tear away. 

“Then stop making me cry, asshole,” you softly retort, hands coming up to wrap around his own to pull them away from your face. You can’t think straight when he has his hands on you, “I’m not asking for you to love me again, not anymore. Maybe we could be friends?”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, you know. And you really don’t think you can be just friends with Taehyung. But you’re weak for Kim Taehyung and you’re still so fucking in love him that you’d settle for whatever there can be between the two of you. He doesn’t need to know the specifics.

“Can we, really?” He laughs softly, a sad smile appearing, “I’m about to do something very stupid, for the very last time, so please, stop me if you don’t want to because I don’t think I can stop myself.”

He leans forward as the inches between you decrease down to a zero, his lips pressing against your cheek, your forehead, your eyelid, and to the corner of your mouth before he pulls away. “No, you had something to drink too, I’m drunk, you’re drunk. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, ” Taehyung breathes against your cheek, eyes shut tight. 

“I’m not.” 

Whether that’s an answer that refutes your state of intoxication or a statement that debunks Taehyung’s apology, you don’t know. Because the next moment finds you pulling him forward, arms snaking around his shoulders as you kiss him. Soft and unhurried and sad – a declaration of what had remained unsaid for the past years. 

The last time, you swear, and from tomorrow then on, you’re going to be friends. This night will be void – forgotten and discarded. Taehyung is going to continue with his life and you with yours. 

It’s so easy to become so lost in Taehyung that you forget the rest of the world. 

That you don’t hear the sound of the door opening. 

Or the second set of drunk footsteps that follows the first one.

“What in the fuck is going on here?”

[thegreatcaptainusopp]

The Separation

Ao3 link

The Seer, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Zoro

It had all happened so fast.

They’d all been together, just the crew, finally, when Kuma had come in and taken everyone out in what felt like seconds.

And Zoro…Zoro had just watched. He’d run as fast as he could, trying to at least help someone, anyone, but it hadn’t worked. He might as well have been running through water, with how slow he was going, and how useless he ended up being.

His absolute limit hadn’t even been close to being enough. They’d vanished one by one by one, right before of his eyes, and he’d done nothing. Nothing.

So…when it came down to just him and his captain left, Luffy screaming at him to run, tears in his eyes and a crack in his voice, Zoro felt everything within him say, resoundingly clearly: No.

It hadn’t been right, not at all. He knows how it’s supposed to go, knows that the captain’s word is law, even knows that the call Luffy is making now is fully within his rights as captain: if it is the captain’s right to go down with his ship, it is also the captain’s right to tell his crewmates to run.

But…

In that moment…in that moment, Zoro hadn’t been thinking about what was right and what was wrong. Instead, he’d been thinking about the look of fear on everyone’s faces before they vanished, and the sick feeling in his stomach at the knowledge that he’d failed every single one of them.

He’d been thinking: I can’t have this happen again.

And so: Zoro had hesitated. Luffy had screamed out the order again, and when Zoro finally followed it…

His hesitation had cost him. Again.

-

When Zoro comes to, he snaps upright in an instant, heart pounding alongside his head in a repeated pattern of No No No No.

He’s hit with a wave of pain that stops him in his tracks, mouth tightening as he tries to wrestle back control of his body. This isn’t the time to submit, he’s needed somewhere else and he can’t…

A shriek breaks through his concentration, and the resulting minute flinch brings new waves of pain into his body.

Grimacing, Zoro snaps his eyes up to the sound, and they widen as he catches sight of a familiar face.

The girl shrieks again, zipping forward as she floats to the air towards him. “Stay down!” She says, with the scolding air of talking to a dog. “You’re hurt, you know! You’re going to make it worse!”

What am I doing here? floats in his mind for a second, but he waves it away. No time for that.

His fingers clench on the cold stone floor, getting ready to haul himself back up. “I need to leave,” He says, and it’s harder to choke the words out of his aching throat than usual. “Where’s the exit?”

The girl zips forward, wagging a finger in his face. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re hurt! If you try to get up you’re going to tear everything back up and you know who’s going to have to deal with it? Oh, that’s right. Me!”

Zoro glares at her. “No, you don’t,” He says through gritted teeth. “What do you care anyway? If you’re not going to show me the exit, then get out of my way.”

At this, he pushes up from the ground, getting to his feet in one burst of motion. It catches up to him instantly: the fiery pain spreads throughout his body in one vicious streak, and it almost takes him right back down to the ground.

A series of images flash through his mind: Nami’s scream, Usopp’s trembling chin of defiance, Robin’s determined grimace, Chopper’s desperation, and Luffy’s devastated face, arms reaching out towards him…

Zoro’s jaw clenches. He takes a step forward. “If you won’t tell me,” He says to the girl, whose shock is evident on her face. “Then I’ll find it myself.” He lurches forward again, ignoring the shooting pains that follow him with every step.

He takes another step, then another—

“Enough!”

Zoro pauses, glaring at the hovering girl in front of him. “I told you,” He says gruffly. “Get out of my way.”

The girl hovers back slightly, but to his surprise surges forward again. “I said no!” She says, pointing a slightly trembling finger at him. “If you think I’m going to let you walk around there alone, then you’re crazy! I was put in charge of you so I’m going to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Zoro sighs, chest pulling tightly along the pain. “Then come along, I don’t care—”

He swallows the rest of the sentence as a sudden realization hits him, so strongly that he almost drops to the ground again. His gaze sharpens on the girl in front of him. “Hey,” He says, urgency flooding into his voice. “You…you were sent here by Kuma, right? On Thriller Bark, you’re…”

The girl gives him a vaguely confused stare. “Perona,” She says slowly. “And yes, Kuma sent me here.”

Zoro nods, clenching his fists. “When you found me,” He says. “Was anyone else there? Because I got sent here by Kuma too, and so were some others I was with. Did you run across anyone else?”

Perona’s eyes widen. “You too?” She says. “Well. Okay, I guess I kind of knew that, with the paw print and all. But to answer your question: no. You’re the only one we found there.” She pauses, then sighs, cupping her chin with her hand. “Imagine, putting me in charge of more than one stubborn idiot? I wouldn’t have survived that.”

Zoro feels his jaw jump. Why does he always end up being surrounded by morons? “Okay then,” He says, pushing forward again. “Take me where you found me. We need to do a sweep of the place, find out if anyone else ended up around here. They could need help, so…”

“Nobody else is here,” Perone interrupts, flitting around to hover next to him instead of in front of him. “The second anyone lands here, we know right away. He said he only sensed you here.”

Dammit. It would’ve been so much easier if they’d ended up in the same place. Hell, if even one other person has been here too…not only would it have cut down the number of people he needed to find, but having any of the crew with him gave a jolt to his strength level that nothing else seemed to be able to replicate.

Well. Time to start finding them, then.

Zoro starts forward again, making his steps as fast as he can go. He glances around the place, slightly taken aback at the cold, drafty stone facade and dusty wall tapestries. “What is this place?” He asks, trying to stay focused on moving. “How far away are we from Sabaody?”

“Sabaody?” Perona says, eyes getting impossibly wider. “We’re in Kuraigana Island. You’re not getting to Sabaody anytime soon, I can tell you that much.”

Maybe that would’ve meant something to Zoro if he knew what the hell Kuraigana Island was. “Okay,” He says, unimpressed. “I’ll start my way there now, then. Bye.”

There’s a small whoosh of air by his side before Perona appears in front of him yet again, blocking his path. “Hey!” She snaps. “Look. Mihawk is out now, okay? He’s on his way back soon, so if you’ll just wait, then—”

Zoro cuts her off instantly. “What?” He asks, mouth dry. “Did you say Mihawk?”

“The warlord!” Perona says, puffing up proudly. “Yeah, he was on his way out when you landed, and now he’s heading back. You were out for a few days, you know.”

Days? Mihawk?

His mind flashes back to the confrontation at Sabaody. They’d met at the battlefield then, briefly. He’d thought back then that he’d found another opportunity, one that could finally allow him to claim his place and the title that he’d been chasing for so long.

It hadn’t lasted. There had just been too much to do back then, too many things he had to take care of, people he needed to protect. So he’d swallowed the urge and moved on, because he’d known that there would be a next time.

It seemed that the next time had arrived, much sooner than he’d thought.

Maybe…this could be his chance, if he could just try again, maybe this time he’d be able to beat—

Zoro raises a hand, slapping it to his forehead. The sting pulls him back into focus. “Okay,” He says, pushing down firmly on his forehead. “Take me to whatever you use to leave this place. I’m heading out.”

“Um,” Perona says, floating back to his side. “Well, you’ll probably need to go to the—hey, it’s this way, you moron!”

-

“Well,” Mihawk says, arms crossed, expression vacant. “What will you do now, then?”

Zoro glances in front, behind the towering figure of Mihawk, behind the giant sword strapped to his back. The small boat sits there, undisturbed but for the pack of Humandrils that eye him wearily, challenging him to approach.

He clenches his jaw. “Okay,” He says. “I’ll fight through them.”

Mihawk flicks his gaze across him, and Zoro is transported for a second back to the Baratie, full of hopes and confident of victory. “I see,” He says. “Am I expected to deal with the aftermath when you fail?”

Zoro takes a shaky breath. “I won’t fail.”

“You will,” Mihawk says, gaze piercing, assessing. “You’ve improved from the last time, but not enough. Even when you heal, it won’t be enough.”

“I won’t fail,” Zoro repeats. It echoes in his head: I won’t fail. I won’t fail. “It will be enough.”

Mihawk raises an eyebrow. “How are you sure of this?”

“It’s always worked before,” Zoro says, feeling a grim smirk spread across his face. “So it’s going to work now.”

“Has it?” Mihawk says flatly. “Is that why you’re here? Did it work then?”

Zoro’s mouth closes with a snap. “Yes,” He says firmly, stubbornly. “I’m alive. My crew is alive. That’s enough. Once we reunite, we can—”

“Are they? Alive?”

“Yes,” Zoro says instantly, without even thinking about it. “If they weren’t, if even one of them wasn’t, I’d know.”

He hadn’t known what he’d say until the words leave his mouth, but he knows in his bones that he’s telling the truth. If something had happened, he’d know it. He’d know it right away.

Mihawk’s eyes narrow slightly. “I see,” He says. “So. Your plan is to fight through these,” He inclines his head to the side, gaze darting momentarily at the hunandrils. “Then, if you survive that, inevitably wounded, you will sail out following your Vivre Card, and single-handedly find your crew. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Zoro says, “And—wait, Vivre Card?”

“You didn’t even know about that? So you were going to go—”

“Vivre Card?” Zoro repeats, head spinning. “What?”

“You didn’t know,” Mihawk says, flatly unimpressed. “Well. No matter. So, you were planning to return as you were. And then what? Make the same mistakes? End up somewhere else? Then repeat?”

Zoro takes a breath, reaching into his mind to grab onto his will, holding on tight. “No,” He says through clenched teeth. “This won’t happen again. This will never happen again. I won’t let it.”

Luffy’s horrified expression tugs at his memories, and he banishes it with a shake of his head.

“How?” Mihawk says, doggedly apathetic. “You’ve learned nothing. You haven’t gotten any stronger. How can you guarantee this?”

Zoro’s back stiffens. “I—”

“No matter,” Mihawk interrupts, his unnatural stillness coming to a sudden ends as he uncrosses his arms and steps aside. “It’s your choice to make. Take a little longer to recover, then do whatever you wish. If you survive, of course.”

Mihawk turns from him and walks his way up the beach. Zoro watches as he goes, head aching, will wavering, still uncertain.

-

“Have you seen this?”

Zoro glares up mid push up. “Seen what?”

The crinkled page of a newspaper blocks his vision. “This!” Perona says triumphantly, shaking it. “You didn’t read it this morning?”

“You think I read the newspaper?” Zoro asks gruffly. He pauses, arms perfectly steady as he keeps his body from losing the fight against gravity. “What does it say?”

Perona sighs, like he’s ruining the joke. “I mean,” She says, drawing out the word. “I could tell you. But I think you’d prefer if I showed you.”

Zoro’s fingers flex on the cold cobblestone. His arms still don’t shake. “Show me, then.”

Perona flings open the newspaper with a snap, then meticulously starts smoothing out the wrinkles. She glances downward, and Zoro realizes that she’s waiting him to fall before showing him what’s on the page.

Zoro’s jaw clenches. It’s on.

It’s only been a few weeks, but he feels so much more improved than he’s been since…Water 7, really. Something in his being is still screaming at him to leave, to go help, but he knows deep down that he can’t show himself in front do the crew before knowing that this time, he’ll be able to keep his promise. That he’ll be able to keep them safe.

So, this time, he’s not going to give up. If he gives up on the push up, he’s not ready to go back.

Zoro schools his features, trying not to let the strain show on his face. Instead, he just stares, waiting, controlling his arms so that not even a hint of a tremor begins…

Perona just sighs, then holds the newspaper in front of his face. “You’re so boring,” She complains. “It’s always funnier when you fall.”

But the words are lost on Zoro, because his eyes and attention are fully fixed on the newspaper, and on the image that…

That…

Zoro suddenly springs up to his feet, causing Perona to shriek in surprise. “Where’s Mihawk?” He demands, heart thundering. “Where’s Mihawk?”

-

“Have you seen this?”

Zoro slams the newspaper on the large dining table, right next to the large bowls of fruit of vegetables that cover the surface.

Mihawk gives him his usual expressionless glance, but it looks kind of odd without the huge hat. “The newspaper? Yes, I have. What about it did you want to discuss?”

Zoro flips through the paper, thoughts whirring frantically in his head. “This one,” He says, pointing to the picture. “It won’t mean anything to you, but it does to me. I’m…I won’t be looking for my crew any time soon. For two years.”

Mihawk inclines his head, then leans back in his enormous, stiff-backed red velvet chair. “I see,” He says. “I suppose you’re asking to stay?”

“Yes,” Zoro says, battling through the pride that coats his tongue. “I am. Please, let me stay.”

Mihawk gives an almost imperceptible shrug. “I already informed you that you could do so,” He says. “Asking for permission is superfluous.”

Zoro takes a breath. “Yes,” He says. “Thank you. But, I also—”

Before he can talk himself out of it, he steps back, then sinks to his knees. “Please, can you—”

He’s interrupted, abruptly, by a yell in the distance. “Mihawk! Hey! Zoro’s looking for y—Ah! Hey! What’s going on here?”

“Perona,” Mihawk begins, then stops as Zoro lowers his head, heart beating fast.

“Please,” He says again. “Train me. You were right: as I am now, I am not enough. I will need to be stronger in order to move forward, and to have this never happen again. I…” and this part is always the hardest. “I need your help to do this. Please.”

He hears Perona’s shocked exclamation behind him, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t really have much of a plan beyond this: there are always ways to exchange work for favors. If need be, he can offer to take up bounties again. Anything that can help give him the smallest chance…

“Look up,” Mihawk says, a bite of tension entering his bored tone. “I don’t much fancy having this conversation with the back of your head”

Zoro lifts his head, meeting Mihawk’s assessing stare. He can feel his face twist, and, suddenly—

The dam breaks, and all his carefully controlled speeches and expressions and movements and deals shatter in an instant.

“Please,” He says again, and he can hear the desperation in his voice clear as day. “This is the only way I can get stronger. I will follow your lead, without question or complaint. Whatever you think will make me stronger, I’ll do it.”

He doesn’t know what he looks like, but it probably isn’t a very dignified sight. Especially compared to the man in front of him, who seems to never lose that icy exterior, nor the confidence of a warrior.

He can’t find it in him to care, though. Not when he can still hear the sounds and see the visions of his failures.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, chest heaving, waiting for an answer, before Mihawk finally moves. The man leans back, crossing his arms and giving him a contemplative look. “Do you,” He asks calmly. “Still wish to defeat me? To be the world’s greatest swordsman?”

Zoro nods firmly. “Yes,” He says. He will never deny it, ever. “I do. And I will.”

“What if,” Mihawk says, eyes glinting strangely. “I tell you that I’ll train you if you give that up? If you use it to return stronger, but in return, to never challenge me again?”

Zoro feels his chest sink. Everything has a price, he knows this well. But this…what can he do about this?

There’s only one answer. There always has been.

He takes a breath to center himself. “I will agree,” He says. “Then, I’ll do it another way. I will become the world’s strongest swordsman, even if I never fight you again. If I go back to my crew, that’s what will happen. That is what has to happen.”

It all goes together. He can’t go back in all his honesty if he doesn’t have this anymore: the crew is the crew of dreamers, and their shared promise is to make them come true. In order to go back, he has to keep his word and help them all achieve their dreams. In return, he has to allow them to keep their promises too, and help him achieve his.

To go back means accepting this. There is no way around it.

Mihawk’s mouth quirks, so suddenly and quickly that Zoro thinks he may have imagined it. “Very well,” He says, sitting back. “Two years. Then…after that, we will meet again. At that time, you must show me that my efforts were not in vain.”

All of the tension seems to leave Zoro’s body in an instant, and he nearly falls on his face then and there. “Thank you,” He says, and now his arms have finally started trembling. “Thank you.”

-

When they start their training, it’s not what Zoro expects at all.

He’s spent his entire childhood doing this. Honing his skill with his swords, going over drills under his arms ached and fingers bled, lifting weights until he physically couldn’t go on…hours and days and years of practice, all to get him to this moment.

He’d continued, of course. He had never stopped training, not for a moment. Not even in the time between leaving the dojo and joining up with Luffy: he had to get stronger, after all.

But it’s different this time. Now, he has a mentor again. He hasn’t had one since he left his dojo, and it’s left a mix of excitement, confusion, and nerves in his stomach.

Well. Mostly excitement, if he’s being honest.

And so, Zoro had expected to jump right into some drills, some advanced footwork and strength training, something like that. Something that would be solely focused on his skills as a swordsman.

But…

“What?”

Zoro blinks in confusion. “Put away my swords? Why?”

Mihawk just stands there, arms crossed. His sword remains strapped to his back, looming over his head. “We’re not working on your swords today,” He says. “We’re going to work on something else.”

Zoro frowns. He keeps his swords in his hands. “Why? I need to get stronger, right? So…what are we doing? Conditioning? Strength?”

“Neither,” Mihawk says. He stares Zoro down, unperturbed. “We’re working on Haki.”

Zoro’s hands freeze on his sword handles. “Haki?”

Mihawk nods. “Yes,” He replies. “To explain, Haki is—”

“I know what Haki is,” Zoro interrupts. “I…I understand it’s a great power. But…I’m a swordsman. Shouldn’t we prioritize swordsmanship instead?”

Mihawk uncrosses his arms, reaching back to grasp his sword. “We are doing so,” He says simply. “In order to become the world’s greatest swordsman, you must master Haki. Without it, you will never catch up.”

“But,” Zoro objects, keeping a tight grip on his swords. “We have a limited time to do this, and without focusing on swordplay training, how could I possibly protect my—”

The words die in his throat as Mihawk suddenly moves, a small dagger in his hand, heading straight to Zoro’s face. Zoro throws himself back, just in time for the dagger to just miss his left cheek, the metal just barely missing scrapping his skin.

Swearing internally, he jolts forward again, aiming towards Mihawk’s back. He hasn’t had time to put Wado in his mouth, but even with two swords he should be…

Without even turning around, Mihawk gives a small step to the side, and Zoro can’t stop the momentum that carries him over to complete the movement. Stumbling, he whirls back around, swords at the ready and panting heavily. The stinging of his injuries and his pride poke at the back of his mind.

“That,” Mihawk says plainly, not even winded. “Was observation Haki. I can predict where you will go, and what you’ll do. Even the most talented swordsman will have trouble getting around the advantage of foresight.”

Zoro draws a deep breath, but says nothing.

Mihawk grasps at the large sword strapped to his back, pulling it out and brandishing the huge blade towards Zoro. “Watch carefully,” He says.

Zoro frowns, but fixes his eyes on the sword and waits. It doesn’t take long before a black substances slowly starts emerging, coating the sword in a shiny, opaque shield that looks familiar.

The Vance crew member, Zoro thinks, examining the sword furiously. He covered his arm with this.

“Armament Haki,” Mihawk says, snapping Zoro out of his thoughts. “With this, you can increase the strength of your sword in ways that any natural or mechanical means cannot achieve.”

Zoro’s jaw tightens. “I get it,” He says.

“Do you?” Mihawk asks, as his sword slowly dissolves back into its normal color. “Listen well. Where you are going, swordsmanship as you know it will not be enough.”

“I’m a swordsman,” Zoro objects. “That’s my job.”

Mihawk nods, resheathing his sword. “So it is,” He says. “But in the New World, that means something different. You cannot survive without Haki. You cannot play the role of protector without Haki. You cannot defeat me without Haki. This is the reality of the situation. Will you learn it, or will you go there to die?”

Zoro knows, deep in his soul, that there is only one answer to that question. It’s what he asked Mihawk for, after all. But…

He thinks of Vance, of his crew, of their confidence in this power that failed them in the end. “I can’t rely on it,” He says. “My swordsmanship must carry be through on its own.”

“It still is,” Mihawk says. “This is swordsmanship. There is no difference. These skills will be imbued into your swords, they are simply a tool to strength you. Or…do you perhaps wish to lose to Kuma for a third time? Because if you don’t learn this, that is what will happen.”

A wave of fury fills Zoro at the name. “No,” He says, through gritted teeth.

“Haki is more widespread than you know,” Mihawk continues. “Many have been using it already without your knowledge. Are you really accepting for your skill set to be left incomplete for no reason at all?”

Vance may have given him a distaste for Haki, but…

Usopp’s face flashes into his mind, all grin determination and concentration and achievements that should be impossible. If this power belongs to him too, then…

Well. Power is power, and Zoro can take on the challenge with his crewmate and friend. They’ll need all the help they can get, and Zoro still has some promises to keep.

Zoro nods grimly. “Okay,” He says. “What do I do first?”

“Observation,” Mihawk begins, but it is interrupted by a now familiar excited shout.

“Mihawk!” Perona says, zipping into the room. “You got a reply! From Crocodile, he’s saying that—oh. Sorry. I didn’t know you were busy.”

“We’re training!” Zoro snaps. “Stay out of it!”

“No need to be rude!” Perona huffs, crossing her arms. “Mihawk, make him fall on his face.”

Mihawk gives the faintest of grins, and it sends a chill down Zoro’s spine. “I’m sure we’ll get there,” He says. “Quite soon.”

-

It happens on a very unmemorable day.

It wasn’t even like they had been doing anything new. Instead, they’d been working on perfecting combining both observation and armament Haki into Zoro’s attacks.

He’d actually taken to Haki pretty easily. Once he’d gotten started, he’d realized that, well…he actually had used this before. The slowing down of his senses, the extending of his awareness of his surroundings…he’d been doing that for a while now. He’d noticed it slowly getting stronger, but he’d thought it was just because his skills had been improving.

The fight against Mr. 1 had been a turning point, as it happened. He’d apparently unlocked his observation Haki at a pretty high degree already, and it was just a matter of putting a name to something he’d been doing for a while now.

That had suited Zoro just fine. He hadn’t particularly cared what this thing of his was called, all that mattered now was being able to hone it to the best possible extent. Finding the limits of this ability was going to be fun.

Armament, though? That had been completely new to him. It was more of a struggle to figure out how to…extend that ability of his, to wrap it around a physical object rather than maintain his own senses.

It did help that his swords were also him, to an extent. Less an extension of his own body and more companions on his quest, but still part of his personal space and more likely to accept the Haki he bestowed upon them.

Once he’d figured that out, it was pretty easy. All he needed to do know was put everything in practice, and use both versions of Haki at the same time, intentionally. It had been that that had been giving him trouble.

It was that trouble that was his undoing. It wasn’t even during the first time he tried this, nor the second, nor the third. It had just when he’d gotten comfortable, and had shifted too far in his comfort into complacency.

“Do it again,” Mihawk says, for the fifth time, sword drawn. “Attack and defend, remember?”

Zoro grits his teeth, saying nothing. He adjusts his stance slightly, breathing into his Haki techniques, grasping at the strands of it curling around through his head.

He uses one strand to extend his senses, and another to wrap around his sword, feeling it grow warm in his hand. So far, so good, so going as expected.

Mihawk leaps forward, large sword drawn, almost breaking Zoro’s concentration. He grunts, quickly reacting to the warning pulse in his brain and quickly lifting a coated Wado to absorb the other sword’s impact.

Mihawk gives a soft grunt, which Zoro knows now means good, and steps back. Zoro nods, keeping Wado at the ready, until—

Again.

The signal flashes in his head again, and Zoro swiftly turns his head, and then—

Zoro knows he’s made a mistake. He knows instantly.

He’d misread something, gone right instead of left, gotten wires crossed somewhere, and all he sees is the black blade descending upon his face and, behind it, Mihawk’s eyes actually widening in horror, and—

In that second, something flashes through his memory. Because he’d known about this before, he remembers—

-

It had been at the very beginning. Before the Grand Line, before Arlong, before the Baratie even.

There were just four of them: the dreamer, the bounty hunter, the thief in disguise, and the recently acquired liar, their current newbie. Zoro still hadn’t known what to make of him, just that he belonged with them. What would come next was up to him.

He hadn’t known yet then, of course. He hadn’t known about Usopp

At that time, Usopp stood on the Merry’s deck, a makeshift cape fluttering in the wind behind him, twisted up in an exaggerated pose. “Adventure!” He’d cried, tossing his arms up in the air. “Comes with danger. It is always so!”

Luffy, his only captive audience at the time, clapped his hands together. “Like what?” He asked. “Danger, how?”

“A true warrior’s life is always at risk,” Usopp boomed. Or tried to, at least, in a voice that was still too young, still squeaky with inexperience. “But sometimes, it’s not his life he loses. It’s something else.”

“Like what?”

It hadn’t been Luffy asking the question that time. It had been Zoro instead, one eye cracked open, irritated at the noise.

“What else could he lose,” Zoro grumbled, longing for peace and quiet. “Besides sleep in this place?”

Luffy booed him for interrupting the story, but Usopp just stood there, looking at him thoughtfully. His makeshift cape was still billowing out, but more softly now. Less violently.

“Have I ever told you,” Usopp began, “What happened to the distracted warrior?”

Luffy’s eyes lit up. “What?” He asked, scooting closer. “What happened?”

“Yeah,” Zoro sighed, thinking of his escaped sleep. “What?”

Usopp, fully facing Zoro now, drew a hand out flattening it and pointing it towards him.

“This,” Usopp said, slicing his hand in a quick motion, towards his left eye—

-

—a searing pain shoots across his left eye, worse than anything he’d ever felt, and his world darkens as the weight of another failure presses down against his chest.

-

Zoro doesn’t get out of bed for three days after he loses his left eye.

At least, he thinks he does. He can’t really tell. He’s to distracted by other things in the meantime: the way his hand keeps missing the table to grab a glass of water, the constant, distracting stinging behind the bandage, the way the world looks titled, off its axis.

It seems like Perona never leaves him alone, though. “It’ll get better,” She keeps chanting to him, almost like a spell. “You just…you just need to get used to it. You’ll even yourself out. You just need to wait.”

Waiting is the last thing he needs. He’s already forced to wait, and at least he could’ve used it to improve. But now…

Now, he’s back to where he started. No: he’s back further than that. He can’t even point his sword in the right direction. How can he—how—

He understands Usopp now. He understands more than he ever thought he could the feeling of loss that must have followed him after being saved from Vance’s ship. At least Zoro can still…he can still see, while Usopp…

Zoro shudders, taking a deep breath and trying his best to recover.

-

Shortly after that, Zoro gets angry.

Mihawk had avoided him at the start. He hadn’t seen him during his initial recovery period, and Zoro hadn’t given him much thought either.

So seeing him march into the small bedroom without a care in the world one day had shocked Zoro’s system slightly, and he’d sat straight up in bed in response.

“I see you’re up,” Mihawk says blandly. “Good. Once you’re cleared to move, we can start you on basic exercises again. You’re familiar with post injury training, you can do that with your Haki too.”

“I know,” Zoro says, something simmering in his chest. “Now go away.”

Mihawk pauses, giving him a piercing look. “Your observation Haki will help your depth perception,” He says. “You should learn to trust it more, if you had—”

“I know,” Zoro repeats, teeth clenched. “I wasn’t fast enough. I didn’t do enough. I know. I know.”

Mihawk nods at him blankly. “Then you’ll know what needs to be done,” He says. “This happened once. It can’t happen again. Not if you want to continue on to the New World.”

Zoro’s head hurts. “Yeah,” He says. “Well, it happening once was enough. I messed up again. And now…where am I starting now? From the beginning? Before that?”

“You have Haki—” Mihawk begins, but Zoro doesn’t want to hear it. There’s a buzzing in his head now, growing louder and louder and louder, and he can’t…he can’t…

“And so what if I do?” Zoro spits out. A burst of energy seems to take over like him, almost like he’s being possessed. He throws the blanket off his legs, rising to his feet. His legs don’t shake. “Fuck that. I’m continuing like before. This isn’t stopping me. Let’s go.”

“You—” Mihawk begins again, but Zoro is beyond that. He can’t listen, won’t listen, anymore.

“Let’s go,” Zoro says, and the ringing in his ears feels like it’s coming out in his voice. “I’m going back. I’m going to get better. I will make myself better. I will fight again. I will.”

He’s breathing heavily now, and…and there’s something happening. His brain is shuddering, like when his Haki space gets activated but he’s not using it, so how can anything be happening?

But it is. It is, and it’s pouring out of him, and all he knows is that he’s going to get better. He’s going to get his crew. He’s going to become the world’s greatest swordsman.

It’s everything he’s done all his life, and it’s all pouring out of him like an explosion.

He looks up, and the sight almost stops him in his tracks.

Mihawk is staring at him, and it’s a sight he’s experienced hundreds of times now, but there’s something different this time. The stare isn’t pointed, or placid, or cynical. It’s…weary, almost suspicious.

Almost afraid.

“I see,” Mihawk says, voice breaking the Haki-space Zoro had burrowed in. “I…I see. You have it, then.”

Zoro blinks, feeling the sting under the bandage again as he struggles to regain his center. “What?”

“Conqueror’s Haki,” Mihawk says. “I’d suspected…well. We’ll add this, too. This will be a powerful element of your arsenal.”

“Conqueror’s?” Zoro asks. His head starts pounding again. “Do you have it too?”

There’s a short silence. “No,” Mihawk says. “It’s quite rare. But…well. The principles are the same, anyway.”

I have Conqueror’s Haki. Zoro turns the idea around in his mind. “Okay,” He says. “I’ll…I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Yes,” Mihawk says. “And. Well. And—”

Mihawk is not one to be unsure with his words. “What?” Zoro asks. “What is it?”

Mihawk opens his mouth, then closes it again. He shakes his head.

“Nothing,” He says, whirling back around. “Let’s go. You have work to do.”

-

After that, things start to settle down.

Zoro isn’t exactly sure how long it’s been since he arrived. Losing an eye seems to have thrown his sense of time into whack, but as he slowly reintegrates himself into a training schedule, he wakes up one day to realize that he only had about six months left before it’s time to reunite with his crew.

“There’s so much more to learn,” He tells Perona one night, staring into a beer with a newfound sort of melancholy. “But I also think I’m ready now, you know? There’s too much time left and too little all at once.”

Perona just laughs. “Don’t worry your little green head about it,” She tells him. “Whatever happens, you have six moths to go, right? Just learn everything you can in that time and then you can head on back. Easy.”

Zoro grimaces, carefully taking a swig. His retrained depth perception is improving slowly, but surely. “You’re more annoying than the cook sometimes.”

Even more so because, yeah. She’s right.

Perona rolls her eyes. “I know you don’t mean that,” She says (true). “You’re just lucky I’m here to set you straight,” She looks up, giving Mihawk a knowing glare. “Both of you.”

Mihawk shifts slightly, leaning over the arm rest of his large, ornate chair. His beer sits on the table, untouched. “I am going to ignore the pointed intention in that statement.”

“Come on,” Perona sighs, putting down her own drink with a thunk on the wooden table. “You’ve been at it with Crocodile for months. Almost years even. Just make your decision already.”

Zoro’s right eye narrows. He knows that there’s…something there, something that’s been brewing the entire time he’s been here, definitely even before that.

He knows, he knows that the communication between Mihawk and Crocodile is beyond normal warlord business. The secretive nature of it, the snatches of conversation he’s caught between Perona and Mihawk, the silent preparations going on behind the scenes…he’s noticed it.

For the most part, he wouldn’t care. It’s none of his business, really. If there’s some grand plan going on, it’s unlikely to directly affect him or his crew, so it shouldn’t really be any of his business.

But now…

Now…it’s not like it was anymore. A warlord of the sea had put him in this predicament in the first place, and another one was putting him back on track. Like it or not, gaining the power he needs to achieve his dream puts him at odds and directly in contact with people like this. If he’s ever going to make it through, and pull the rest of his crew along with him, he’s going to have to know what’s going on. Even if just a little bit.

What happened with Kuma is never going to happen again. And this…this is how he makes sure of it.

Zoro clears his throat. “Your decision,” He says carefully. “Is it to do with helping Crocodile with something?”

A tense silence descends on the room. He glances up to see Perona’s shocked face, then shifts his head slightly to see Mihawk’s deliberately stony one. “I don’t care,” He reminds them. “Just, you know. It’s annoying, having to deal with the back and forth about this.”

Mihawk leans forward, pushing his drink to the side. He pins Zoro with a knowing stare. “If you had to take part something,” He says. “A movement. A change, let’s say. How would you do it?”

Zoro frowns. “What kind of movement?”

“The subject is irrelevant,” Mihawk says. “What would move you to take action? No matter what it was?”

The answer is far too easy, really.

“Someone to believe in,” Zoro says. Luffy’s face flashes into his mind. “Someone that you know you can trust.”

“And what quality is that?” Mihawk asks. There’s a tense clip to his tone. “What makes that someone trustworthy?”

Zoro thinks for a moment, sees Luffy’s smile clearly in his mind. “It’s nothing specific, I don’t think” He says. “Just…someone that inspires belief, I guess. Power, personality. I don’t think it can be taught.”

Mihawk nods, leaning back in his chair. The tension flickers, then slowly fades. “Inspiration,” He repeats. “I see. Yes. Inspiration.”

Zoro nods, taking another sip of beer. A strange sense of foreboding fills his chest, and he chases it down with a swallow.

-

Two years after the first time he did this, Zoro finds himself in front of a group of humandrils.

They don’t seem as intimidating as they had been, back then. Instead, they’re more irritating than worrisome, like a group of flies buzzing around his head than any kind of genuine threat.

The idea brings a wave of satisfaction in his heart. If anything, he’s gotten better. And that has been the most important thing of all.

“You’ll be going, then?”

Zoro glances to the side. Mihawk, in another echo of two years ago, stands near the humandrils, arms crossed. But instead of being in front of him, he’s to the side. The path forward is clear, and Mihawk is no longer blocking it.

“Yes,” Zoro replies, glancing back towards the ship behind the humandrils. “It’s time to head back. I’ve accomplished what I’ve aimed to, anyway.”

He can sense Mihawk give a slight nod, but nothing further.

Zoro nods back, then moves a hand towards a sword, about to draw it out—

“Hey!”

The voice breaks his concentration, and he drops his hand back away. “What?” He barks back. “I’m busy!”

“I can’t believe you!” The voice rapidly approaches, and then Perona zips into his line of sight, incandescent. “You were gonna leave without even saying goodbye? Really?”

Zoro blows out an exasperated breath. “I did.”

“Saying ‘bye’ this morning without any explanation doesn’t count!” Perona says, wagging a finger in his face. “You’re such an idiot!”

“You’re the idiot,” Zoro responds hotly. “What other explanation could there be for that? You knew the time limit.”

Perona leans back, crossing her arms in an exaggerated huff. “Well,” She says. “I’m coming with you!”

“What?” Zoro says. “Why?”

“Because!” Perona says, and Zoro notices her toss a quick glance at Mihawk. “There’s stuff I wanna do over there! And you’re gonna need someone to help you use the Vivre Card anyway. So…I’ll go with you!”

Zoro sighs, then shrugs internally. Whatever it is she’s planning with Mihawk has nothing to do with him. “Fine. Whatever. Just don’t get in my way.”

Perona’s face turns cheery. “Of course I won’t!” She says, then turns to Mihawk, waving giddily. “See you soon!”

Zoro takes a step forward, then pauses. Following an instinct, he turns back to Mihawk. “Thank you,” He says. “Next time we meet, I hope to show you exactly how much I’ve improved under your guidance, when I beat you.”

Mihawk’s face remains impassive, but Zoro can see, through years of practice, the expression hiding within the corners of his mouth. “I look forward to it,” He says.

Zoro nods again, then unsheathes his swords. “Here I come,” He says, to the humandrils and to the crew beyond them. “Wait for me.”

[redwayfarers]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well! was tagged by @galadae, ty for the tag <3 tagging: @anneapocalypse, @lavampira, @hythlodaes, @scionshtola, @fantasmagoriam, @euelios <3

“Listen, when Minfilia died, I thought–” he looks away and rubs his eyes. “The world can go fuck itself for all I care, but I– he–” He shakes his hands around his head and hisses. “He’s my second chance at— at love, and if I ruin it because I’m a jackass–”  - defense

“You’re grossly overestimating my influence. Or maybe my liking of them.” Nika makes a face. “I wanna shoot half of them in the face. Member of the Heavensward, off you go. Annoying asshole, off you go. That’s a solid chunk of Ishgard’s nobility.” - 'ajde bar noćas budi mi drug

“Bah, you’re too prim and proper.” Nika puts a foot down. The heels echo in the otherwise silent room like a battle trumpet. It may be the drink he’s had, but his next words come out offensively shamelessly. “I like the way your collarbones look.” - (you) restless son

“Alright,” Artoirel says slowly, “but if there’s anything we, or I, can do to help, do not hesitate to say. I do want our relationship to be a positive one, even though my first impressions may have led you to believe otherwise.” Care to suck my dick? That would make me feel so much better . “I’ll be down soon, and I want to dress in peace, for fuck’s sake.” - crisis he didn't ask for but got anyway

“I bet,” Lucretia replies, with a hint in her voice that she understands what he’s hiding behind that little word. “Do Ishgardians have any board games?”  “Kill a dragon, maybe.” - how unreasonably in love i am with (everything) you (do)

“You’re afraid I’m gonna hate it or something? Is that why you sound like you’re a kid meeting your idol for the first time?” - (you) restless son

“That bad, huh?” He laughs, but it’s a choppy, insincere thing. “I suppose I am.” A moment of silence. “I’m just so fucking tired, Minfilia. I’m angry at Ascians. I’m angry at Garlemald. I’m angry at the likes of Teledji Adeledji. There’s only so many arrows I have for each of them. And only so much patience, too. Besides, fighting shit hurts. It’s hard on the body.”  - to (kick your feet) strive but never to yield

“Is something amiss, Nika?” Minfilia’s voice rings in close proximity, worried.  “I’d say our Warrior of Light has yet to let go of his anger for the Ascians,” Thancred supplies and Nika’s eyes open.  “If you of all people aren’t angry at them, Thancred, then what the fuck are you doing with your life,” Nika says and he would flinch at the way he says Thancred’s name, like venom. Thankfully, he does too.  “I am angry, Nika. But I don’t allow my anger to destroy the Rising Stones.”  “Instead you destroy your fucking liver–” - to (kick your feet) strive, but never to yield

Artoirel frowns. “This House relies on me. Aymeric relies on me. Sacrifices must be made.”  “I can learn to forge your signature and sign all your documents.”  “Without reading them?”  “Naturally. Formal speak annoys me.”  Artoirel drops his nose into Nika’s shoulder. “That is not how this functions and I am not letting you forge my signature.”  Nika huffs. “Can’t blame a guy for wanting a hobby. It’s not like my body lets me do jack shit these days.” - how unreasonably in love i am with (everything) you (do)

“That you are,” Artoirel says. He then turns all serious again. “How are you doing these days?”  “Me?”  “Yes. These recent events have been.. Tumultuous for all of us. Most of all for you.”  Nika frowns. “Losing people feels like absolute shit, Artoirel.” - cold nights in ishgard

He’s quiet for a long time. Long enough to get him on the bed, to get him under the woolen covers. Long enough to sit beside him and run a hand down his arm and have him lean into the touch like it’s a gulp of water in the midst of a drought.  “I’m scared, Mom,” he croaks, and buries his head in the pillows. “Gods save me, I’m so scared.” - defense

“My actual name’s Nikita, so you can call me whatever you want. I’m all three of these fuckers.” Nika shrugs and drops the pillow. - crisis he didn't ask for but got anyway

“Fine– I think you’re not only good at aiming, but also good- looking. Is it a crime in the Brume to be attracted to people?” Nika taps a nail against the trigger of his firearm.  “Not at all.” Hilda smiles. She walks over, the end of her weapon clinks against the metal of her tall boots, and she looks up at him. Her lips are full and red from the cold and her eyes shine in amusement and pleasure. “Join me for mulled wine later? Maybe a card game, if your pride lets you?” Nika huffs. “It’s not about pride, woman – but yes. I will join you for mulled wine. It’s stupidly cold in Ishgard.”   Hilda places a hand on his forearm. “I’ll make sure it’s all warm for you, Nika.”  - 'ajde bar noćas budi mi drug

“I get it.” Nika laughs, but it’s devoid of any amusement. “We’re similar, I think. It’s why we get along. We’re both fucked up right now, we can’t talk about it, so you overwork yourself and I annoy people. Should I go to Coerthas to chase heretics?”  - how unreasonably in love i am with (everything) you (do)

“Of course,” he taps the space beside him, “come, sit.” His heart wants to leap out of his chest, both easy and dragged down at the same time, and Nika thinks about the faded, long line on his face. Does she like men with scars?   It’s a useless inquiry anyway. She just asked for a song, not a love confession. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to give a love confession anyway. Because, Twelve preserve him, he is just a little bit in love with Minfilia. - does she like men with scars?

[blackjackkent]

Rakha and the others trail behind as Lae'zel makes a beeline for the githyanki officer and the enormous dragon flanking him.

"Rider! My time is short!" she bursts out. "Lead me to--"

"Shhhh-sh-shh..." The kith'rak puts up a hand, clicks his tongue sharply. "Such a familiar tone," he growls curtly. "Were I not merciful, I would slice the skin clean from your meat. Yet you are not bleeding - for I am *nothing* if not merciful. Your name, child!"

Rakha can see how Lae'zel is struck by these words as if by a whip. She goes completely still, ramrod straight, eyes widening. Rakha herself feels a surge of anger on the other woman's behalf, anger the beast in her mind immediately clings onto. How dare he--

Images flash through her - of this officer's head severed from his body and fed into his red dragon's gullet. She sets her jaw, pushes the thoughts back and keeps silent through a force of tremendous will.

Nod to Laezel. Go ahead.

(A/N: We get a specifically [HALF-ORC] option here to insist on speaking on Lae'zel's behalf. I can think of some types of characters who would demand to take the lead here, but neither Hector nor Rakha are the type to claim it. Hector because he was a good dude who trusted his friends and Rakha because she has zero confidence that she knows better about the right path through any given conversation.)

"Lae'zel," Lae'zel says crisply, her eyes staring past the officer's left shoulder.

The man looks her over thoughtfully, then nods. "Lae'zel," he echoes curtly. "Proud. Regal, even. You will call me Jhe'stil Kith'rak."

The githyanki words mean nothing to Rakha, but Lae'zel clearly recognizes them and their implication; her head dips deferentially. All of the dominant confidence which she has brought to their battles thus far seems for a moment lost; she is subordinate to this man, instantly and entirely.

"Voss. Knight Supreme," she says respectfully. "The queen's silver. The queen's sword."

"I am who you say," Voss answers coolly. "A ghaik vessel has fallen from the sky, Lae'zel. Thieves aboard have taken a weapon most precious. It is polyhedric in shape, and inscribed with the sacred runes of our people."

It is perhaps a good thing that he is focused on Lae'zel, because Rakha's eyebrows shoot up. She realizes what he is talking about half a moment before the tadpole connection burns suddenly in her brain.

Narrator: You feel Shadowheart's anxiety. The weapon that Voss seeks is the same one the Absolute's followers are hunting. It's the artifact that she carries. Her mind focuses - the giths' suspicion cannot be aroused. They cannot discover that the weapon they seek is right within their grasp.

Well. This is an interesting development.

The Absolutists' hunt for the artifact made sense enough - a weapon that prevented their god from speaking would need to be destroyed. But the gith, it seems, are searching for a more personal reason - Voss's words suggest that the artifact itself is gith in origin.

This makes some sense, as Rakha's brain chews through the available information. Lae'zel has told her that her people have fought illithids for eons, and that the cleansing they seek at the nearby creche is designed to purge a tadpole infection. It is not surprising, then, that a weapon of gith design might also interfere with this cult of the Absolute, since it operates with the use of modified mind flayer parasites.

Voss is still speaking. "Take word to your creche," he instructs Lae'zel firmly. "You are to join our search."

And Lae'zel, whom Rakha has never seen flinch from anything, hesitates.

"Speak up, child!" Voss commands. "Affirm your mandate."

(A/N: TBH Rakha's instinct here is actually to just hand over the artifact. She thinks that the worms will stop being an issue because obviously the zaith'isk is going to work, and if it's a gith artifact why shouldn't it go back to the gith? Gesture of good faith and all that.

Surprisingly, if you do this, Lae'zel gets SUPER pissed and yells at you (and then yells again after the fight), and I'm honestly not entirely sure why? And then Voss just assumes you were the thief in the first place and tells Baretha to kill you anyway. I straight-up can't figure out how to rationalize Lae'zel being so angry, because she doesn't think Voss is a traitor until later in the conversation, and once you get to the creche she gets mad if you DON'T turn over the artifact to W'wargaz.

However, we have another option which still works for Rakha's thought process so we'll just stick with that rather than turn my brain into a pretzel trying to make the other one work.)

Rakha can feel Lae'zel's sudden nervousness through the tadpole connection, an uncertainty that is very unlike her. What is she waiting for? She has said from the very beginning that their best chance of safety was to reach out to her people, to inform them of their plight and obtain their help. Why does she wait?

Mouth a silent command to Lae'zel: 'Truth.'

Lae'zel straightens sharply. "My mandate, Jhe'stil Kith'rak," she says crisply, "is to locate this creche. I was infected aboard a ghaik ship and need to be purified. Your mandate is to aid me!"

Rakha waits for the kith'rak's expected agreement, for him to direct them to the creche and the salvation that awaits there. But he does not move. His eyes narrow and he peers at Lae'zel with sudden attentive interest - and dismay. "Purified?" he says disdainfully. "Soon your skin will go grey and your blood will run silver. You will shed your skin to become ghaik. Only in death are the infected cleansed."

Lae'zel stiffens. Her eyes widen so far that Rakha can see the whites in them.

"Shit," she hears Wyll mutter under his breath.

"Baretha!" The kith'rak lifts a hand, directing his underling forward. His eyes don't leave Lae'zel; he seems to be memorizing her face, her bearing, everything about her. "See that her skull is split and the tadpole crushed! Then examine her corpse. I will take word to the Undying Queen - our search continues."

He pivots sharply, backpedaling as the other soldiers come forward. As he does, his eyes cross Rakha's line of sight and lock there for a moment, and a chill shoots through her, mixed with a flare of rage from the beast.

He is lying.

Narrator: A current of deception carries Voss's words. Wherever he flies - it is not to Vlaakith.

Her mind whirls. This doesn't make sense. The kith'rak has heard Lae'zel's request and denied the purification that she claims is standard procedure - and wants them dead instead. He says he travels to the queen and goes elsewhere. Why?

"Wait--" she starts to snap, but it is cut off into a cry of pain as Baretha's sword sinks into her arm. And then she has no further time to think of anything as the beast insists on revenge.

(A/N: And then I struggled for like an hour to complete this fight without cheesing it, and then I gave up and cheesed it. XD )

----

The githyanki are perhaps the fiercest enemies Rakha has yet fought in the time she has memory of. They move in lockstep, completely in sync, attacking so rapidly that it is hard to keep track of. But even they are no match for Rakha's mad, wild magic that bit by bit tears their regimented battle apart.

Baretha is the last to fall, shredded apart by a cloud of daggers summoned from Rakha's palms, and Rakha's mind slowly clears as she stands over the mutilated corpse and breathes in the scent of its blood.

Emptiness follows the blood-rage, and a distinct note of fear. Now what?

She looks towards Lae'zel. Her gith companion is vibrating with rage and disbelief; her skin is flushed a dark olive and her eyes are narrowed almost to slits.

"Dammit all!" she roars, lashing out with a sharp kick against the head of one of the fallen officers. "A kith'rak demanded my head! He'd deny me a cure!"

She takes a sharp few steps back and forth in agitated pacing. "Bah," She mutters harshly, taking a grip on herself with brutal discipline and coming to a halt dead still. "This is a distraction. The kith'rak deserves the whole of my scorn. How *dare* he speak my queen's name! How *dare* he dishonor her child!"

Rakha listens silently, waiting for the flow of words to stop before speaking.

Lae'zel is furious - but beneath the anger Rakha thinks she detects a hint of something else. Fear. Puzzlement. This has not gone as Lae'zel expected and she is afraid. There is more going on here than Rakha is able to understand, except that Lae'zel - her companion, her... friend - is more rattled than Rakha has ever seen her.

(A/N: I'm 90% sure this dialog has been updated since I played through this with Hector. There are a few more dialog options all expressing more clearly than I recall before that Lae'zel believes Voss is a traitor to Vlaakith because he denied the SOP of purification. In the particular state of things between Rakha and Lae'zel, however, I find one of them particularly interesting. >:) )

She thinks for a moment, and remembers a moment from the previous night with Wyll on the beach. There had been confusion, awkwardness between them, and he reached out a hand and rested it on her arm and held it there for just a moment. Soothing. Comforting.

Lae'zel needs comforting now.

She tilts her head pensively, then reaches out towards Lae'zel's arm cautiously.

Reach out to comfort her.

"SHKA'KETH!" Lae'zel roars. She bursts backwards away from Rakha, knocking the offered touch aside as if deflecting an enemy weapon. The tension that has sat between them for weeks now suddenly explodes, and Rakha realizes too late that she has seen the gesture as mocking given the abrupt ending of their physical relationship.

"I will remove the parasite," Lae'zel goes on, snarling like a wounded animal. "I will see the kith'rak dead and present his corpse to Vlaaktih herself!" She rips her greatsword from its sheathe and turns the point towards Rakha's throat in a quick, spasmodic movement. "Show me pity again and I will present *your* corpse instead!"

KILL, roars the beast in Rakha's head and for a moment she feels her control slip. Were Lae'zel to make another movement, perhaps the beast would take over after all, and Rakha would find her hands around her friend's throat and everything over between them in one great fountain of blood and pain.

But neither of them moves. The two of them - all four of them - are still as statues amid the corpses around them. Rakha is dimly conscious that Wyll has a hand on his sword hilt and an eldritch blast held in the opposite palm, ready to strike - at who she doesn't know.

Lae'zel's eyes search Rakha's, and in that gaze Rakha sees a depth of pain and fear in the other woman that she had not known existed until this moment. She does not understand it, not entirely - except that somehow it is partially her fault. Partially her, and partially this kith'rak who has turned his back on the foundations of Lae'zel's life.

She says nothing, but nods slowly in acknowledgment. And equally slowly, the point of Lae'zel's sword dips, until it falls back to her side.

"A creche is near. That much is certain," she mutters. "We follow the path forward and seek signs of githyanki settlers. No one - not even the ignoble Jhe'stil Kith'rak, will keep me from my purification."

[rafesangelita]

…CRIMINAL!RAFE X SPOILED!GF!READER AU

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹🥛♡

CRIMINAL!RAFE X SPOILED!GF!READER who do absolutely everything together. crimal activity and all. “how did you get that lock open?”, “my hairpin, duh.” rafe would stare at her proudly, thinking to himself; ‘that’s my girl.’ while she handed him stacks of cash. spoiled!gf!reader who knows she has rafe wrapped around her manicured finger, despite him arguing that it’s the other way around. “just admit that you bend at my will, baby.” rafe would be towering over her, thinking he finally has her cornered until she shoots him with; ‘who was on their knees last night begging me to sit on their face?’

CRIMINAL!RAFE X SPOILED!GF!READER who would panic when she wouldn’t respond to his ‘are you okay?!’ after shooting down a group of men, only to find her fixing her lipgloss in the bathroom. “what on earth are they feeding these guys?” she’d huff, stepping over one of their bodies before walking past him.. “let’s get out of here, i’m hungry!” rafe would shake his head, trailing behind her. spoiled!gf!reader who would convince rafe to let her use handcuffs on him, telling him he’s under arrest for not giving her babies yet. “that’s a life sentence, mr. cameron..” he’d be looking up at her, slightly irritated that he couldn’t trace the curves of her hips. “don’t forget to throw away the key.”

CRIMINAL!RAFE X SPOILED!GF!READER who’d go over all of the solutions to problems they may run into along the way. “you see this phone? only one person has the number to it. if it ever rings, that means i’m dead-” she’d stop him right there, “what the fuck?!” her blood ran cold at the thought, “just listen baby- if you ever hear this phone ring, you need to get up, grab the backpack with the money from the master safe, and run.” a shiver ran down her spine. “but-” rafe would cut her off, “no ‘buts’, i need you to do what i say, ‘cause whoever gets me will try to get you too, and i won’t let that happen. promise me.” she hated the idea, but knew rafe wouldn’t be able to rest until she reassured him.

CRIMINAL!RAFE X SPOILED!GF!READER who always bailed rafe out of jail, both of them partaking in post-jail sex as if he was away for a year instead of a couple nights. “shit- you were the only thing i could think of in there. my pretty baby here all by herself..” he’d be plowing into her, showering her in kisses as a silent apology for getting caught up and making her go through the trouble of getting him out. “i’ll make it up to you. ‘go and get that bag you’ve been wanting, sound good?” she’d nod, too fucked out to form a sentence. criminal!rafe who’d gift reader a gun, teaching her how to properly aim and fire. “so once you have it aimed at your target, you’re just gonna- jesus christ!” she flinched at the sound that pierced through the air, both her and rafe staring wide eyed at one another. “sorry..”

CRIMINAL!RAFE X SPOILED!GF!READER who can stay up till an ungodly hour, just talking in the dark while they trace shapes into each other’s skin. “can you imagine that? watching the sunset while our little ones run around?” rafe would smile even though she couldn’t see him, the image tugging at his heart strings. “i dream about those kinds of things..” he’d pull her close, taking in her sweet scent. “promise me something?” rafe agreed without hesitation. “promise me that what we do isn’t forever. i don’t want to run anymore..” she’d sniffle, rafe wiping the tears from her eyes. “i’m tired of running, too, ‘promise.” he kissed her, wanting to make the mood lighter. “let’s talk rings. i think princess cut suits you perfectly.”

[flushedandruffled]

Part two.

Bucky woke up. In a bed he didn’t know, but he could smell perfume, he rubbed his eyes and his temples. His head, throbbing.

‘Buck?’

Steve’s voice. ‘Buck you ok?’

‘What happened? Where am I?’

‘Avengers compound’

‘Have a shower, relax,’

‘What just happened? Who was that? Was that real?'

Steve watched Bucky like a hawk, he looked shattered, dark circles under his eyes, and he winced like he was in pain.

‘We called in a favour. She’s downstairs.’

‘.. I can’t remember..’

‘It’s ok buck, you’re ok now . And she’s ok’

'what do you mean she's ok? What did I...'

—-

Bucky lumbered down the stairs and everyone hesitates for a second. He’s used to that reaction. Steve, Sam and a woman are there.

His eyes are a bit unfocused and his head is killing him.

‘You ok buck? Want a coffee?’

He nods sluggishly and his eyes find her.

‘Oh god, did I ...’ his eyes widen as he focuses on her bruises. She looks like she’s been through a wringer. Some parts of her arm are black. There’s a red mark all around her neck.

He can see the outline of his hand on her arm.

His eyes water, he feels like he's going to throw up so he turns around and clutches his stomach.

Steve goes to hold him around his shoulders and feels his body shuddering.

She looks at him with sympathy though.

‘James,’ she says softly to his back,

‘Don’t worry, these will heal.’ She could have avoided his blows if she’d tried but he needed to acknowledge his own power now, in a way, so she let him.

‘I’m.. im sorry’ he turns slowly to face her and he looks spent, he can’t think of what to say to her. She’s tiny. How did she survive?

She nods acknowledgement and then flashes him a brilliant smile. He doesn't know what to do with that, he doesn't understand why she is smiling at him, not at all.

‘In my time, my darling, I’ve had much, much worse. So please - it’ll be fine in a couple days’ Steve and Sam see the confusion on buckys face.

She walks up to him and runs her fingertips down his prickly cheek. He's frozen to the spot, ‘Aren’t you such a handsome boy, she knows me well’ she says, her nose scrunching mischievously. She tucks his long hair back behind his ear. Sam and Steve look at each other wondering if this was normal behaviour , surprised by her easy intimacy with him and the fact she’s looking at him like he’s the sun to her moon. Buckys jaw drops and he is just staring at her like he’s dreaming or not hearing properly, he looks absolutely bewildered. ‘Who are you?’ His voice is a hoarse whisper. He reaches hesitantly out to touch the worst bruise and wipes his eyes which have filled up without him realising. She doesn’t flinch. ‘I said don’t worry about it sweetheart’ she smiles that smile again. He can hear his heart in his chest.

‘What?’ She says as she notices Steve and Sam looking at her, she can't figure out their expressions but decides she's probably been too forward.

‘Nothing’ Steve says , he shoots a look at sam who smirks.

‘Sweetheart ’ Sam says, ‘how do you want your coffee?’

Steve laughs to break the strange atmosphere.

Bucky cringes, ‘leave me alone you guys, I'm not.. myself’ he rubs his temple and wonders when the last time was he was truly himself.

‘They’re just jealous’ she laughs and playfully turns and hits Sam in his chest.

‘You need rest today’ She nods at him to emphasise her point. He is transfixed by her. He doesn’t know why. It's like his soul had received a shock from her and now he had felt it, he felt as if she was a buoy he needed to hold to help him from drowning. He opened his mouth but he couldn't speak for a moment,

‘I’m sorry I hurt you,’ his voice is shaky still.

Steve looks at Kali. She does indeed look terrible but she seems to not be that worried about it.

‘Forget it, how many times do you want me to say it? ’ she says. Bucky looks even more confused.

‘I’m going to have a rest myself,’ she says looking at them all in turn. ‘Need a bath I think’ she murmurs to herself.

‘You boys make sure he rests and he’ll need me to help his head again. You know where to find me’

She gets close to Bucky again.

‘See you soon’ she winks at him and runs her hand down his chest then walks off. He is standing, like a statue, his jaw still dropped, he hasn't been this pawed in years.

——

‘What the hell is happening’ Bucky lets out after she leaves.

‘I woke up in her bed?’

‘We called her, she is a goddess - I know that sounds crazy- but like thor right? She's Thor's friend even. She is ancient too. She has crazy powers so Thor thought she could help. And she did, she snapped you out of your killing machine mode’ Sam explained.

‘What? But look at her- I almost killed her! She can't be a god'

‘There’s something about her body- her body is like human so she can be hurt but not fatally. Do you feel ok though Bucky? That's the important thing. She said she can help you, since the Wakandan deprogramming didn't work'

‘I feel ok, my head hurts is throbbing though, I need an aspirin or something.’

‘She said it would hurt you, your head.’

‘I think she actually likes you- like- she seems to like you-

Like a goddess is into you Buck - that’s pretty positive news for a 100 year old tin man' Sam nodded, he looks at Steve-

Steve nods in agreement. ‘Surprising but’ he shrugs.

‘I don’t know what’s happening’ Bucky says, he looks like he’s been slapped, the look of bewilderment is still evident on his face.

‘We’ll all help you buck’

‘She’ll help you in more ways than one brother’ Sam laughs.

‘God I hope so,’ Bucky, for the first time in a long time, chuckles softly.

—

He clears his throat. It’s been a few days. He hears the shower stop. Maybe he should come back, but he knocks anyway. If he's honest , he's a little bit frightened of her, but he wants to see her. He hasn’t had any nightmares for a few days, for the first time in a longtime, he believes in gods now, he believes in her.

‘Who is it?’ He hears her clear voice ring out.

‘It’s me Bucky- uh... James.’

‘James!' her voice sounds girlsih, excited, 'Come in, it’s open!’

He smooths his hair back. He feels nervous.

He walks in and his mouth goes dry as he sees her she’s standing there in underwear drying her hair. Oh god, he wanted to see her and now he is, he doesn’t know what to do or where to look as he’s seeing a bit too much of her.

‘Oh lord.’ He says and tries to tear his eyes away but it doesn’t work, his eyes aren't listening to his brain.

‘I can come back’ his voice pitches up an octave.

She laughs at his shyness.

‘It���s alright. I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t seen before’

His jaw drops, it's doing that a lot lately. His eyes travel down her brown legs, and back up, over her flat belly. He is suddenly sweltering in his t shirt and jacket. Stop staring at her, he says to himself.

‘I.. uh... you said to... uh..’

‘Relax James,' she interrupts, 'sit down, you look a bit unwell still, your poor boy'

She gestured to the sofa and he sits and rubs his eyes.

He can feel his heart beating too loud, too fast. She comes and sits next to him, her face , worried. ‘You’re not feeling well?’

He clears his throat.

‘Can you maybe put some clothes on?’ He says trying to avert his eyes from all that skin.

‘Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you’ She looks crestfallen.

‘No, no... uh ... it’s not that, I just can’t... it’s very distracting’

Her clean smell is in his nostrils and he suddenly has the urge to touch her damp skin, she almost glistens, her skin has a sheen over it that glows. He exhales loudly.

‘Alright then.’ She gets up and he watches her walk off. He collapses back into the sofa and closes his eyes.

‘Get it together Bucky’ he says.

—-

She comes out and smiles. He exhaled. He feels overwhelmed. He’s not sure what to do. She's so .. odd. She comes close and sits at his feet. With her every movement he feels more nervous.

‘You’re alright there, you ok?’ she says , gazing up at him.

‘Y.. yeah, are you alright?' the smile she gives him melts his worries away. ‘Give me your hands’ Her hands rest on his knees. She’s gentle, he can’t look away from her, he stares at the bruises he’s made on her skin.

She moved to put her forearms on his knees. She makes everything seem so intimate, it makes his heart race. He stares at her lips and doesn’t even care. The cool metal chills her skin and his other hand is warm.

‘I'm here to help James, I can look inside you, I can take the programme out, you must know your friends care about you very much, they asked me to come and help you, you’re one of a kind, you know that?' she squeezes his hand, 'There is only one man like you ’ she whispers it like a prayer. He feels his eyes get wet. She sees the tear fall from his eye.

‘Beautiful boy, I’ll take care of you. Close your eyes’ her voice is quiet and soothes him, he’s insanely happy she calls him beautiful, no one has ever called him beautiful, handsome maybe, but never beautiful. He barely knows her but he wants to please her. She treats him like a treasure, he’s not used to it. He’s only ever been treated like an asset, a weapon.

He feels light behind his eyes and flinches as he feels memories flash in his subconscious.

He knows he’s making noise but he can’t open his eyes.

‘You’re ok James, I have you, I won’t let anything happen to you’ he relaxes at her words, he feels her, somehow, her presence in his mind, it feels calm and it feels like... an embrace. It lasts for what seems like forever and suddenly he opens his eyes and realises he’s been crying.

She still sits at his feet. She holds his human hand and her other hand is on his chest. When she meets his eyes she leans between his legs and hugs him. She feels his weight fall against her.

‘Are you alright?’ She says, pulling back.

His eyes are blurry from tears, he can’t answer her.

He’s never felt so vulnerable in his life.

She knows it and simply moves to hold him again.

Her smell calms him and her hands around him. She’s soft and he doesn’t want her to let go.

She knows and keeps hold of him.

‘I.. I don’t want to go’ he says, quiet, like an apology.

She knows he will feel wrecked. There’s so much that’s been done to him. So much horror, trauma. It breaks her heart . He’ll feel better in a few days but drawing the toxic program out hurts and it takes time. Ridding him of decades of programming, brainwashing, it still holds him, in the dark places in his mind. She feels the pain in him and it makes her want to wrap him up and hold him close, hold him until he felt safe and warm and loved. It brought tears to her eyes. He felt her arms squeeze him.

‘Come’ she stands up and has his hand,

‘Come lie down with me, will you? I’m tired’

She makes it sounds like she’s the one that wants it, and he appreciates her saving his pride a little. He nods, he sees tears in her eyes.

'are you ok?' he whispers. Somehow anything louder feels too harsh for her.

She nods, tugs his hand gently.

He follows her like a lamb, even though he towers over her. It would be awkward but she acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He feels fuzzy, he had the headache of his life.

‘Take this off’ she gestures at him as a whole and it makes him smile shyly, but he doesnt feel weird, she makes it easy. She slips out of her track pants but leaves her t shirt on. He does the same and she leads him to her bed. She lies down and as he lies down he feels like he’s in a dream. She turns on her side and snuggles into him, her arm across her chest, her fingers holding his t shirt.

‘I like you James’ she smiles to herself as she enjoys his warmth. ‘Hold me’ he hasn’t had this for so long. He breathes that smell in and it makes his eyes heavy. He reached over and holds her hand to his chest.

Bucky falls asleep and for the first time in years, has no nightmares, ever since she had laid hands on him, he’d had none.

——

he wakes up in the night, but not because he is having a bad dream. It’s like his subconscious wakes him up to enjoy the quiet.

He can feel her small soft body pressed into his, her leg has made its way between his, she also had taken off her t shirt and was in her bra. He smiled to himself.

God, it feels nice though. She’s glued to him like a limpet and he feels needed. It feels so different from anything he’s had for so long. She's warm and she's holding onto him, her fingers pressed into his skin, like a lover.

It makes him emotional. He’s never been in a bed with a woman he hasn’t slept with and it’s been literally decades. He doesn’t know what this is but it’s exactly what he wants, he trusts in this thing beyond himself . He feels like he’s in exactly the right place. In that moment, for him, them together was the only thing in the world.

‘James?’ He hears her wake, it’s dark, that time of night where you say things you wouldn’t say in the light of day.

‘Hmm’ is all he gets out.

‘You’re ok?’ She whispers, he feels her warm breath on his back.

‘I’m good, surprisingly.’

She pressed her cheek to the expanse of muscled flesh in front of her. He smells nice, he’s so very warm, she is like a happy cat, curled around him.

She curls her toes as she likes this man, she has felt his pain, and his heart. He deserves better from his life. There is something vulnerable in him, it makes her want to hold him, give him anything he wants, just to see him smile, to see him close his eyes, he moves her.

Bucky looks down at the arm across his chest, it’s still bruised. He strokes her skin softly with his thumb.

‘I’ve done terrible things, and so recently, look what I’ve done to you, I don't know if I'm worth all this'

She closes her eyes and slides her smooth legs over his as if she needed to feel more of his skin than she already was.

‘It was not you, you need to find yourself again. It’s helping isn’t it? I mean, I'm helping you?'

‘Y..yeah, it hurts my head but I feel better every time. No.. no nightmares, for the first time in... so long...I can’t remember not having nightmares. So.. thank you. For that. And this..’ he stroked her arm and she pressed her fingers into his chest.

‘James..’

‘You know You’re the only person has called me James in so many years, it’s odd to hear it after so long’

he touches her arm, it’s so nice to feel skin, something that makes him feel human.

‘Who did he have, when he was James?’

He was silent for a moment, thinking back. ‘My mother, my little sister..’ he stopped, tears in his eyes, ‘little Steve,’ he chuckled. ‘No one special, a few girlfriends I guess…I miss those days, I was so… carefree when I look back., I used to be fun, and had fun.’

‘Don’t be hard on yourself, you’re going to be alright, maybe get some girlfriends again, I'll be so jealous if you get a girlfriend, that handsome face is still so handsome' she giggles softly.

He is silent. He feels uncomfortable being complimented so much. She snuggles into his back, settles,

‘What you have had to deal with- it’s a lot,’ he feels her breath on his neck. ‘I know it. I’ve seen what’s happened to you. I see you’re still functioning, you're still a good man. And to be honest James, you’re like no one I've met before.’

‘Hey,’ he says. Trying to change the subject, his heart can't take it.

‘Yes?’

‘What is this? You and me? This - being together like this?’

‘I’m helping you heal,’

‘I know, but, you don’t think it’s weird being in bed like this? we barely know each other. Its weird, you have got to know that. Like do you have a boyfriend who is going to go crazy at me?’

She laughed.

‘A boyfriend!’ He felt her laughter through his back.

‘If I did it would probably be bad to be in a bed with you, white wolf’

‘Who told you that name? ’ Bucky said, surprised. ‘Ayo, she was the one who rang for my help. But no, I don’t have a 'boyfriend' .'

‘Good, I wouldn’t want anyone to walk in’ Bucky said too fast.

‘You could take him though if I did though I think’

That made Bucky laugh softly.

‘And you? Who are you in love with James? Is there a woman in your life? A man? Someone who has your heart?'

He stopped.

‘Er... no one. Ive never had that.. someone, I went to war and I never.. never had any time, ironically, only brief moments as I said. As I’ve been around so long now...but this- I just don’t know what this is, I don’t know .. Ive never had anything like this, I don’t know how to trust people anymore, just Steve, and Sam, most of the people here are afraid of what I am…this is weird for me.’ She heard how serious he was by his tone. It made her heart ache.

She squeezed him. ‘I hope you can trust me, I don’t want anything from you’

‘I wish you did.......’ he said it out loud, he realised and inhaled sharply, it made her pause for thought, she so badly wanted to kiss his warm skin. ‘You are like no one I’ve ever met, are we friends or am I just a charity case to you ? are you just here now to help me sleep or heal or what?’

‘What do you want?’ She whispers. He rolls over to see her eyes, they give nothing away, they are dark as night.

‘I don’t know, you're a goddess, it's a bit ... intimidating'

‘dont be silly, this body is mortal, I just have a few special skills, like you do. I want you to enjoy my company, as I enjoy yours, or if you want, there’s no pressure here , or if you are not comfortable like this, don’t stay, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want. I wanted you to feel... care, comfort, warmth, security, I want to give you that. That’s all. So if you’d be more comfortable in your own bed, of course go. But you’re in control here..you do what you want’

He swallowed and peeled her arm off his chest.

He turned around and faced her. ‘What do you want, seriously’ The sweetness of it was too much, the purity of her touch, to think that taking on a raging mess like him was worth it. She looked at him with .. what was it? Affection?

‘I want you to get your life back. I want you to be happy, I want to be see this face smile a little for a change'

God she was such a little thing, beautiful. She gave him a lazy smile. He reached out and she flinched when his metal fingers touched slid down her cheek. ‘Cold’ she said.

‘I want to...’ he voice was raspy, he swallowed. Her heart jumped in her mouth despite herself, she felt her insides go molten as his eyes dropped to her lips. What was he doing to her, she thought. This man.

He stopped. ‘I’m enjoying just being here with you, I do feel.. a sense of calm I haven’t had for a long time. I like this. Being here with you. I’ve felt... weird, like everything moved on except for me, but now I think I’m moving..’

She nodded, recovering from his blue eyed gaze.

‘I hope you are. Me too, 'She smiled. ‘You’re so lovely and warm for a winter soldier, it’s too comfortable’

He smirked at her and she crinkled her nose. He stared into her eyes and then became conscious of how long he was gazing at her. He coughed.

‘Does it hurt?’ He touched her arm with the worst bruises.

She nodded and looked to where he was looking . ‘Yes, but it’s nothing. You have endured far worse my darling’

He liked it when she called him affectionate names, it was something he hadn't heard for so, so long. She didn’t seem to make any differentiation from casual to intimate behaviour, she was so relaxed about it, he relaxed too. He just wanted to enjoy this, it was so intimate, but not sexual, but it seemed so normal, with no pressure or awkwardness.

She leaned forward to kiss his forehead, ‘now hold me’ she said. She shivered under that cold arm so he put it over the blanket and tried to be gentle as he brought her closer, tucking her head under his chin.

‘With you I can sleep’ he murmured. He didn’t even think about sex, well, not much, he just lapped up the touch, the skin contact, he hadn’t been touched with any care for so long. He closed his eyes. He was happy. And so was she.

[playedbetter]

Something in his gut twisted seeing her flinch like that. His first instinct was to shoot a glare at the person who put her in such a state ("Just let her be,") but it was himself that did it this time. There was a numb pang of pain in his heart, that he quickly chose to ignore.

He's gentle closing his right hand with hers in it, it's flesh (with budging veins of an unnatural color) under the rubber and steel of his suit, and he could vaguely feel her hands. It wasn't the same as touch, but a close imitation.

His heart skips a beat and his stomach drops, he knew exactly who she meant. Exactly how Necrosis had tormented her over the years.

The third arm from the back of his suit grabbed the staff to keep it from clattering to the ground as he reached for his mask, and with a click and hiss from it, took it off.

Under the steel mask Viktor was deathly pale with blue-ish purple veins visible, dark circles under his eyes which had taken on a purple-ish hue, and gaunt features. He looked about as well as he did in his final days spent with Doc and Ophelia. The only difference was a piece of tech that was above his left eyebrow, it helped control his suit. "Is this better?" He asked, his face unreadable despite its bareness.

He hesitated, then squeezed back. It wasn't quite the affection they used to share, but a close imitation.

Immediately he shook his head, absolutely not. Stopping his eyes settled back on her and they taken on a pleading look. "No, not a weapon. I'm looking for a partner, an equal. For as much as Doc would say I've fallen, I have not become him,"

Not to Ophelia at least.

@playedbetter I’m still inconsolable

[💜]— Any glimmer of hope was smothered under Viktor’s The Machine Herald’s affirmation. Ophelia should have known better, he was still wearing that mask after all. That stupid, stupid mask built of steel— cold and baren despite the amber glow that bore back.

Her nose crinkled into a scowl. She wanted to rip off and crumble that stupid mask.

And yet, as Ophelia watched his weight shift and lean against his staff (even if it was just for a moment), her face softened again. It was still Viktor, after all. Even coated in metal and steel, with a cadence so different than she remembered that drawled each word with such mechanical precision— she had to remind herself that the the gentle scientist that spoke so softly to her in the far frontier of space was still under there.

As he took a step closer and his hand outreached to her in his offer, Ophelia flinched— her nerves screwed tight and twisted (when was the last time she ever flinched like this?)

“Together?”

She’s torn and she’s cautious and she’s unsure as she bridged the gap between the two— but slowly, carefully— Ophelia held his outreached hand with both of hers. She squeezed it, ectoplasmic static twitching in her palms against his, the nerves on full display against The Machine Herald’s steeled facade.

“You sound like him.”

Necrosis

“You look like him with that mask, too. I hate it.”

She squeezed his hand again, this time the ectoplasmic static had eased down.

“We. What does that mean to you? Would I just be your toy— a weapon to wield to do good?”

[jj-5656]

Too Soon With; James Potter (ATJ)

A/N: Hello, again? I’m really surprised with myself. Two stories in two days, haven’t had that motivation since quarantine. I’ve been sick lately and couldn’t get this idea out of my mind. Was gonna make it short but one thing led to another and here we are. This is technically a sequel to my first James writing which you can read here, but it’s not entirely necessary. Anyways, please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoy, truly makes a huge difference. <3

Summary: The one where James is definitely not sick, and you make an acute slip up of words.

TW: None, this time around. :)

 “I’m here, what happened?” You practically burst into the marauders dormitory, knapsack half-zipped with textbooks and quills threatening to spill over. Remus sits atop the counter in shock, toast hanging from his mouth as he shrugs.

“The note, from, from the owl,” you attempt to catch your breath as you explain, “said there was an emergency.” Remus rolls his eyes, shooting a pointed look to Sirius who waltzes into the room, taking a moment to read your disheveled appearance. Guilt, and a hint of fear, overcomes his pleased expression at seeing you.

“Oh, sorry. That was me, we have a...Situation.” Sirius flinches as you approach him, having taken the newspaper from Remus’ hand to roll it up and whack the raven-haired boy on the head. 

“I-thought-one-of-you-were-hurt!” You accentuate every piece of the sentence with another whack of the newsletter. Handing it back to a very amused Remus. 

“Awe, love. You hear that Moons? She loves us, cares about us!” 

“And she’s about to castrate you, what on Earth is so emergent that I’ve run all the way from the library?” You push the misplaced strands of hair from your face with an exasperated sigh. 

“James is sick, some sort of respiratory thing I think, or maybe strep. Not entirely sure.” Remus explains. pulling your sack from your shoulder and organizing it’s contents. Holding up a crumpled pouch of cookies from the bottom with a disciplinary glare. You ignore his doting, despite the blush of your cheeks. 

“Alright, so he should go to the infirmary.” You note simply, albeit concerned for your boyfriend. 

“See, that’s the issue, love.” Sirius replies, exchanging a knowing look with Remus who shakes his head. You look between them, utterly confused until said boyfriend shuffles into the dorm, looking positively miserable. 

There’s a frightening, completely out of character hunch to James’ shoulders. He enters the dormitory with a hoarse cough and small sniffle. A tuft of spare tissues peeking from his robes’ pocket. He looks up and beams at the sight of you, watery eyes, red nose and all. Absolutely pleased with your presence. “Hey, dove. What are you doing here? I thought you were doing homework with Lill’s?” He sets his things down with another cough, head quirking in confusion when you clutch your necklace, brows taught with concern. 

“Oh, James.” You mutter, walking toward him to hold his head in your hands, a short intake of breath when the skin of his cheeks is scolding to the touch. 

“What’s gotten into you?” He laughs, though a little hesitant as he takes your wrists in his hold, a flash of hurt slashing his kind smile when you dodge his kiss in greeting. 

“You can’t. You’re ill, James.” The taller boy laughs, shaking his head with a relieved sigh. 

“Dove, of course I’m not ill. Just a bit of allergies, that’s all.” You turn to look at Remus and Sirius, who echo a chorus of melodramatic groans. A clear sign they’re familiar with the boy’s stubborn denial. “I swear it! Look, look at this!” His hands slither to your underarms, lifting you into the air a couple times and gently setting you down. “Lads, this body is an absolute temple, quidditch season is about to commence and I’m in the best shape possible.” This time, you all groan, having to force your eyes to not completely swivel to the back of your skull at his blinding ego. 

“James, you spent the entirety of last night coughing. You barely slept.” Remus chimes in, running a clean dish towel under cool water and passing it to you. James grabs your wrist once more, cringing away from your attempt to place it on his forehead. 

“Alright, if you’re such a beacon of health, you wouldn’t mind taking a quick trip to the infirmary? This way we can all be sure?” Sirius holds back a grin at his own words. James falters, squirming past you and into the kitchen, grabbing an apple from the bowl from the counter on his way and taking a large bite. Superstitions heavy on his mind as he vehemently shakes his head. 

“Absolutely not, no infirmary.” 

You cross your arms, wry smile overcoming your features. “I didn’t know you were afraid of doctors, Potter.” 

“Am not!” James refuses again, pouting through a mouthful of apple. 

“And so it begins.” Sirius hops over the back of the couch so that he can lay down, arm draping over his eyes in exhaustion.

*******

“Just let me hold you, I’m dying.” James whines, grabbing at air. He’s an absolute mess, feverish and sweaty with juxtaposing chills. You’ve given him some of Remus’ healing potions, but they only relieve the symptoms temporarily. And, like most medicines, can only be taken in dosages. 

“I’m sorry, love. You know I can’t.” It takes everything in you to ignore his requests, heart aching at his suffering. He groans, rolling over and coughing in the mess that is his sheets. 

Sirius forces a gag, looking for support from Remus who only ignores his immaturity. “I almost miss when they hated each other, Rem. I mean seriously. He’s so lovesick it’s actually unbearable.” 

“Eat-” James falls into a coughing fit, taking a deep breath before croaking out “slugs.” 

“What was that, mate? Couldn’t hear you over the hacking up a lung.” 

“Sirius, not helping.” You scold, waving the teasing boy away. “We have to compromise, James. If you won’t go to the infirmary then you’re on bed rest.” You chide, offering a soft smile when he begins to soften his hazel eyes in hopes you might give in. 

“I’ll be behind in all my classes!” He tries, attempting to rise from his sheets. 

“Exactly why we’ll all be taking notes for you. Make-up homework and all.” Remus adds, waving his quill in hand for emphasis. James settles as you run your hand over his shoulders, frame tense from all the coughing and shivering. 

“And don’t worry, Prongs,” Sirius starts, mischief prevalent in his tone. “Y/n and I will get the group project in transfigurations started. I think we’ll make a pretty good pair in your absence.” He throws an arm over your shoulder, boisterous laugh echoing throughout the bedroom once James lunges, his smug friend shooting him a suggestive wink. You’re in front of him immediately, hands at his chest to cease his attack, rolling your eyes when Sirius jumps behind Remus to hide. 

“He’s only teasing, James. Relax.”

“Not fair! This isn’t fair.” He’s a six foot something child, weak charges finally settling when you press a kiss to each one of his cheeks and then his forehead. He goes for your lips, biting his own when you shake your head. throwing himself onto the mattress in a melodramatic, slightly dazed, tantrum.

“Just leave me, the lot of you.” 

“We’ll be back soon Prongs, promise.” Theres only a defeated grunt muffled by a pillow in response, the three of you slinking out of the dormitory as quietly as possible. You’re the last one headed out the door, prepared to lock it behind you when something catches your eye. Potter leans against the doorway with a deep frown, pitifully clutching a throw blanket around him as he watches you leave. You’re pretty sure your heart breaks in two, because in a second you’re dropping your bags and fitting yourself into his heavy arms. 

“I’m sorry you can’t come, love. We really won’t be long.”

“You’ll update me on everything that happens?”

“Definitely.”

“Even if it’s something small, like Pads spilling his ink or Mcgonagall calling on him when he clearly isn’t paying attention?”

“I promise, Potter. Now please, get some rest. There’s a kettle on the stove if you want any tea later on. And I’ll bring up some broth for you when I come back.” You run a thumb over one of his unkempt brows, tussled from sleep. He takes your hand in his, kissing it’s palm. A deep sigh escaping his lips when you hear the boys calling for you in the distance. You turn to leave, throat tightening at how miserable he looks before halting. His hand tugging on your robes to pull you into his chest. He presses a soft kiss to your neck, long enough to have you melting in his hold. Of course, he’s absolutely aware of what he’s doing. Convincing, but not enough to make you miss any classes.  

“Thank you, so much. For taking care of me. I know I’ve given you a hard time.” He pulls away, running a thumb over your lips as he cradles your jaw, full of sincerity.

“James, you don’t ever have to feel like you need to earn my love.” His brows raise, teasing evident in his expression as you flush. You’ve used the word much too early. And it’s your cue to press a quick peck to his jaw and hurry out the door without another word. 

*********

“So, you really said it?” Sirius nudges your foot as he whispers, finding way too much amusement in your horror. 

“This is why I shouldn’t confide in you, Pads.” You mutter through clenched teeth, the pair of you smiling at a scornful Mcgonagall, quick to look busy for the configurations professor. 

“What did he say?” 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I sort of, rushed out the door before he could reply.” You slink into your seat, wanting to hide underneath your robes as Sirius beams. 

“Brilliant.”

“Brilliant? Siri, I’m an idiot!” You’re bewildered at his ecstatic nature, forcing a hushed tone despite your passion. 

“In case you haven’t notice, my love, Prongs is head over heels. Your accidental confession will have him up and at it in no time. With quidditch practices approaching, Gryffindor needs him at his best.” Your jaw drops, astonished with the boy you dare to call your good friend. 

“You can’t seriously be thinking about quidditch right now.”

“I would hope not,” your sharp-faced professor interrupts, tapping the beginnings of a group project in front of you with her wand, “seeing as there’s an assignment that needs to be worked on.”

“Sorry, Professor.” You and Sirius chide weakly, putting your heads down as she continues down the rows of desks. 

**********

“Honey, we’re home!” Sirius shouts as you enter the dormitory, Remus setting the broth saved from lunch hour on the counter. James exits the bedroom, hair tussled with sleep, but an undeniable grin on his face. He yawns, stretching so tall the hem of his shirt exposes the skin of his stomach. You take a moment to admire the revealed muscle, head ripping away when you see you’ve been caught. 

“Looks like you got some much needed rest.” Remus points out, gathering your shared notes from the day’s classes in one binder. 

“I did,” James starts, hazel eyes trailing over to you with a wry smirk “had a good dream, I guess.” Seems only you pick up on his suggestive tone, as the two other boys snap their heads at you when you choke on your own saliva. 

“Hope you’re not catching what he has, love.” Remus feels your forehead, lips taught in confusion when you feel completely fine.

 “Poor thing does look a little flushed, doesn’t she?” James adds, maneuvering his head to try and meet your eyes. Sheepish expression driving him mad with adoration. 

“Fine, thanks.” Is all you say, surveying the room for nothing in particular before letting out a contented sigh. “Alright, well if you’re feeling better I should probably head over to the library. I gave Lily a raincheck last time, considering I had to leave so unexpectedly.” You throw a look to Sirius, voice drawn in accusation. He ignores this, looking between you and very self-satisfied James inquisitively, sure he’s missed something in this conversation. 

“Leaving so soon, love? Thought you’d stay with me for a bit longer.” Potter sniffles, but you’re sure it’s not as sincere as the symptoms from before. Cheeky bastard. 

“I’ve overstayed my welcome long enough. Lilly will be waiting, anyway.”

“You’re never a bother, you know that,” Remus glares, almost offended at the notion. “Besides, we have potions homework you said you needed help with.”

“Right, so you should definitely meet us there! See you all later.” And with that, you’re out the door as quick as you came. 

*********

“Merlin, and what did he say back?”

“Nothing, Lills’. I rushed out straight away.” The red-head hums, tapping the feather of her quill to her chin in contemplation. 

“It’s fine, y/n. Potter is totally smitten over you.” Marlene reassures, finishing a potions problem with a satisfied breath. 

“That’s what Sirius said.”

“So, what’s the issue then?”

“It’s still too soon, Lilly. He’s going to think I’m crazy. I’ll scare him off. Besides, I’m not even sure I’m ready to be at that stage with him. This just confuses things.” You frown, brows drawn with stress as the girls nod knowingly. Despite the reassurance of your friends, it’s no doubt this situation complicates things. 

Yet another owl swoops above you, dropping a letter into your lap and landing in the empty chair beside you. Cooing as you run the hook of your finger over the feathers of it’s chest. 

“Oh great, not again.” Lilly jokes, having to muffle her own laugh when a Ravenclaw across the room glares at the lot of your hushed whispers. 

You’re halfway through opening it’s contents before stopping, quirking your head at a beaming Marlene. 

“What has you so smiley?”

“That isn’t Sirius’ owl.” She grins further, looking down and continuing her work instead of elaborating. You chew your bottom lip in thought, finishing with the envelope and gasping as it flutters into the air. In a whimsical, absolutely mortifying display. A mixture of red and pink paper hearts erupt into the air. Fluttering around you and then dissipating. You cover your face with the sleeves of your robes, absolutely flushed. Despite your mortification at the public display of affection, something Potter is well aware you’re not too keen of, your heart flutters. 

Around you, practically every one of your peers swoons. Well aware the charmed love letter is coming from the infamous Gryffindor chaser. All except, of course, the dignified Ravenclaw, who gathers his books in an aggravated stupor and heads to a different section of the library.

“How lovely!” Lily clasps her hands together in pure joy as Marlene beside her, blowing on the remnants of ashes from the over the top display. 

“I’m going to kill him.” Is all you manage, finally looking down at the familiar calligraphy to read it’s contents. 

“If you’re completely flushed, curling in on yourself after opening this, I believe I’ve done my job. Thank you again, for taking care of me. I could live a million lifetimes and not deserve your heart. Love always, James.”

[steddiealltheway]

Steve comes back to his and Robin’s apartment to the smell of… burning hair? He only knows this from the time when Robin would straighten her hair on a daily basis trying to impress Nancy (and she did).

But she’s stopped ever since they started dating (after Nancy said she liked her no matter what state her hair was in). So as Steve rounds the corner to the bathroom, he isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but it certainly isn’t long, black hair straightened immaculately.

Steve’s heart thuds a bit at the stranger in his home clad in a tight black dress facing away from him, but then Robin’s head peaks around the person and calls out, “Hey, Steve. Didn’t realize you’d be home so early.” She waves at him with what looks to be eyeliner in her hand. The stranger noticeably tenses up.

Steve swallows heavily, gaze desperately trying not to fall down to check out the girl’s ass while Robin is looking. “Dustin wanted some alone time with Susie so…” he trails off.

“Quit flinching,” Robin says to the woman, and really who is she?

“So, Robin,” Steve says awkwardly, “Who’s this?”

Robin peaks around the tall girl - and really she’s very tall, probably Steve’s height - with her eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched up as if Steve is being an idiot. Steve shoots her a look of how am I supposed to know? And Robin has the nerve to roll her eyes.

“Turn around,” Robin says to the girl as if that will explain things.

She hesitates and slowly rotates around.

Steve’s jaw drops - he can’t help it. She’s absolutely gorgeous with dark brown eyes, long lashes, pale skin, and full lips. Robin did such a wonderful job accentuating her features with the heavy makeup she’s applied.

Steve has the nagging thought that she looks so… familiar.

There’s a rustling noise that Steve assumes is Robin digging through her makeup bag, but he’s too busy eyeing this girl up. “Shit, I forgot my blush. I’ll be right back.” Robin shoots past them.

Steve can’t help but send all his gratitude to Robin for leaving him alone with one of her girl friends for once. Time to lay on the Harrington charm.

“I must say, I’m not sure why she’s grabbing blush when you already have such lovely red cheeks,” Steve flirts. Not his best line, but it has the effect of deepening the flush.

The girl opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly speechless. Steve take a bold step forward, cornering the stranger against the bathroom sink. “Now, how come I’ve never seen you around here before? I’d certainly recognize such a beautiful face.”

For some reason, this has the girl giving him the most absurd look, similar to Robin’s as if he’s an idiot missing something obvious. Steve’s eyes flicker down to her red lips. “How mad would Robin be if I messed up your lipstick?” Steve questions. He knows it’s super forward, but he just feels such a strong pull to this stranger.

He continues flicking his eyes between her lips and eyes, experiencing an almost strange sense of deja vu. “Steve…” she says in a deep voice that sounds strangely like Eddie’s.

Eddie.

Steve’s eyes widen while flickering all over her his features. He takes in the Adam’s apple for the first time as Eddie swallows deeply. And holy shit. Oh no.

“Hey, Eddie, I found my blush! It was…” Robin trails off looking between the two. “What the hell happened here?”

Steve and Eddie make eye contact and Eddie beats him to a response. “Dear Steve was just fixing my lipstick. Isn’t that right?”

Steve huffs and nods his head maybe a little too intensely.

Robin eyes them suspiciously before saying, “I doubt unsymmetrical lipstick will mess up my art project too badly, but I appreciate it.”

Oh. The art project Robin has been talking about for weeks exploring the masculine and feminine sides of different people. And boy, Steve sure did try to explore Eddie’s feminine side.

He leaves the pair alone, trying not to have a full on crisis about Eddie being a hot girl.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Unfortunately, those thoughts about Eddie don’t stop. Once Eddie had removed the makeup, Steve tried to rationalize that with his hair straight Eddie still looked… girly.

But then Eddie’s over the next day and Steve cannot stop staring at his lips… and his ass, which had looked so great in a dress - and even currently in jeans.

The day after that, Steve can barely form a coherent sentence when speaking to Eddie because he’s getting so lost in his eyes. Apparently they’re just as beautiful without the mascara and eyeliner.

Robin finally notices something is up when Steve dumbly reaches out and tugs at one of Eddie’s curls and states, “I liked the straight hair, but I think you look even better with the curls.”

When Eddie flushes and races to the bathroom, Robin asks, “What the hell was that?”

“What was what?”

Robin narrows her eyes at Steve. “That was a classic Harrington line. I didn’t suffer through your scoops ahoy failures and pick up nothing.”

Steve shrugs and glances down the hall where the bathroom is. As the toilet flushes Steve whispers, “Eddie was just really beautiful in drag, you know?”

Robin gapes at him and asks, “How so?”

Steve elaborates, “I mean. He has the prettiest doe eyes. And his lips are just pretty. Plus, I thought it was really cool how he was the same height as me so it was easy to maintain eye contact and probably kiss him. And he just… has such a wonderful smile and laugh. With the cutest sense of humor. Just overall, really a beautiful girl.”

Robin stares at him for a few moments. “Steve. Those are literally all his qualities outside of drag.”

Eddie chooses this moment to leave the bathroom and make his way down the hall in the middle of Steve’s crisis. He looks between the two and asks, “What did I miss?”

“Congratulations, Eddie. I think you sent Steve into a sexuality crisis,” Robin announces and her eyes immediately widen. “That’s a joke,” she clarifies but not convincingly enough for even a child to believe.

Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. This cannot be happening. He hears some type of hushed conversation occur between Robin and Eddie and then light footsteps down the hall. Steve looks up to find only Eddie in the room.

“Eddie…” Steve starts to say unsure of what he really wants to say.

“What if….” Eddie stop abruptly, “No, it’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

Eddie looks at Steve and makes his way over to sit directly next to him on the couch. “I know you wanted to ‘mess up my lipstick’ when you assumed I was a girl-”

“Oh god. Please don’t remind me.”

“But,” Eddie continues, “Do you want to still mess up my theoretical lipstick right now when I don’t look like a girl?”

Steve stares at Eddie, noticing how close he is to him. His eyes flicker down to his lips and back to his eyes. “Yes,” Steve discovers.

Eddie nods and continues nodding, seemingly unsure what else to do.

Steve shakes his head. “But that doesn’t make sense because I still like girls. At least, I think I do. I mean, that’s why I liked you. Or, I think it is?”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, searching his face as if the answers are right there in front of him. “Steve, you know you can like both, right?”

Steve stares at Eddie because no he didn’t not know that. And oh shit. That makes so much damn sense.

His mind flashes back to all the times he had looked at other boys and found them attractive, rationalizing that their full lips and pretty smiles just reminded him of the girls he also liked. And the way they laughed at his jokes gave him butterflies because he thought he would be able to make a girl laugh like that…

Steve has got to work on his reasoning skills.

“If you don’t know, you could always…” Eddie trails off as Steve is snapped back into the moment.

“Mess up your theoretical lipstick?” Steve supplies.

Eddie nods.

“What if I just want to kiss you? No lipstick involved?” Steve asks and watches that beautiful flush spread over Eddie’s cheeks, making his heart flutter in his chest.

“I would ask what’s holding you back.”

Steve smiles and kisses Eddie. And yeah. He definitely likes boys, particularly Eddie Munson, even when he isn’t in drag.

[uravichii]

Can I request horror movies with kiri, midoriya, bakugo, and shinso? o(^-^ o )

horror movies ~

characters: kirishima eijirou, midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, shinsou hitoshi

genre: fluff, crack

warnings: swearing

notes: disclaimer ー i didn't have actual references to horror movies here bc i always either fall asleep during them or i just,, forget the plot completely after watching :')

- kirishima eijirou -

you would honestly forget that you two were supposed to be watching a movie that should scare the shit out of you

bc anything you do with eijirou is just

🌼🌞💘 yes 🥰🌸🌟

he's already holding you in his arms before the movie even starts, and when the it starts to flash, "based on real events," he'd jokingly shoot you an "uh oh 🤭" look.

but he still pulls you closer to him to protect you.

he'd definitely get really sad and teary-eyed when a dog gets killed in the first 10 minutes of the movie

i've seen that happen a lot :(

i don't think eijirou would be that scaredー the most reactions you'll get from him are just little flinches which you'd both laugh at afterwards.

he's not even following the plot anymore, he just focuses on you instead.

the way you grab his arm so you could hide your face when you anticipate a jumpscare just,, melts him.

you'd be all frightened from the movie, and eijirou's just thinking, "my s/o is so adorable, i love them 🥰"

there was a time though where a jumpscare actually worked on him,

he was telling you about how that angry-looking creature with red eyes from the movie was bakugo's long lost twin, and he just screams mid-sentence

but he's still guarding you even in fear, shielding you with his arms whilst shrieking from the horrifying bakugo-lookalike 😔

if you actually get too scared that you can't get yourself to look at the screen anymore, eijirou will immediately pause the movie to tend to you.

he'll cup your cheeks so you could face him instead. he'll wait patiently with a comforting smile, stroking your hair and whispering, "we're okay, i'm here!" until you're ready to watch again.

if you decide that you're done with the movie after all, whether it's because it's too scary for you or the plot's just trash,,

eijirou will turn the tv off with no hesitation.

he wasn't even listening anywayヽ(ˇヘˇ)ノ

he now just wants to cuddle you so get ready 😌

- midoriya izuku -

[hello @escapenightmare 🤩]

i am so sorry

izuku would keep blabbering during the movie

he picked out the horror movie for you two and did a whole lot of research beforehand

so he just kept telling you details about the movie and its behind the scenes, that he accidentally spoils you in the process

"that woman wasn't actually killed by the little kid like what happens later in the movie, she actually survived everything and only died in her sleep years afterー"

"whAT ? 😃✋"

and it takes him a whole minute to realize he'd just spoiled you, and you're only 10 minutes into the movie.

he frantically apologizes to you, bowing his head to you nonstop as he searches for another horror movie to watch

but you assure him that everything's fine! and you carry on with the movie

but he does start talking less

you'd squeeze his arm softly when you start to feel a spoiler coming in the middle of his blabbers, and he just whispers a little "ah- sorry!" in response.

the jumpscares would work on izuku a lot, and he just holds onto you everytime.

he'd feel all shy and apologetic the first few times he clung onto you, but after 3 more jumpscares, he just doesn't let go anymore

and do you mind? absolutely not 😌 you're wrapped in each other's arms and legs, practically cuddling already! if you disregard the occasional screaming from both of you

he gets all blushy when you hide in each other's necks at the same time and simply overlooks the fact that his ears were ringing when you squealed very loudly right into his ear 🥰

he felt really bad when he did the same to you later though

after the movie ends, you just stay in each other's hold, discussing your own reviews of the movie. he'd get carried away with his, that you just let yourself fall asleep against beside him.

and after staring at you with heart eyes and flushed cheeks for a good 5 minutes, he tucks you in his blanket, planting a kiss on your forehead before stirring closer to you, your laughter and squeals still echoing in his mind as he too settles into slumber 😴

- bakugo katsuki -

katsuki's also pretty noisy while watching 🧍‍♀️

he just insults the movie the whole time

"oi, y/n. what is this low-budget shit you're making me watch? the fuckー why can't she just stand up? she's fucking hopeless, and those shitty effects-"

"katsuki, baby, if you would just shut up for a second and let me watch the movie, i'd really appreciate it, thank you ☺"

he also tries to predict all the jumpscares and says "told you" everytime he's correct

and it's just taking everything in you not to get up from the couch and get sero to tape katsuki's mouth shut 😔

he eventually stays quiet though when he sees how immersed you are into the movie.

he'll act irritated when you cling onto him when you get scared, but he starts to pullbyou closer everytime.

you started the movie sat on the couch with a modest space between you and katsuki, and halfway through, you have katsuki just completely embracing you.

when you get scared and curl up in his hold, he'll call you weak while he's pressing the back of your head closer to his chest, securing you in his arms.

he's glad the "shitty" horror movie's taking effect on you, otherwise you'd be seeing the blush spreading across his cheeks, even reaching his ears.

he wonders though if you can feel his racing heartbeat against your cheek whenever you hide your face in his chest.

when the movie's over and you start to ask him what he thinks of it, he's just 🤨❓

"didn't you find that plot twist really cool? she was alive this whole time ?"

"hAh?"

man does not remember a single thing

he got confused over two separate (and completely different) characters and thought insisted they were only one.

^ that bullet above was definitely not based on personal experience

"katsuki, i know they're both blonde and female, bUT THEY ARE DIFFERENT. CHARACTERS."

did he think the movie was so bad that he just chose to forget everything right after watching it?

or was he too flustered from you that he couldn't focus on anything else? we'll never know 😌

it's the latter.

- shinsou hitoshi -

you would think that a movie night with hitoshi would be the calmest one out of these four but,,

you jokingly challenge him to find you the scariest horror movie he knows of, and i firmly believe hitoshi is an avid fan of horror movies.

needless to say, he understood the assignment.

he chooses a movie that has a number of jumpscares in it.

the first time you flinch from one, he'll ask you a little "... you okay there?"

but the jumpscares just kept working on you without fail, and after five more in a row, hitoshi goes from genuinely asking if you were okay to just,, mocking you

he'd discreetly glance at your face from the side every now and then because your reactions are just so amusing to him.

but you completely catch him off guard when he starts to feel you clinging onto his arm because you started to feel uneasy from the thriller movie

he stays calm, but he goes completely stiff 🗿

like, he was sure you'd be scared, but he didn't expect you to ,,, seek protection from him :0

and he's gets so nervous that the jumpscare actually works on him for the first time

"jesusー " he jolts. "... y/n, you okay?"

you dismiss your own startlement, and you let out a soft chuckle from the way hitoshi literally clutched his chest when he got scared.

you wanted to tease him back, but only a loud shriek comes out before the words, and you grasp for his arm again.

and hitoshi doesn't mind at all, moreover, he LOVES it!

you sought protection, and he shall provide 🙇‍♂️

he starts letting you hold on to his whole torso instead of just his arm, and his hand's always ready to cover your eyes when he anticipates a gory scene

and by the end of the movie, you're just completely wrapped up in limbs, and you probably saw more of hitoshi's hand drawing closer to your eyes than the gory scenes itself.

even if it's from such a trivial thing like a horror movie, hitoshi's completely overjoyed that you depend on him, and from the feeling of being able to protect you

so, for your next movie night/s, he'll pick out movies with even more jumpscares

bc this man knows what he's doing 🥸

[wrathfulpup]

thornforged​:

[She took the extra cigarette and put it behind her ear for now. The cigarette she had got tucked into a mouth corner. The thing about her offer is that she had to slag one of the rings she already had. Titanium that had tiny red garnet in it. She popped the garnet (the part holding a little extra emergency energy in it), pocketed that, and tossed the ring into her mouth.

While her mouth an throat was busy turning bright colors from building heat, like a flashlight through flesh leaving shadows of the bones involved, she got hold of his hand to take a look at his first finger. Feeling out the measurements with a couple of her own fingers circled around the base of it. By the time she did that, the color of her throat and mouth had gone blue. Titanium needed a lot of heat. Made some of the air around her head get wavy.

So hot that the metal came out of her mouth dry onto her waiting palm cherry red. Smoke billowed out of mouth as she worked the metal between fingers. Exhaling and letting the heat dissipate as she worked. Her fingers easily gave it basic shape, but some subtle magic really did the find tuning of the form. That part was a bit thoughtless for her. Just part of the process. Took more of nail edges and concentration on magic to put the tinnnny little etchings into the metal’s outer surface. Added a small amount of Celtic flair in the form of knotwork to hide the etchings in.

Bonus, she could trap a bit of the heat used to make it into the spell that would make it useable! Easy peasy.

What she did to it, made it cool down abnormally quickly without damaging the metal itself. When she gave it to him, it might feel like it’d been left out in sun for about an hour–but it would cool off the rest of the way in time.] Should put a small disc of heat in front of the pad of your finger without burning you.

Well, at least I’ll have plenty of fond memories to look back on once I’m tied to a throne. Good fights, good nights, and plenty of seen sights to keep my heart warm by then. I’m sure it’ll be enough to keep me soothed when the time comes.

[ He would watch her with rapt attention--but absolutely try to play it off because he was Cool, which meant he had to feign some disinterest, obviously--though his eyebrows would rise as she popped her ring into her mouth and then further shoot up as she began to all but glow. Wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to happen, but it wasn’t that.

Flinched as he was grabbed, arm tensing up and, for a brief moment before he realised what she was doing, his lip would curl into a slight snarl. His features would smooth over quickly enough, although the tenseness on his arm would linger, until she let go.

It was interesting to watch her work, but her abilities themselves were far more interesting to him. Miles had seen a lot of different demonstrations of powers in his time, but this particular show was all very new to him. And, despite himself, he would lean in to watch her fiddled and moulded the metal. With the slightest hesitance, he would reach to tap a finger against the ring, testing the heat of it before plucking it from her hand to inspect it. ]

Not bad... [ Would slip it on and admire it on his hand for a moment before shifting his attention back to her with an approving nod. ] Cheers.

Ya better hope it’s good enough. Can see someone turnin’ real bitter, real quick, bein’ stuck like that.

[kiribaku-queen]

Hiii congratulation for 1000 followers! U deserve it! So i was thinking of bakugou!prohero a reader where he's always busy and always hv this photoshoot with these hot models or hot pro hero that made reader feel left out. And the last straw was when a newly magazine publish of him kissing other girls cheek (or mouth) (u do u;)) and thats when they had a bad fight that caused reader to run away. I would like it to be heavy angst with a happy ending. I love angst but after a heavy angst i like a happy ending to soothe my heart 😂 if u do choose this, gudluck!

Blinded by the Fame

Angst

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: Thank you so so much for this request! I was actually so excited to do this piece because I already had an idea I wanted to use and this scenario was PERFECTO~! So painful yet so good!

Thank you for the congratulations and I hope this request met your needs! Please let me know your thoughts!

Who said dating an upcoming hero was going to be easy? It certainly wasn’t easy, not in the slightest. You definitely had hard days. There were times when it got so difficult that you wanted to quit. But was loving the hero worth it and fulfilling? Absolutely.

Bakugou Katsuki was the love of your life. Relationships were never easy. Couples always have obstacles and challenges they have to overcome. Even when you were in tears, screaming at each other at the top of your lungs, even if you gave each other the cold shoulder the entire week, nothing could replace the warmth that was Bakugou’s arms. You would never much refuse his touch every tine, but that wouldn’t stop Bakugou from having you in his arms every night, whispering sweet nothings in your ears despite all the things he said prior. And you would forgive him. Of course you would. How could you not?

But being with a rising hero came with bearing a lot of burden that you had to keep to yourself. You didn’t like how he was working all the time. You didn’t like how he came home bruised up, sometimes not even going to the hospital if it means not being able to see you for the night. You couldn’t bare seeing him like that. But that was part of his job and that was never going to change. So no matter how much you absolutely hated the sight, you let him do his hero work because that was what he loved to do. You couldn’t interfere with his dreams of becoming the number one hero.

But the thing that itched you the most was when Bakugou was forced to promotional shoots to get his name out there. The memory of when he first started made you laugh. Being the Bakugou that he was, he flat-out refused to do it. He didn’t like getting his picture taken. He’ll dress up once in a while, and when he does it’s real clean, but he wasn’t a fan of constantly dressing up. But when he finally let go and tried it once, he saw how much fan votes and popularity he was getting and eventually, would do more here and there.

And you didn’t mind if the shoots were by himself, but most of the time, they were with other pro-heroes or very attractive models. And that you feel insecure. How could it not? Your boyfriend getting close to other women while you looked nothing like these women? You didn’t have the body, the face, the money, or the fame these women brought to the table. You would never admit it, but you hated when other women were in the picture. And you hated when one of the women would be touching him. It left a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. You were so sure that he was going to leave you for one of them. But he proved his love by dropping down on one knee with the most gorgeous ring.

“Come with me to the shoot,” Bakugou proposed but you hesitated.

“I can just meet you at the restaurant,” you decided. The mention of being on set for one of his photoshoots seemed like a bad idea.

“I want to go together. It won’t even take long. One hour tops,” he swore and brought you by the waist, your body flushed against him. He takes your face in his hands and gently puts your foreheads together.

“I know you’ve been wanting to go to this restaurant forever. Let’s go together,” he whispers and you couldn’t help but fall for that voice over and over again.

“Okay,” you whispered back. He smiles at you, places a small kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before taking your hand to lead you to the car.

The set of the shoot was intimidating. People were running around everywhere, cameras were set in all positions, lights were blinding and hot, the space just looked so busy. And you felt like you didn’t belong. But Bakugou was so used to this kind of scene. He leads you to where the photographer and the director were talking.

“Ah, Pro-Hero Dynamite, you made it!” the director greeted your boyfriend. “Your stylist is in the next room. Go ahead and get changed and we’ll get started.” Bakugou nodded and turned to you.

“I’ll be right back,” Bakugou said and kissed you on the forehead. You watched as your boyfriend disappeared in the sea of people and then you were left all alone.

This was fine. You would just wait in the back patiently for him to be done. And then you two could enjoy a nice evening out at that fancy restaurant you’ve always been wanting to try. Just relax. You closed your eyes and took deep, but slow breaths. There was nothing to get worked up over. Afterall, it looked like Bakugou was doing this shoot by himself.

But you spoke too soon. Bakugou had appeared from the dressing room, looking all dashing and handsome. You felt your heart skip again. He was wearing a red shirt that was unbuttoned to the third button, exposing his broad and muscular chest. Over, he wore a black jacket with leather gloves and pants. His hair was styled slightly back, forehead showing. He was mesmerizing to look at. But shortly after his appearance, two women walked out behind him. Two gorgeous, fit, and slim women who wore skin tight, elegant dresses were doing the shoot with him. And for some reason, your heart began to hurt. The pang in your heart was constant that you had to beat at your chest to calm yourself down.

They were beautiful. And you had recognized one of the women: Pro-hero Miruko. You knew their history together. Bakugou had worked under Miruko during his school days and eventually worked along side with her after he graduated. You knew she was a flirt. She flirted with everybody. And that was fine, until she got alittle too touchy with your boyfriend. And that bothered you. But Bakugou was so used to her behavior that he didn’t even notice.

You couldn’t say anything. They are old time friends and co-workers. What? Are you supposed to say that he can’t be friends with her anymore just because you didn’t like it? And then you would look like the possessive girlfriend? You were fine with him being friends with other women, but they did make you nervous. Nervous because all the women he’s surrounded by are so unbelievably good looking, it put you to shame. Why would he want to be with you when he could have all these women to choose from?

But you tried to shake these negative thoughts away and playfully tugged at the ring on your ringer. There was a reason why he chose you. There was a reason why he gave you this ring. You shouldn’t think this way. But you couldn’t help it. You tried not to let it bother you, but in the end, it did. It really did. It bothered you so much that you couldn’t stop fidgeting.

You watched at Bakugou sat on the couch with both women on each side of him. His arms were lounging on the back of the couch while one girl sat next to him and Miruko stood behind him. Looking at his facial expressions, he didn’t seem interested in any of the girls. Which is a good sign?

And so the shoot started. Nothing else could be heard besides music playing in the background and the loud click of the camera. Everyone else was watching the shoot take place. Everything looked okay so far. Their outfits were scandalous but nothing scandalous was happening. The only directions the models were given was to look sexily at the camera. Bakugou delivered that perfectly with his go-to signature look. But now the photographer wanted more.

“Can the two women get a little closer, please?” the photographer asked and put his camera up to his face once more. The girls did what they were told and Bakugou didn’t even flinch. But you were growing nervous. There was more skin happening, more touching and it was making you uncomfortable. You gasped when you saw Miruko grab Bakugou by his chin to lift to towards her direction. Then she leans in, her lips ghosting over his ever so slightly, like they were about to kiss. Tears were spilling out and your cheeks heated up in anger until you finally exploded.

“Stop!” you yelled, stopping all production. Heads from all around turned to you. Mirko looked at you shocked and Bakugou was wide eyed with curiosity and concern. You gripped the handle of the purse that was slung around your shoulder, feeling anxious now that everyone was looking at you.

“Sorry, give me one moment,” Bakugou apologized to the staff. He got up, rushing towards you. He takes your hand and brings you in the dressing room. The door slammed shut and Bakugou turns to you in a huff.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed. With tears streaming down your face, you were shocked by his reaction. But you were going to stand your ground.

“I don’t like how she was touching you,” you say.

“It’s my job,” he sighs in exasperation.

“Well she should learn her boundaries, whether it’s a job or not. And if you respected me at all, you would tell her no,” you stated firmly. But all Bakugou did was roll his eyes.

“You’re overreacting.” You scoff and it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Oh, I’m overreacting? Is it wrong that I don’t like when other women are touching you?” you started to raise your voice and talk back.

“Do I have to say it again? It’s my job. If I’m going to make it big, I have to do it. What? You think I like her? You think I was going to let her kiss me? It’s just for the pictures. Geez, how sensitive can you get?” he stabbed you right in a sensitive topic. You stayed silent because you weren’t expecting him to say that. The moment you think he’s going to stop there, he keeps going.

“I might need to save lots of women who are in danger. What? You don’t want me touching them? You’re going to get jealous because I’ll have some stranger in my arms? You’re afraid that she’s going to cling to me for dear life because I’m saving her? You don’t like that?!” he was practically screaming now.

“No! I don’t like that!” you screamed right back, giving back the same amount of energy. The tension in the air was so thick, anyone could feel it. Hell, they were all listening from outside and they felt uncomfortable with the ambiance of the situation. Both parties’ chests were heaving up and down from the labored breathing. And you just glared at each other. Bakugou turns away from you, breaking the ice.

“Fine. If you’re going to be this jealous, then maybe… maybe we shouldn’t be together,” he said. That was it. That was when your heart broke into a million pieces. You felt like if you stood there any longer, you would have suffocated.

“Fine,” you whisper. He doesn’t even spare you a glance. With teary eyes and a heavy heart, you tighten your jaw as you take off your engagement ring, wiggling it off your finger and then setting it down on the counter beside you. The sound of the metal hitting the hard desk was loud enough for Bakugou to hear, but he still chose not to turn to you. You thought that maybe, just maybe, if he turned around and said he didn’t mean it, then you would have been okay. You would have forgave him for those mean things he said. And then you would have apologized to him. But he looked set on his decision.

Without another word, you turned around and sped out of that building, tears never stopping. Everyone saw you go. Miruko laid her sad eyes on you and her broke for you. Shortly after, Bakugou walks back to the couch, plopping down with a huff.

“Let’s continue,” he says begrudgingly. But nobody moves, still shell-shocked about yousr argument. But this causes Bakugou to explode.

“Are you not going to start? Let’s get on with it!!” he hollers and everyone rushes like mice to get back to production. Bakugou lets out a long sigh, face in a permanent frown.

Miruko sits on the back of the couch and looks down at her old friend. She could tell that he was hurting just as much as you, if not more.

“Idiot~” Miruko sang.

“Ha?” Bakugou glared up at his past mentor. Mirko looked at her nails, not paying mind to the hot head who was on the verge of exploding.

“You need to go apologize,” she told him, more like ordered him to.

“Like it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t take her feelings into consideration,” Miruko pointed out, silencing Bakugou on the spot. “If she was feeling a little jealous, then her feelings are totally valid. You need to do something about it and make her feel like she doesn’t need to worry about anything.” Bakugou was only getting more annoyed.

“Whatever. It’s just business. If she can’t understand that, then we don’t need to be together,” he tried to convince himself. But that only hurt himself more.

“Whatever my ass. Then if you can’t be a good boyfriend and comfort her instead of making her feel insecure, then she doesn’t need you. She can find a better man who treats her good.”

“I do treat her good,” Right?

“Oh yes, I can tell,” Miruko said sarcastically. But in all seriousness, she knew he was hurting and she was trying to give advice from a woman’s perspective, but he is so stubborn and hard-headed that he doesn’t want to admit that he was in the wrong.

“Look, you let her go home like that right now, you’re not going to get her back. Go after her,” she advices on a serious note. Bakugou takes a moment to think but it’s all too much. He ruffles his hair and shoots up from the couch.

“Fuck this shit. I’m not doing this anymore,” he announces and storms out of the building. But not before shoving the metal jewelry in his pant pocket.

You didn’t know where you were going. You just walked and walked until you wind up somewhere. And god, you were so hungry. But you couldn’t go to that fancy restaurant that Bakugou had already made reservations for. God forbid he walks in while you were eating. And with another woman? How embarrassing. You couldn’t use his name or his fame anymore. You didn’t want to go back home. What if he shows up at your place? It probably wasn’t likely. He said he was done with you. You left the ring back with him. You guys were over. He wouldn’t show up uninvited. He has no reason to. You didn’t have money on you. You didn’t have any mode of transportation. The only think you had was your phone but the battery can only last so long. So you continued on walking until you hit a park and sat down on one of the benches. You were left alone to bathe in your thoughts until the set sun.

“Where the fuck did she go?” Bakugou mumbled to himself. He checked all the alleyways, in between streets, high and low, but he couldn’t spot you. No matter how he was frustrated he was feeling, he started to get nervous. He wondered if you were okay and safe right now. You hadn’t eaten all day. Wait. There’s no way…

“Hi. Reservation for 2. Under Bakugou,” Bakugou told the hostess. He arrived at the restaurant, in hopes that you came in. But when the hostess said that you hadn’t shown up, his shoulders deflated. Back to square one. So if you weren’t here, then where were you? Had you eaten yet?

Trying his luck, he went to your apartment, but after many attempts, you didn’t open the door. You could either by ignoring him or you weren’t home yet. Knowing you, you probably weren’t home. Then he was going to wait until you came home. Taking a seat next to your door, Bakugou waited. And he was going to wait until he could see your face.

You watched as happy couples and families walked by you, having the time of their lives. You smiled sadly seeing all their smiles and laughter. How you wish you could be like that. But now you don’t even know if or when that was going to be possible. That was all you wanted. Was to be happy. You didn’t want to be in this rabbit hole of sadness. You didn’t want anybody to pity you just because you were crying. But you did long for somebody to listen to you. For somebody to tell you that it was going to be okay and that you are loved. Love… You wanted someone to love you. He just wasn’t the one for you. Then who is? Will you ever find it? Was this your only chance and you ruined it all just because you couldn’t help but feel jealous?

Stupid.

Stupid (y/n).

You always ruin everything in your life. The one time you got something good, it’s gone in an instant. You knew it was too good to be true. But there’s no going back now. It already happened and now you have to move on.

By the time you noticed, the sun had already set and darkness fell upon you. You wanted to stay longer. You debated whether or not you were going to sleep on the park bench. But after recalling new articles of kidnappings happening around the country recently, you decided to go home.

It took you a while to go home. You walked as slow as you could, taking your sweet time returning back to your apartment. All you want to do is snuggle up in bed and go to sleep. You were so exhausted. Mentally, physically and emotionally. You just needed some rest and then you can worry more in the morning. You were coming up to your apartment and saw a person sitting on the floor what looked like in front of your apartment door. No. But there’s no way.

Blonde hair.

That was all it took for you to turn back, go down those stairs and back to the park. You couldn’t face him right now. You were already broken up so why was he there? He said all he needed to say so why was he there?

You thought you were being sneaky but Bakugou caught you. He saw you going back down those stairs and he immediately got up and chased after you.

“(y/n)!” he called out to you but you ignored him. The sound of his voice made your heart clench.

“(y/n)!” he called again, but louder. Again, you continued to ignore him.

“(y/n)!” he called for the last time, this time grabbing your arm. But you shook him as fast as he grabbed you.

“No, leave me alone,” you managed to say. Just keep on walking. Maybe if you walk long and far enough, he’ll give up. But he wasn’t giving up.

“(y/n), stop!” he grabbed you again, yet this time tighter so you couldn’t escape. Then he traps you in between him and the wall, forcing you to face him.

“Stop! Let me go! Leave me alone!” you cry. Your tear stained face and puffy eyes broke Bakugou’s heart. He did this to you. Fuck. He was the worst. You thrashed around, forcing him to let go, hitting him to push him away. Anything so he could get away from you.

Bakugou let you hit him. He deserved it. Every hit that you take at him, he deserved. Slowly but surely, he pulled you in for a hug. You were so drained that you let him. And as soon as you were in his embrace and your cheek hit his chest, you cried. You let it all out and didn’t stop. Bakugou didn’t say anything. He just held you, patting your head until you calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He kissed the top of your head and rested his head there. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He continued to say. Your cries were muffled by being buried in his chest.

You held onto him tight, continuing to cry your heart out. You thought you were never going to see him again. You thought you were never going to hold him again. Or smell him. You world was crashing down on you but was slowly being put together again.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asks you softly. Your voice was too hoarse and sore from all the crying, so you nodded your head, not letting go of him. Bakugou got the hint and picked you up princess style and led you into the house. There was going to be a lot of talking happening soon in that tiny apartment. It was going to be a long night.

[intercoursefluids]

You Lied to Me?

The Wayne Enterprises building was the most beautiful building Marinette had ever seen. The tour guide was a very sweet man and he loved telling jokes to try to get the class to laugh.

Unfortunately, Lila was on a roll today, lying about knowing the Waynes and growing up with the youngest son, and finding out that they were true mates.

Even if she was claiming that her true mate was Prince Ali a week before the trip was announced, god forbid Marinette points that out and makes Lila shed her crocodile tears.

Even Adrien, her own mate, took Lilas's side and yelled at her for pointing out her lies when she should just stay quiet.

It ended up leading into a huge argument between them that Marinette had to apologize for to get him to talk to her after 3 long weeks of him ignoring her existence.

“Bruce Wayne funds multiple charities around the world in honor of his late parents, he has several adoptive children and a single blood son. Bruce typically keeps his children out of the spotlight and most Gothamites are very good about keeping pictures with them off of the internet.”

As the tour guide talks, Marinette reaches out her hand for Adrien's just for him to brush her off and step away from her.

Wrapping her arms around herself she leaves his side to stand next to the tour guide. At least he tells jokes and tries to make this interesting.

Damian's POV:

“Master Damian, you should start heading to the office if you want to catch Master Dick before his lunch break is over.”

Running his hands over his face he thanks Alfred before grabbing his jacket and starting his car up.

He needed Dick to sign off on his trip to Paris, France since he was his temporary guardian until Father got back from his honeymoon with Selina.

Pulling up to the building he stops. Not because of the bright yellow bus sitting in the parking lot, no, it's because of the intoxicating scent of baked goods, plants, and rain wafting through the air.

Following the smell leads him to the tour group Grayson is leading into the cafeteria.

Walking to Grayson's side he passes him the permission slip, trying to understand why he wants to be near the Blue haired angel getting a lunch tray.

“Grayson, how can you tell if you’ve found your true mate?”

Grayson startles looking up from signing the papers.

“Well, their scent is one way, they will smell like absolute heaven to you and you can’t help but follow it. Another way is that when you see them you want to touch them so you can get your scent on them as well, and when you do touch them, it's electrifying. Literally and figuratively. Do you think you found them?”

Damian nods, his eyes following his mate as she looks for a table to sit at.

“She’s right there. The one with the blue hair.”

Grayson smiles, clapping Damian on the shoulder.

“She’s pretty.”

Damian snorts responding without even thinking.

“She’s beautiful, Grayson. ‘Pretty’ doesn’t even scratch the surface.”

Grayson coos at Damian, being thoroughly ignored.

Damian starts walking towards her, intent on introducing himself when he catches another scent just beneath hers.

Another male’s scent.

He freezes in place making Grayson stop his cooing to instead question him.

“What's wrong? Is it not her?”

Damian watches as she walks to a seat at an empty table away from the rest of her group.

“She-”

Damian cuts off as he watches someone stick out their foot and trip her. Her lunch spills everywhere as she falls to the floor.

Not thinking twice he rushes over to her, holding out his hand and helping her up.

Just like Grayson said little shocks travel up and down his arm and he finds himself never wanting to let go.

She has the most beautiful blue eyes he's ever seen and the most angelic voice he's eve- Oh wait she's talking.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going and tripped, I’m so sorry!”

Damian just shakes his head, motioning for one of the janitors to come over and clean up the mess.

When he arrives she automatically drops down beside him to help pick up the mess muttering apologize the entire time.

Damian shifts his hand to her shoulder, subconsciously marking her with his scent and trying to overpower the other males.

“It’s fine honey, this stuff happens all the time. Why don’t you go hop back in line and get another tray? We wouldn’t want you to go hungry now.”

With the janitor's gentle prodding she finally stands up and gets another tray.

On her way back, Damian makes sure to keep an eye out for anyone else who wants to trip her.

The rest of lunch goes smoothly as she takes a seat at the table she was heading to and Damian watches her from his spot next to his brother.

Everything goes fine until they are about to finish the tour. A guy with blonde hair roughly grabs the girl with blue hair pulling her off to the side.

“Ow! Adrien, what’s wrong?”

Damian watches from Grayson's side, wanting to go help but certain she can handle herself.

“You know exactly what you did, Marinette. Don’t play stupid.”

A low growl leaves his chest as his mate is insulted.

“Adrien, you’re not making any sense. What did I do?”

He grabs both her wrists, shaking her violently.

“You belong to me! You are mine Marinette! Trying to get me jealous by flirting with that other guy? Really?! How low can you sink?! It's pathetic!”

She pushes away from him, rubbing at her wrists with the start of a bruise forming.

Damian starts to make his way over, a low, vicious rumbling in the back of his throat.

Grayson, seeing how mad Damian follows him.

“What the hell are you talking about?! I wasn’t flirting with anyone! I fell because Lila stuck her foot out and tripped me! It wasn’t my fault!”

Their argument starts to attract the attention of the other workers, a few running to find security.

Damian starts running as he watches the guy's hand clench before raising it.

He strikes her. Hard.

‘Marinette’ being caught off guard, loses her balance and falls to the ground, turning to look at him before he roughly grabs her by one of her pigtails and pulls her up to his face, and screams at her.

“Don’t talk back to me! I own you and you will do as I say! Do you understand?!”

She pushes him away.

“Whoever decided that you were my true mate was wrong. Dead wrong!”

He snarls, pulling his fist back to strike her.

Damian gets there first.

The next thing everyone knows is Damian Wayne is standing protectively in front of the girl and the guy is several feet away clutching his cheek and groaning.

Grayson kneels next to Marinette, helping her to her feet and taking Damian’s coat from his outstretched hand to wrap around her shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

She nods as he pulls her closer to him away from the fight that is likely to break out before a loud screeching voice cuts through the air.

“True mates? With him? Please Marinette, I knew you were ignorant but I didn’t think you were stupid. I am Adriens true mate. Not you.”

Damian stands up making his way to Marinette, taking her in his arms as she starts to shake.

“What are you talking about Lila? Adrien was there on my birthday, he said we were mates!”

‘Lila’ cackles as other people gasp, some with their phones out recording the entire thing.

“Oh please, did you just take his word for it? Why didn’t you just check his scent? That’s always been the easiest way to tell. Go ahead, I won’t even mess with you.”

She stays frozen looking straight at the boy claiming to be her mate.

“I can’t. I lost my sense of smell when I was a kid. I couldn’t check even if I wanted to.”

Lila looks surprised now, before looking on sadly.

“You really had no idea he was lying, did you?”

She starts shaking, taking a hesitant step towards Adrien.

“Adrien? W-what's she talking about? It’s not true. Is it?”

Her voice ends in a broken whisper, eyes tearing up as he slowly stands up and walks to her.

“You are mine, Marinette. You were mine the moment you put on those earrings. I mean seriously if I don’t take you who will?”

She flinches as he steps closer, his voice getting louder with hysteria.

“Nobody likes you, Mari! I am all you have left now! You want to leave me? HA! I’d like to see you try it.”

At the end of his ‘speech’ he roughly grabs her arm pulling a whimper from her and a very, VERY dangerous sounding snarl from Damian.

Ripping Adrien's hand from her arm while being as gentle as possible to not hurt her he pulls her behind him handing her off to his brothers entrusting them to take care of her.

“Who do you think you are grabbing her like that?”

The words are accentuated with the deep growl rumbling from his chest.

“I don’t see how it's any of your business, what I do with MY personal belongings.”

Damian picks Adrien up by his neck slamming him against the nearest wall.

“Don’t talk about her like she's an object.”

Adrien, being the Buffon with no sense of self-preservation he is, laughs.

“Oh yeah? What's it to you how I treat her? Not like you would want her for anything other than her body anyway.”

Adrien sneers down at Damian, even as he slowly starts to turn purple in the face from his grip on his neck.

Slowly tightening his grip even more he watches as the blonde idiot starts to flail from the lack of breathing. Fighting to get a single breath of air.

“Do not act as if I would ever treat my mate in such a way.”

His voice is deadly, sending shivers down even the security guards spines.

Everyone watches on, some with their phones recording, certain that they are about to see Damian Wayne, their bosses son, about to commit a murder in the lobby.

And no one is even going to try and stop him.

That is until a small pale hand lands on his arm, shooting sparks all the way to his heart.

“Is it true? Are you really my true mate?”

Damian nods ever so slowly, never taking his eyes off the blonde who is slowly losing consciousness.

Two thin, lethal arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“Please stop. I just want to leave right now. Will you take me?”

Without another word Damian drops the barely conscious man, taking his coat off and wrapping it around Marinette's shoulders, tucking her into his side as he swiftly walks her out of the building.

Adrien slowly gets up, trying to chase after them only to be cut short by the three eldest Wayne brothers.

All armed with glares that could kill.

Behind them stands all of the Wayne enterprises employees, making a human barrier between the newly found mates and Adrien.

The brother with the white piece of hair steps forward pushing Adrien back down to the ground.

“I think we need to have a little talk.”

[stolen-pen-name23]

Hi! Could you do 7 or 21 of the angst prompts for Obi Wan and Ahsoka please?

Hi! Thank you for the prompt (from these prompts)!! And yes, I can do both actually! Here ya go:

---

“You are so stupid.”

The words are dry — at least, Ahsoka hopes they are dry enough to hide the very real fear lingering behind them.

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan says between clenched teeth, obviously not hearing the full emotion behind Ahsoka’s sentiment. He is sitting across from her in the co-pilot’s chair — a bundle of bloodstained robes and tightened shoulders as he breathes through the pain. She shoots him another glare while she digs through the medkit, searching for a set of tweezers.

“Going after a bounty hunter who was carrying a slugthrower,” Ahsoka mutters. “What were you thinking?”

“Well, I—”

“No, don’t answer that,” Ahsoka says, raising her hand. “I already have the answer. You weren’t thinking.”

“Now hold on,” Obi-Wan pants. “We couldn’t let them capture the senator now, could we? We had a mission.”

“Yeah, and you made me stay behind and guard the other senators.”

“It was a very important task,” he says defensively.

“You made me their babysitter because you knew that going after Bane was dangerous. You knew and you went anyway.”

“To be fair,” Obi-Wan says, “he’s never used slugthrowers before.”

“And so what? You didn’t think he’d actually use it on you?”

“I was cautiously optimistic.”

“Look where that got you,” Ahsoka says, shaking her head. She continues rifling through the medkit until she finally finds a set of tweezers and a small scalpel. Obi-Wan eyes both items warily.

“I need to get a better look at the wound before I do anything,” Ahsoka says, trying to keep him calm, despite her current anger at him.

“Alright,” he nods, looking like he’s trying to reassure himself.

Ahsoka cuts through the fabric of his tunics and his undershirts and pulls them away. Underneath, a circular wound mars Obi-Wan’s skin. His muscles are tight, instinctively clenching in a vain attempt to ward off the pain.

“Hmmm.”

“What?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I have good news and bad news.”

“Do share.”

“The bad news is the bullet didn’t go all the way through. The good news is that it looks like it didn’t go too deep, so it shouldn’t be too hard for me to get it out. I won’t be needing this.” She sets the scalpel aside.

“Well, as long as there’s good news,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Though I suppose there was never a silver lining without a dark cloud behind it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Ahsoka says, offering him a sympathetic smile. “I need to get this out. You’ll get an infection if I don’t.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says, resigned. “Let’s just get on with it then.”

Ahsoka takes a deep breath and relies on the Force to steady her hand. She presses the tweezers into the wound. A harsh breath escapes Obi-Wan’s lips, but he does not cry out. Ahsoka takes that as a sign to keep going. She pinches the bullet between the tweezers, but she slips and digs the metal deeper into the torn-up flesh.

Obi-Wan gasps and pulls away from Ahsoka.

“Sorry!” Ahsoka exclaims.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan pants, blinking back tears that had pooled in his eyes on reflex. “Just keep going.”

Ahsoka nods and goes back in with the tweezers, but Obi-Wan flinches back. Ahsoka tries again, and he recoils to the side.

“Stop that. Hold still,” Ahsoka says, exasperated.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just not used to this kind of wound”

“Yeah well… that’s what happens when you go after a bounty hunter who is openly wielding a slugthrower.”

“Alright, I get it,” Obi-Wan says, deflating slightly.

“I don’t think you do,” Ahsoka grimaces. “Now for real this time. Stay still.”

Obi-Wan nods tightly, while Ahsoka hones back in on the wound. She gets the tweezers around the bullet once more, and this time, they don’t slip. Slowly, she maneuvers the bullet out of Obi-Wan’s flesh until it clatters on the floor with a metallic ringing sound.

Ahsoka stares, frozen in place as the wound bleeds openly. Obi-Wan’s blood runs down his side now that there is no bullet to dam up its path.

“Oh,” Ahsoka says dumbly. “I always forget that slugthrower wounds don’t cauterize.”

“Yes, well, they don’t,” Obi-Wan says. Ahsoka glares at him. “Go get a needle and thread, I’ll put pressure on it.”

Ahsoka hands him a semi-clean rag and he presses it to his stomach. His breaths become a little more ragged.

“Hang in there Master,” Ahsoka says as she finds a sewing kit. She measures out a length of thread and cuts it. The eye of the needle is tiny and she struggles to get the thread to go through it.

“Maybe we should have prepared the needle before we took out the bullet,” Obi-Wan observes dryly.

“Why didn’t you tell me to do that?” Ahsoka asks, her voice going higher in pitch as she desperately tries to thread the needle.

“I was preoccupied, you know, with being shot.”

“That is your own kriffing fault and you know it,” Ahsoka retaliates.

Ahsoka calls on the Force to steady her hand once again. Finally, the thread obeys her commands and pushes through the eye of the needle. With deft fingers, she ties it off.

“Ready?”

From his tight nod, it is clear that Obi-Wan is not ready, but he knows as well as she does that there is little time for hesitation.

“Alright,” Ahsoka says, trying to keep her voice sure and even. “I’ll be quick.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says.

Ahsoka is true to her word. She finishes the stitches in a manner of a few minutes. By the end of it, Obi-Wan is pale and sweating, but gratitude shines in his eyes.

“Done,” Ahsoka says after she ties off the end of the thread.

“Thank you Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll be sure to come to you the next time I’m shot.”

“You’re impossible. Absolutely impossible. You know that right?”

“Well, Anakin is actually—”

“I’m not talking about Anakin, I’m talking about you,” Ahsoka huffs, suddenly feeling irked by Obi-Wan’s casualness. Now that he has been stitched back together, she has time to feel the anger starting to flood her bloodstream.

“Ahsoka…”

“Everyone thinks Anakin is the reckless one, and maybe he is, but when he’s not around to be the reckless one… Well, it’s like you don’t care if you live or you die.”

Obi-Wan looks down at his bloodstained hands. “Of course I care.”

She stops messing with the medkit and looks Obi-Wan dead in the eyes. “Then why are you always so reckless huh? Do you ever think about what would happen if something happened to you?”

“Life would go on without me, Ahsoka. If it’s the will of the Force…”

“Do not bring ‘the will of the Force’ into this. I’m talking about when you pull stunts like this.”

Obi-Wan is silent — the smooth-talking negotiator finally at a loss for words.

“Master,” Ahsoka says quietly. “If you died… I would be devastated.”

“Ahsoka…”

She doesn’t let him continue. “My feelings aside, think about Anakin. Do you know what would happen to him if he lost you? I can’t watch him go through that for a second time.”

Obi-Wan pales and Ahsoka isn’t sure if it’s from the blood loss or the words she is mercilessly volleying at him. She continues anyway.

“It would almost be worse than losing you. I know how to let go, but he… I don’t know what he would do if he lost you. He can’t… that can’t happen again.”

“I want to tell you it won’t.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t,” he says, his jaw tight with either pain or sorrow. Perhaps both.

“Please, just…”

“No. I will not make you a promise I can’t keep. Not while we’re in a war. Not ever.”

“Then promise me something else,” Ahsoka insists, grabbing his hand in hers and looking him directly in his ocean blue eyes.

He looks at her wearily. “What?”

“Promise you’ll stop being so reckless,”

“What did I just say about making promises I can’t keep?” Obi-Wan grins. Ahsoka lightly smacks his shoulder.

“Promise me you’ll try then!” Ahsoka amends.

“I’ll try,” he laughs. “I promise.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan stands up but has to steady himself on a leather handle affixed to the ceiling.

“I would love to continue this conversation,” Obi-Wan says, his voice starting to slur ever so slightly. “But I think I need to lie down. Or throw up. Or both.”

Ahsoka grimaces and hands him a canteen. “Drink,” she says. “You need to stay hydrated.”

“Need to lie down,” he repeats.

“Drink, and then you can lie down.”

Obi-Wan nods and takes a few sips from the offered canteen. He passes it back to her before curling up on a small bunk just outside of the cockpit. A slight shiver racks his frame and Ahsoka grabs a blanket and lays it over him. He hums in contentment.

“Are you going to be okay until we get to the temple?” Ahsoka asks nervously.

“Yes. The adrenaline’s just wearing off and the blood loss is catching up with me. I’ll be okay.” Ahsoka stares at him a moment longer. “I promise,” Obi-Wan adds on.

“You better keep that one.”

“I will.” A pause. “I am sorry,” he says. “I didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want to get shot.”

“I know,” Ahsoka says. “Just get some rest. We’ll be home soon.”

[phoenixyfriend]

If you are doing them the soulmate fic starter 3 or 9 for rexwalker? I love all your star wars stuff so much

soulmate au prompts

3. the one where you and your soulmate have matching marks on your bodies. 9. the one where your soulmate’s last words to you are written on your body.

Featuring marginally-less-terrible Jango with more excuses than usual.

------

The Kaminoans hate soul marks.

Rex knows this from the day he knows to ask. The Nulls and Alphas don’t have any soul marks, just scars where there was once a promise. The eldest clones have records, at least, where the scientists had taken photos before beginning th surgeries, but the marks themselves are long gone.

Prime had found out about the removals and thrown a fit, raging so intensely that Nala Se had ended up intubated from the damage he’d dealt, and she hadn’t been the only one. Rex isn’t old enough to remember that, but Cody is, and he whispers the story in the dead of night more than once. Nobody likes Prime very much, except Boba, but that’s one of the few instances they can point to and say ‘he cares more than he likes to admit.’

It’s anathema on Mandalore, one brother claims, a light in his eyes that Rex hasn’t ever seen before. That’s what I heard him telling one of the aruetti trainers.

So is refusing your children so much as a name, another grouses, and the conversation dies an ugly little death. So is letting your children die just because you don’t think they’re good enough. So is turning your back from even letting them be part of your house, let alone part of your clan. Sounds like he cares more about our soul marks than he does for our lives.

Rex doesn’t know how to address that. He does get a personal visit from Prime, one day, gets asked to show his little marking to the man that is, in some ways, his father.

“Another one,” Jango Fett mutters to the trainer that came with him, the woman holding a datapad and ready to record whatever it is that they’re looking for. He passes a thumb over the marking, frowning. “A lightsaber, lit white, with pale blue halo, between a set of symbolic Jaig eyes. The eyes are dark blue, slightly desaturated. I think they’re meant to frame it like an exaggerated beskad crossguard.”

“Sir?” Rex asks.

“That makes six,” Jango says, still so quiet, and then shakes his head. “Thank you for showing me, 7567.”

“Rex,” he corrects, before he can second-guess himself. “I’m Rex.”

“Thank you, Rex.”

------

The rumors say that anyone with a lightsaber soul mark is going to have a jedi for a soulmate.

Rex isn’t sure how true that is, but he’s eager to find out.

Prime gets more erratic, more unpleasant at times and almost awkwardly nice at others. Rex meets the others who got Jedi soul marks. He’s the youngest, so far.

Jango tells them all to hide the markings, and to keep them secret. They’d already all known that much, that only batchmates should be told about soul marks. All the adults that should know already do, after all.

“Where’s your dad going?” Rex asks once, when Boba’s been handed over to Cody’s squad for looking after while Prime goes haring off on some trip that nobody gets to know about. Rex hangs out with Cody’s squad more than his own batch, it feels like, but that’s a whole thing that he’s not supposed to talk about since the late transfer to command track.

“Dunno,” Boba says, kicking his feet back and forth. “My soul mark came in. Something about it made him really angry, I think.”

Rex doesn’t ask to see it.

It’s not his place.

------

The Alpha batch is getting quieter, angrier, and end up in hushed conversations with Prime and some of the trainers so often that the rumors start up harder than before. Rex keeps his head down, because the Kaminoans get antsier when Jango does. Soul marks come up more often, and Rex gets called in to talk to the Alpha clones about his mark. He’s not supposed to, but Prime says it’s important, and Prime is in charge.

“Oh, is that all it took?” one of the Alphas sneers, and Prime shoots them a look that has Rex taking a few hasty steps back. The Alpha clone isn’t even fully grown yet, by natborn standards, but they don’t back down. “What, ready to stop being a dar’buir--”

“That’s enough,” Prime says, low and hard, and the Alpha clone rolls their eyes. “There’s a child here.”

“So now you care about that?”

Rex is escorted back to his rooms.

------

Decommissioning finally stops, for all that it requires Jango almost decapitating a Kaminoan, and someone Rex hopes he never sees again shows up.

(His memory is blurred. He’s sure the man was human, and tall. Elderly enough to have white hair, probably? A... there was fabric that swished when he turned, something dramatic, but...)

(He is not the only one that cannot remember.)

It takes years for anything else to come of it all... at least where the clones can see.

------

Rex is fully grown, as far as clones go. His aging is supposed to slow down to ‘natborn normal’ now, because he’s reached his full height and most of his brainpower, and he’s officially old enough to fight on the field if the war starts tomorrow.

It might.

“Hey, look up.”

Rex listens, and looks, and sees a natborn with Nala Se, pale skinned and with reddish hair, soaked to the bone. They wear robes, brown and heavy-looking. Even as he watches, another natborn jogs up from behind, also sodden and pale, but with darker hair that sticks up despite the water. A third joins them, a tad slower and more controlled; this one wears all white, and they--maybe she?-- are slight and small and poised in a way that Rex thinks might be how a natborn leader carries themselves, if they aren’t a soldier.

They pass on through the walkway, showing emotions that the Kaminoans can’t read and the clones absolutely can. None of it is... good.

“Shit,” someone mutters. “That was a Jedi.”

“Venn--”

“What if they don’t want us?”

------

Rex is called to Prime’s rooms.

He tries not to look at the wide eyes of the brothers he’s been gossiping with, just stands and pulls on his full kit. He hesitates at his bucket, but then pops it on and marches to what might be his doom. It’s probably not.

He hopes it’s not.

He knocks, and is let in by Boba, and sits down on the couch when Prime tells him to. He removes his helmet when asked. Boba hops up onto the couch between Rex and his father, and leans in against Rex’s side.

There’s a list on the table, one he recognizes, quickly writing out all the paired elements on the Jedi-Clone soul marks. Nobody who isn’t already involved in the project would know it. He spots the ‘yellow tickets’ that Bly got tattooed on his face recently, the ones he won’t claim are or aren’t related to his mark. He spots his own listing of Jaig eyes.

“Prime?”

His... progenitor, maybe, in this situation, looks at him, and holds up a hand. “You saw the list. You can guess why Rex is here.”

Oh. Prime’s using his name without prompting. That’s nice.

“I can’t read it,” the younger Jedi says, with something that might be a pout. Rex wants  to roll his eyes, but his helmet is on the table. People would see.

“It’s in Mando’a,” the elder tells him, voice low, and then glances between Rex and the younger Jedi. “Fett, how did you know which one to call? I can guess some things, but--”

“I have a good eye. The hilts are all different. Only one matches.”

“I see.”

Rex fidgets, and tries not to wonder at... at... oh. The younger Jedi’s lightsaber hilt does match Rex’s soul mark.

Boba notices when Rex starts picking at his glove, pressing a finger right to the mark on his wrist, and frowns up at him. He grabs Rex’s hand to still it, and tries to ask a question with his eyebrows. He is mostly unsuccessful.

“Anakin,” the elder Jedi says. Rex still doesn’t know his name. “Your hand, please?”

“Why?”

“...you’ll understand in a minute,” the Jedi says, long-suffering in the way of the trainers who dealt with the youngest cadets. “Your hand. No, the other one.”

“Why do you need my hand?”

“Reasons, Anakin. You there, ah... Rex, was it?”

“Yessir.”

The Jedi flinches. “Right. I suppose I’ll have to get used to that... right, Rex, can you come here? I imagine you know what it is that I’m looking to compare.”

Rex has been taught to listen to Jedi, but he has no idea who he’s supposed to listen to here. The older Jedi is probably in charge, but Rex hasn’t been assigned to anyone yet, so isn’t Prime still technically the closest thing he has to a CO?

He glances at Prime, who just gestures for Rex to go ahead with it.

Rex pulls off a glove, pulls back his sleeve, and bares the symbol on his wrist for inspection.

The younger Jedi’s face morphs from confused irritation to surprise, and then... something Rex doesn’t want to analyze too closely. He’s not sure if it’s wonder or horror. He wasn’t aware the expressions could look so similar.

The Jedi--Anakin--pulls back his own sleeve, moves his wrist to Rex’s and watches as the marks glow faintly from the proximity.

“Looks like Fett was right,” the elder Jedi mutters. He doesn’t sound happy. He looks at the other natborn, the one Rex is pretty sure is a woman, and raises an eyebrow.

She shakes her head, eyes closed.

“You said there were others?” the elder Jedi prompts, and Prime nods. “We are no more open about our marks than most, but I can spot one, maybe two, that I can guess at. I’d need to see the actual markings to confirm, of course, and I imagine that wouldn’t be something anyone would be happy with.”

“The rest can happen naturally,” Prime dismisses. “This was just proof.”

“Not just proof, I hope,” the Jedi mutters. “I’m.. I have to call the Council.”

Rex sees the panic in Anakin’s face, and is seized by the urge to do something, anything, to fix it.

“Obi-Wan, you can’t let them--”

“Nobody’s going to separate you,” the elder Jedi says. Obi-Wan, apparently. “And there’s no ‘let,’ Anakin, they outrank me. Significantly. Right now, I’m concerned about the implications of this war, of multiple of these cloned soldiers that have been indoctrinated to fight for and serve the Jedi having soulmates among us, especially given that I have no idea how recently our wartime protocols on such things were updated. There is an entire army that is supposedly in our name, ordered by a man ten years dead.”

“Count Dooku is involved,” Prime says, dark and satisfied and petty. “Calling himself Darth Tyrannus. The Kaminoans mostly believe he is an isolated and reclusive Jedi Master that serves as their contact when Sifo-Dyas is unavailable.”

The Jedi named Obi-Wan closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and then stands. “Right. That’s... well, alright, I absolutely have to call the Council now.”

Prime smiles, pulling Boba into his side. Rex finds himself tugged down to sit where Obi-Wan had been a few moments earlier.

“Why are you telling us all this?” the natborn woman says. “This Count sounds like he hired you, did he not?”

“The project predated his involvement, but yes, he’s my supervisor, so to speak.” Prime smiles that same dark smile, runs a hand over Boba’s head and pointedly doesn’t look at Obi-Wan. That smile is... unpleasant. Rex doesn’t want to look at it, and so he looks down to the faint glow at his wrist instead. “Did you know, they told me the clones would be sub-sentient and halfway to droids? Not really people? That my DNA was for the bodies, but the minds would be little more than lines of code? Do you know how much they hated that I saw the evidence of their lies written into my children’s skin?”

Rex jolts, head whipping about and hand pulling away from his soulmate, staring at Prime, his mouth agape in a way a soldier’s shouldn’t but--but he’s--

Rex has never, ever heard the Prime refer to any of them except Boba as his child. His copies, his echoes, his clones, but not his children.

A hand curls into his, and he looks down to find Anakin’s lacing their fingers together. He looks up into a hopeful, unsure smile.

Anakin tilts his head and leans in, lips to Rex’s ear, and says, “When I told Obi-Wan he was like a father to me, he didn’t even know how to respond. Just made a bad joke about it and then pretended it didn’t happen. Is this the same?”

“...close enough,” Rex breathes out, because now isn’t the time to explain just how different a clone’s existence is from what they’ve seen in the holos meant to prepare them for interacting with civilians. That ‘family’ here has always been brothers, your squad and any brother that chooses to take you on, or a brother you choose to nurture, that the Alphas raise them more than Prime or the trainers do, that the older squads are who they turn to because the adults won’t help, that they don’t have parents, and they are discouraged from thinking of children in their futures.

(Protecting intellectual property, one of the scientists had mused. They’d made it very, very difficult for any of the clones to impregnate a partner. Not impossible, because to make it impossible was itself impossible, but... nearly so.)

“There’s millions of us,” Rex says instead. “He doesn’t... he doesn’t usually acknowledge most of us as his.”

Anakin’s face twists, already angry, and the glare he aims at Prime is ghastly. Rex might already be a little in love, just for that. The way Anakin’s fingers squeeze around his is nice, too.

Prime does not notice.

“Can I see the contract you say you signed?” the natborn woman says, and Prime eyes her. He nods, at length, weighing her worth and finding she measures up to whatever it is that he’s decided is necessary.

“Boba, go pack like we’re going on a hunt,” Prime says, pulling out a personal datapad and only dropping his gaze to find the right file. “We’ll probably be leaving tonight.”

“Okay, buir,” Boba says, sliding off the couch. “Am I telling the Alphas the thing you said?”

“No, I’ll handle that myself. You just pack.” He stands, nods to the natborn woman, and moves around the table. “Senator, I’ll sit with you, if you don’t mind. I imagine you and Knight Kenobi are the best suited to get this problem fixed.”

“And me?” Anakin demands.

“You,” Prime says, with a just a hint of condescending drawl. “have just met your soulmate. I assumed you’d want some privacy to get to know each other.”

Anakin flushes, a little angry and a lot embarrassed. It’s frighteningly cute. “I--I mean--I don’t--”

“The clones are mentally the ages they look, but do remember they’ve had practically no time to gain any sort of experience,” Prime says, already ignoring them in favor of pointing something out on the datapad to the senator. “Take advantage of any of my kids, and I’ll be the one hunting you down. I’m told I’m rather good at it.”

Anakin’s face does some acrobatics. Rex would pay more attention, but he can feel himself turning just as red.

“Rex, you know where the private meeting room is,” Prime says, and waves a hand in the direction of the tiny, tiny office that’s by the door. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Be nice,” the Senator hisses, smacking Prime’s arm.

“He’s ten.”

“...still.”

Rex just stands and pulls Anakin away to the little room before things can get worse.

They’re delayed when Obi-Wan asks what they’re doing from the kitchen he’s been using to get a spot of privacy, but then Anakin says “we’re just going to talk, Master,” and they get an aggrieved sigh and a response of “the clothes stay on, padawan, and you’ll need to finish up whatever conversation you have soon, there’s work to do and being a padawan only excuses you from so much.”

Rex backs into the meeting room, yanks Anakin in, and then decides to throw caution to the wind and just press their lips together.

Oh.

Okay.

He’s kissing back.

Lack of caution: good.

The mark at his wrist thrums, warm and comfortable, and Rex pulls away. He stifles the noise he wants to make, and when Anakin whines, small and soft but clearly disappointed, Rex offers him a small grin he knows would get him called ‘shy’ by his asshole older brothers.

“We probably should actually get to know each other,” Rex says. “I don’t even know your last name.”

“I... yeah, I don’t know yours either, unless it’s Fett.”

“It’s not. I don’t have one.”

Anakin’s face does another one of those ‘I’m angry for you’ twists that Rex is quickly coming to recognize, and then he sighs and falls into one of the chairs. “Okay. So. I don’t know much about the soldier life. Tell me about it.”

And he does.