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wkemeup · 3 years

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Sunrise (8)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.3k warnings: sweet happy beautiful bucky, a unpleasant reminder of the past, whiplash of emotion, the angst I warned you about 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky wasn’t quite sure how to hold onto this feeling without suffocating it.

It had been nearly a year since he’d felt even an ounce of the relief like what washed through his body when you walked through the door. All it took was a single smile from across the room, the soft brush of your hair over your fingers as you nervously tucked it behind your ear, and he was gone.

Enough for his cheeks to ache from smiling. Enough for his stomach to twist and knot from laughter. Enough for the wrinkles by his eyes to draw long and pronounced— the physical embodiment of joy upon his face.

He wasn’t walking on eggshells, waiting for the carpet to be dragged out from under his feet, for the paralyzing darkness of an empty void to consume him whole. The shadows weren’t lingering in his wake, itching to clench their claws into his spine and drag him away from the one thing that finally drew light back into his life.

For the first time since he stepped back on American soil, Bucky Barnes was happy. Truly and honest to God, happy.

“So! What do you think?” your voice called to him, breaking the trance he’d been in.

“Hmm?” Bucky blinked a few times to adjust to his surroundings. You were laughing at him, a hand over your lips in an effort to muffle the sound. Behind you, a woman directed a pointed stare in your direction despite the busy chatter inside Luciana’s.

“The book, Bucky,” you grinned, tapping on the edge of the binding.

He glanced down. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue sat propped in his right hand, the clip you’d given him the first day of book club nestled in at the center to keep the pages open. Truthfully, he hadn’t read a single word of it since he sat down with you an hour ago. His attention had been better kept watching how you tugged your lower lip between your teeth in concentration, how your eyes widened at a particularly suspenseful part of your chapter, how you clicked your nails against the coffee mug in perfect rhythm with the café music.

“It’s good,” he said, though you pouted at him.

“Bucky you’ve been on the same page for twenty minutes!”

Busted. He shrugged, a laugh in his breath.

“Guess there were better things to look at.”

Your lips parted for a second, caught off guard, before you settled back into your seat. Your hands wrung out in front of you, eyes darting down the floor. It wasn’t easy to make you flustered, but damn if it was Bucky’s favorite feeling in the world.

“Don’t insult my books like that, Barnes,” you teased, lingering smile upon your face.

“Wouldn’t call it an insult,” he said simply. “There’s not much that can hold a candle when you’re around.”

The stun didn’t leave your face for a few seconds. You stared at him, then glanced around the room nervously as if he’d said something incredibly intimate. He couldn’t remember the last time this came so easy to him – the flirting, the charm. It was something he’d thrived on before the war and now, it seemed you brought that side out of him again.

“You’re a charmer today,” you observed, laughing through the nervous energy. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” Bucky shrugged, reaching across the table to break off a piece of your pastry and plopped it into his mouth. “I’m happy. Can I be happy?”

You nodded quickly, almost a little too enthusiastically, with a smile so wide on your face he wondered if it were possible for it to touch your ears.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be happy.” The words left your lips almost breathlessly. You were looking at him like he was the goddamn sun and damn if that didn’t tug straight at his heart. “I like you happy.”

“I like me happy, too,” Bucky chuckled. He glanced up at the clock. “Come on, we should head over to the VA.”

You downed the rest of your coffee in a single chug and set the cup on the counter. Luciana waved at you as you moved towards the exit, Bucky in tow, and she winked at him as he passed by. He nodded, offering her a tight-lipped smile as he stepped out into the cool Autumn air. Your hand naturally slipped into his and you tugged him along the sidewalk.

“Promise me you’ll actually pay attention to Steve’s spiel instead of staring at me the whole time,” you teased him as you walked over the crosswalk, nudging his side.

Steve was giving a presentation at the VA for the open house; explaining the benefits, the groups, different opportunities, and the respite rooms. It was a big deal apparently and helped to bring a lot of former soldiers into the fold. It was one of your favorite days because there was usually an increase of members at book club for a few weeks after.

“No guarantees,” Bucky replied, face as even as he could manage it. That was, until you swatted his chest and he burst into laughter, drawing the attention of a group of teenagers who eyed him as they walked by. Their lingering stare meant nothing to him when he stood at your side.

When you reached the VA, you pushed open the door, considering his hand was otherwise occupied, and led him inside. There were dozens of people in the lobby, certainly more than he’d ever seen inside. Men and women were mingling around the tables, some sitting on the couches, with paper plates of cheese and crackers from the grocery store.

Tony stumbled by carrying about four boxes filled with cookies, barely keeping his balance.

“I could use a little help, kid!” he called, eyeing you as he frantically made his way to the kitchen.

“Coming, Tony!” You turned to Bucky, smile still present on your face as you ran a hand along his arm in comforting sweeps. “Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Go.”

Maybe if he looked close enough, he might have seen a well of pride on your face, but you didn’t give him the chance before you leaned up and pressed a kiss straight to his lips— no cares for the crowd in the room or the fact that Sam and Steve were lingering around the VA somewhere. Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to worry about the stares because, hell, maybe he wanted people to know you were the woman he had the privilege of kissing.

“Go,” Bucky said again, pulling away from you reluctantly as a clanging could be heard from the kitchen, followed by an aggravated moan which could have only belonged to Tony Stark. You pouted, stealing one last kiss before bolting down the hall and out of sight.

Bucky spent a few extra seconds staring down the end of the empty hallway before he turned back to the room. The crowd didn’t bother him as much as it might have a few months earlier. He didn’t feel the same rush of anxiety in his veins as he felt on busy streets, but it didn’t mean he was explicitly comfortable either.

So, he kept to the outskirts of the room, standing along the wall and observing quietly from the corners.

The event seemed to be going well. He’d spotted Steve mingling with a group of older guys with long white beards and biker jackets, laughing as they told him about their adventures biking cross country. Sam found his way over to the couch beside a few of the guests who had busied themselves with the food instead and even found a way to get them talking to one another. Bucky kept his hand pressed into his pocket, a semblance of a smile on his face as he watched Sam pick a chip of the plate of the woman he was talking to without reservation.

It was a good place. A respite. Just like Sam had told him it would be. Bucky found a sense of normalcy in this building he couldn’t have hoped to find out in the real world alone— a belonging – and he knew a lot of that had to do with you.

He was just about to head down to the kitchen to see if you needed any help when he heard a voice that ran like ice through his veins. What it had said was indistinguishable, but Bucky could recognize the thick grovel of the tone almost anywhere. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, trying to remain as small as possible, as he spotted Jack Rollins emerging from the entrance.

With slicked jet-black hair, hardened angular lines upon his face, and a permanent scowl etching down on his features, Jack Rollins was not a man Bucky ever wanted to see again. He spoke with the two men in his wake, gesturing to a woman who was standing quietly by herself, reading the flyers on the bulletin board, as if he were stalking prey.

Bucky’s heart was thunderous as he took a step back. His black slammed against the wall, catching the breath in his lungs. His fingertips brushed over the chill of the pealing wallpaper, trying to find his grounding before Rollins noticed he was there. But luck was never so kind to him.

It only took one scan of the room before Rollin’s eyes landed on Bucky. He stilled, just as surprised to see him, but then, something dark twisted upon his features.

“Sergeant Barnes!” he called over the crowd, a jeering sort of laugh in his voice.

Bucky gritted his teeth, forcing himself to meet Rollins in the eye. “Jack.”

“Been over a year, man. How you been?” Rollins was conversational only in statement. His tone was near threatening, his men following behind him like a shadow. Dark eyes trailed down along the empty sleeve on Bucky’s side, a smile rising on his face.

Bucky tried to pretend as though he didn’t notice. “Recovering. You?”

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Rollins chuckled. Then, he puffed his chest up. “I’ve been working for the private sector.”

That didn’t surprise him. Rollins always had an affinity for the darkest parts of the job overseas. He took too much pleasure in the use of his weapon, paid no mind to the destruction left behind in his wake. Rollins was exactly the sort of man the military hoped to produce; follow chain of command without question, find purpose in your mission, execute without remorse. Seemed he found more of the same when he returned home. Only this time for a bigger paycheck.

Bucky could still picture him dressed in army camouflage with the weight of near forty pounds of combat gear on his back, finger always on the trigger. It felt a bit like that now, Bucky realized, as Rollins narrowed his eyes as if he were going in for the kill.

“You know, Barnes,” Rollins shrugged, exchanging a snide grin with his friends, “I’m a little surprised you’d even show your face around here after what happened. Takes guts.”

Bucky swallowed as though there weren’t blades in his throat. He tried not to let the hitch in his breath show or how his stomach dropped about ten feet below the surface. Instead, he pressed his lips together into a thin line, holding Rollins’ stare as if he were made of stone.

“You should leave,” Bucky said, his voice low enough to break gravel.

“Me?” Rollins mocked, laughing as he turned to his friends. Then, facing Bucky again as a darkness clouded over his features. “That's rich, coming from you.”

Bucky held his breath. He tried to draw on images of you sitting across from him at Luciana’s, how you smiled at him, how you made him feel like he didn’t carry such a heavy weight upon his back. He pictured you curled up next to him in your bed, imprints of the pillow on your cheeks and the covers pulled up tight to your chin. He imagined how your hand felt in his, how it brushed along his back, how your lips felt on his cheek, on his mouth.

But those pictures started to fade the longer Rollins stared at him, that devilish smirk upon his face as he ran a hand along his jawline, cracking his knuckles against the bone. Those comforting images of you sunk into the darkness, pulled from him somewhere far beyond where he could reach and suddenly, he felt like he was standing on a pillar at the center of the ocean, nothing but violent waves surrounding him for miles. Alone.

“I mean, what the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?” Rollins jeered, picking up a cookie from the table, inspecting it for a moment before he tossed it back on the platter. It crumbled on impact. “You think you even deserve to step foot in this building after what you did?”

“It didn’t go down like you think,” Bucky shot back, his voice uneven, wavering, as if he didn’t quite believe it himself.

He tried to repeat the words that Sam had worked to instill in him again and again for months after he came home. They never seemed to stick until the last few weeks but now – now they felt as far away as ever.

I did everything I could.

Some things are outside of my control.

It wasn’t my fault.

He wasn’t sure he believed that with Jack Rollins circling around him like a vulture, amused by the distress quickly forming against Bucky’s features.

From across the room, Sam stood up from his place on the couch, a hand gesturing over to Steve as he caught sight of Rollins. Bucky retreated in his stance, feeling as though Rollins was towering over him, his chest caving in. Rollin smirked, teeth bared and ready to strike.

With venom like precision, Rollins spat, “You’re the reason half our unit is dead, asshole.”

It hit like a sucker punch to the gut, made him stumbled back a few paces as if he were clocked in the chest. The initial blow only lasted for a few seconds before the overwhelming sense of shame seeped back into his veins, slipping through his blood like muddied waters and stealing away the careful, steady progress he’d made.

Then, a lingering acceptance as it cleared him to the surface.

A numbness took over, casting back to the shadows inside his mind. It was what he’d been waiting for since the day he’d stepped foot off that plane – for someone to confirm all the destruction and self-loathing he’d felt since that day.

Rollins was right.

I could have saved them.

I could have prevented all of it.

It was my fault.

He’d been foolish to convince himself otherwise.

“Hey!” Sam barked, jutting out in front of Bucky and shoving a hand to the middle of Rollin’s chest as he attempted to draw closer. “What the fuck is your problem, man?”

“My problem? My problem is you’re letting just about anyone walk through those doors!” Rollins shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Bucky. “Your buddy here is responsible for eight of our own coming home in caskets!”

Bucky flinched, visibly recoiling as if something had burned him, and it seemed to be the reaction Rollins was looking for because a snide grin slid up along his cheeks.

Steve was suddenly on his left, a hand pressed to his shoulder. He was whispering something in his ear, but he couldn’t quite hear him. He could hardly make out what Sam was shouting as he attempted to push Rollins towards the door. A crowd was gathering – standing in watch to observe the shame of a soldier who should have burned in the desert with his friends.

“What’s going on?”

Bucky’s heart dropped at the sound of your voice as you appeared on his right. He didn’t know how long you’d been there or what you heard, but it was the first time he ever regretted allowing himself the luxury of your presence, of your warmth and kindness. You should have been an anchor beside him, but he could feel the rope slipping from his grip, letting him sink down into the ocean or float high into the clouds – somewhere far away from where you were.

You ran your hand along his arm, trying to thread an ounce of comfort back into his body, but he was rigid as stone. The touch was paralyzing. It was a reminder of his emptiness, of his ill attempt to be worthy of your affection. You seemed to notice as you stared up at him, worry filling your eyes.

“Ah, so you’ve got a girl now, too?” Rollins sneered towards Bucky, shoving Sam aside.

“Leave her out of this,” Bucky warned, his voice returning to him only in your defense. He stepped out in front of you, shielding you from Rollins’ gaze.

It only seemed to amuse him more. “Tell me, sweetheart. What’s it like? I mean, can he even get the job done? You wanna try being with a real man again?”

It was Sam that roared in response. “Watch your fucking mouth!”

Your hand rested on Bucky’s shoulder blades as if you were trying to ease him but he felt like he was on fire. Rollins shoved Sam aside to get a better look at you, a predator going in for the kill.

Rollins’ cold eyes stared directly into yours and Bucky felt his breathing stop.

“Did you know half of our unit died under his watch?”

Everything became white noise after that. Bucky didn’t dare turn to look at your reaction, nor could he hear Sam’s defense or Steve’s angry shouts as Rollins continued his taunts. He didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, Rollins was on the floor. Sam was shaking his hand out, holding his fist against his chest.

Rollins stumbled his way back to his feet with a vengeance, folding his hands into fists as he charged at Sam.

“Get him out of here!” Steve’s muffled voice called to you as the crowd began to swarm in. Former soldiers joining the chaos, cheering or barreling fists. A man bumped into Bucky’s shoulder, but there was no trace of a reaction on his face. He was empty. He was numb.

Bucky could vaguely feel your hand as you slipped it into his pocket, drawing his own to intertwine between your fingers and you tugged him down the hall. He knew better than to look over his shoulder at the mess he was leaving behind.

***

You took Bucky into the empty library, quickly closing the door behind you to muffle the sound of the shouting down the hall. Bucky stood at the head of the couch, his eyes downcast.

“Are you alright?” You knew there was no good answer. It was a foolish question. And still -- you asked.

Your hands slid along Bucky’s chest, up to his shoulders to try and draw some of the tension away, and for the first time, he recoiled under your touch. Your hands quickly dropped down to your sides as you took a few steps back, hands held tightly in front of you. A flash of remorse covered his features as he looked at you, but then the stone swept back in its place and hardened the softened edges you adored. You pushed aside the splinter inside your chest.

“Who was that guy anyway? He seems like a real piece of work.” You laughed, though it was tense and forced. Bucky didn’t so much as crack a smile.

It was silent for a moment. The only sound coming from the low hum of the radiator in the corner of the room. Bucky’s gaze was fixated on the carpet, staring at the years’ faded stains and the dust bunnies at the foot of the couch. A terrible aching tugging down on his lips, on his eyes, on his cheeks, and he barely resembled the man who had teased you over coffee at Luciana’s just an hour earlier.

“He was right, though.”

You swallowed, daring to ask, “what do you mean?”

“I'm the reason half my unit is dead,” Bucky replied flatly. When he looked at you again, you found his eyes were red, his lips swollen from chewing on the edges. His right hand had indents in his palm from where he’d dug his nails into the skin. Your stomach lurched.

“Oh, Bucky.” Your heart broke at the sight of him. “That... That can’t be true.”

He didn’t say anything, but the grit in his teeth was enough to tell you that he believed it. You’d only seen glimpses of how the war had touched him, how it cast shadows over the man he’d been before he stepped on that plane and adorned the uniform, but now – now, it felt like those shadows had consumed him whole. He couldn’t so much as see the soft rise of the sun over his shoulder. He was too swept up in the embrace of darkness. The light couldn’t touch him where he stood shielded by night.

“Why don’t we go to my place?” you offered, inching a step closer. When he didn’t retreat, you gathered his hand into your own. While he didn’t pull away again, you could feel the reluctance in his grip, the rigidity in his stance. “I can make dinner and we'll throw on a movie, okay? Let’s just get out of here.”

Your right hand slid along the side of his face, cupping at his cheek. He usually leaned into the touch, pressed a kiss to the inside of your palm. Instead, the most he could force out was a tight-lipped smile that did not touch his eyes. You could practically feel how hard he was clenching his jaw, the muscle tired and aching. Still, he nodded.

As you led him out the back exit of the VA, you glanced behind you to see Rollins sitting on the floor, nursing a bloody nose as a police officer stood over him, jotting down notes as he spoke with Steve. Sam caught your eye for a second, nodding in your direction. A relief washed through you and you tugged Bucky outside before anyone could notice him slip out.

It was silent the whole walk to your apartment. It wasn’t entirely unusual, but it was the first time the air carried a lingering sense of discomfort in it. You wondered what was going on in Bucky’s head, how badly he’d construed whatever Rollins had said to him, even before you arrived. Sam had told you of Bucky’s self-destructive habit of carrying guilt far heavier than he could carry, guilt that didn’t belong to him. He seemed to welcome it like it was made for him. He didn’t mind if it ripped him apart and left him broken and empty when it was done. He seemed to think it was what he deserved.

You squeezed his hand, hoping it might draw back a sense of comfort, but he kept his eyes forward on the empty streets ahead. His hand was little more than limp in your hold.

***

Bucky was just on the edge of sleep when it began to creep up on him. Slow at first, and then, sudden, in violent flashes.

Sweltering heat. The low rumble of a jeep. An infectious laugh on his left and the cold compress of a gun in his hands. A sudden stop.

Bucky gritted his teeth, trying to turn away from the images attempting to draw him under, to sweep him beyond the current, to drown him in the darkest parts of the depth. But the riptide caught hold of his leg and forced him underwater.

Heavy equipment on his back. Sand under his feet. The sun blinding in his eyes.

He swallowed, but his throat was lined in rust. It burned. He couldn’t breathe.

A reflection over a valley. Someone shouting. Screaming. Warning. Frantic.

The kid. Get to the kid!

Then – the heat of a fire scorching his skin. Ringing in his ears. Muffled. Agonizing silence. Blood on the sand, on his shoes, dripping down his side and soaking into his uniform.

Pain. So much pain. So much pain. So much—

Bucky’s eyes shot open. He sucked in a breath of air and it came in short and shallow, barely filling his lungs, and he was panting for more. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gasping for breath until he took enough in that the dizziness started to subside. His forehead was lined in sweat, his right hand shaking uncontrollably as he gripped at the sheets.

It was as mild as it’s ever been – the nightmares. Usually, he woke up screaming, his voice so raw it ached until morning. He thrashed and kicked and drew blood until something finally jarred him awake. He’d broken the lamp beside his bed four times in the weeks after he came home. It was violent and messy, and it was a damn miracle he’d only felt a sliver of it tonight.

But it had been so long since he had one. He almost thought they had finally released him from their hold before Rollins showed up. For a while, they let him be happy. He should have known better than to expect it to last.

The mattress dipped slightly behind him and with a sharp hilt, Bucky suddenly remembered where he was.

He turned over his shoulder to find you laying on the bed beside him, hair cast up and around you against the pillow, eyes closed, the steady rhythm of your breaths indicating you were still fast asleep. He stilled for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the light scrunch in your nose.

You’d tried so hard to get him to smile the whole evening after what happened at the VA. Constant touches to his cheeks, along his arm, playing absentmindedly with his hand. You made him dinner and curled up against him as you put on a movie that you were certain would turn his mood around, but he remained stoic and cold until you finally resigned to the bedroom.

He could tell how exhausted you were. Even reaching for his hand, there was a helplessness in your grasp, but you’d begged him to stay, insisting you didn’t want him to be alone after what happened at the VA. You held him tight to your chest, told him over and over again that you didn’t care what Rollins said, you knew he was a good man and that was all that mattered.

Bucky wanted so badly to believe that.

But here you were – so beautiful, a light, something good in his life he didn’t deserve.

Sam would kill him for giving into those thoughts again, but all he had in his head was violence and agony and there you were – so peaceful and soft and kind. He'd taint you with all the mess threatening to break through his seams. He’d hurt you. He'd break you. You couldn’t hold him together no matter how hard you tried. He didn’t deserve such kindness. Today reminded him of that.

Bucky leaned in and pressed a short kiss to your temple. It was feather light and still, you sighed in your sleep. He tried not to notice when the corners of your lips curved up into a smile.

Then, he crept out of the room, stealing one last look at you as you turned onto your side, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Something tugged inside his chest, begging him to stay. He could feel it pushing him back toward the bed, to your embrace and the comfort it brought, but he turned his back. He ignored his every instinct to return to your side and dragged his feet of the bedroom instead.

Despite his reluctance, he found himself lingering on the photograph in your hallway of the Air Force pilot; sandy blonde hair, a tight-lipped smile, features that made him look younger than he probably was. A pang of jealousy wretched into his stomach at the sight of this nameless man. Shame quickly followed.

You never spoke of the man in the photo – the nameless Air Force pilot who stood at your side in front of your parents. The way you pressed out a smile despite your tears, the position of your stance angled closer to the pilot as if to preserve your last remaining moments together, made Bucky question what had happened to this man. This was clearly a man you had loved. Might still love.

Bucky didn’t dare allow himself to wonder if he had ever measured up. He supposed now he would not get the chance.

Bucky let out a sigh as he turned away from the picture. He made it all the way to the door before he heard the squeak of the floor boards behind him.

“Bucky?”

Sleep was still etched in your voice. You yawned as you folded your arms, squinting at him to adjust to the dim light in the kitchen. Bucky clenched his jaw, reluctantly turning to face you.

“It’s the middle of the night,” you said, eyes flickering to the clock above the stove. It was then you must have noticed the jacket draped over his shoulders, boots on his feet, hand begrudgingly releasing the door knob. Your face fell. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t know what to say. Was there an easy way to break your heart? Was there any excuse that could allow both of you to walk away from this unharmed? There was no good answer, but his silence certainly was worse.

“Bucky?” you tried again and he could hear the inflection of concern etched into your tone. You took a step closer to him and he held himself firm. He was stone now. It was what he had to be.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered out, voice low, though he met your eye. “I can’t do this.”

If you were still half asleep a moment ago, you weren’t anymore. Your eyes widened, lips parting. Your arms fell down to your sides.

“What... What are you talking about?” you exhaled, barely above a whisper. He could hear the hurt in your voice, the confusion, and he hated himself for it. You stepped closer, reaching out for his hand. “Please, just come back to bed. You look like you haven't slept for—”

Bucky pulled his hand away the moment you touched his fingers. It forced a hitch in your breath, a step back. You hadn’t expected him to recoil from you like that. Two times in the same day. You were losing him, the realization clear in your eyes. He was slipping and he would not take the tether as you threw it to him.

“This is about what that man said at the VA, isn’t it?” you asked timidly, your lip quivering. You shook your head, trying to hold back tears though Bucky could practically hear the tension from the lump in your throat. “He was... he was just being cruel. I don’t believe a word of it. And neither does Sam or Steve – the people that love you, Bucky. Don’t give in into him. Don’t let him win.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, rendering his reaction colder than you deserved.

You reached out for him again, a habit, though you pulled your hand back to your chest before you could touch him. It was shaking.

“Honey, please,” you tried again, unwilling to give up on him like you should. “Come get some rest and maybe you’ll feel better in the morning. Just... don’t go. Don’t be alone with this.”

You were begging. He could hear it in your voice. The desperation. And still—Bucky offered you nothing in return.

He sank so far inside himself you couldn’t reach beyond the cliffside to offer your hand. All it took was a single push. He was already standing so close to the edge. Rollins had set a hand on his back, like an old friend, like an enemy, and shoved. Bucky didn’t even try to catch his fall.

“Whatever this is...” Bucky murmured and eyes focused down at the tile, unable to look at you as he broke your heart, “it’s over.”

His heart was splintering as he said it and still, he turned and left without another word. He didn’t wait for your response, didn’t wait to see whether his cruelty had ended in tears, and closed the door behind him. You didn’t attempt to follow.

You’d understand eventually, he convinced himself. Even a woman as compassionate and loving as you couldn't possibly love a man so broken, with jagged edges and open wounds, with shards of glass embedded inside him and poison in his touch. Empty and hollow. Broken.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes

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1kook · 4 years

Text

EXPLORER

jjk x female reader

FOR GCN’S ❝ 23 | JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY PROJECT ❞ ! Alien AU | “I want to have your last name!” | “I like when you do that, it makes me crazy.”

summary; Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. warnings; smut in the forms of cunnilingus, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, anal, tit play, and all that jazz bc surprise its tentacle porn rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous; FLUFF, strangers to friends to lovers, curious alien kook, there’s a saber tooth tiger mention, virginity is a social construct, they both have skewed perceptions of sex and love, and idk what else word count; 17.8k

notes; someone said once “all u ever do is write college aus 😃” and i was like lol true but i was also a virgo and was like “i’ll prove u wrong” and next thing i knew i was writing a 17k alien au clap for me lads

special thanks to; my savior and editor rumu ( @kigurumu ) who very politely tells me when im making up words n also when shit doesn't make sense but lets me make stupid final decisions that will come back to bite me in the ass<3 and also my gf yeji @suqakoo who watched me crash and burn about ten times while writing this monstrosity of fic and just laughed her support amazes me<3

BEFORE READING SEE HERE; body marks, under eye marks, sixam that i stole from the sims 4

He comes with the sole purpose of populating this uncharted territory with his seed.

Jungkook has been on many missions abroad. He’s visited about every planet in Sector 76 before this, the largest collection of neighboring galaxies known to exist. And because of that, he likes to think he’s well educated in extraterrestrial affairs, quite knowledgeable in the barbaric ways of the foreigners. They see, they mate. Pretty simple.

For the past couple years, as leading field researcher of Sixam, Jungkook has been exclusively studying every creature he comes across. He enjoys cataloging their habits, their mating cycles, and the unique culture they develop, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not.

Granted, he’s never been on a mission like this.

This type of mission has never been his.

When the great planet of Sixam wishes to settle colonies of new species— Sixamian bred with whatever other species that have deemed suitable —they usually task people like Namjoon or Seokjin, both high ranking generals of the Sixamian Intergalactic Corp. with a near immaculate genetic makeup. Their genotypes carry strong traits, and are oftentimes most reflected in their phenotypes as well. Beings like Namjoon or Jin are the epitome of what it means to be Sixamian, which is why Jungkook is surprised when they ask him to place his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7 of the Via Láctea solar system, otherwise known as ‘Earth.’

It wasn’t that Jungkook had major self image issues, nor did he think he was particularly bad to look at. In fact, Jungkook thinks he’s pretty amazing. Of course he doesn’t compare to Namjoon or Jin, but quite frankly, the comparison is skewed by the fact he works in a different field than them. You cannot compare black holes to asteroid belts; in a similar fashion, you cannot compare military generals to scientific researchers.

Anyway, Jungkook has never been to Planet 43 Z-7, but some of his coworkers have. They all claim it is a beautiful place, filled to the brim with life and culture never before seen.

Frankly, Jungkook doesn’t believe it.

He’s seen hundreds of planets, thousands of species, so he hardly feels amazed anymore. There is nothing enjoyable about other planets when he comes from Sixam, quite possibly the most intellectually advanced one in the universe. And he says this having met Yoongi of Planet 732 T-1, another being near immaculate in terms of cognitive abilities.

But not as perfect as Sixamians.

Hoseok says Planet 43 Z-7 has all sorts of unique artifacts, like these edible arrangements called ‘hot dogs’ you eat between two pieces of raised yeast. Planet 43 Z-7 has been unmarked for eons now, but is a popular hideout for rebelling Sixamians during their early years. Jungkook was never one of those types, but he has a handful of friends who were.

Needless to say, Jungkook isn’t looking forward to his mission. He asks Namjoon and Jin for tips on how to approach the reproductive members in the species, if there’s any protocol he needs to follow, but they simply laugh it off. They’ve both had the pleasure of, well, pleasuring some of the most beautiful creatures in the universe, so Jungkook’s incompetence must be a sight to see.

Airship handler Jimin is the last face he sees on Sixam. He’s as relaxed as ever, strapping Jungkook into his travel pod like this is just another one of his research trips and not his first ever population operation. He pats his shoulder once, tells him to bring him back something called a ‘Nintendo DS’ that his partner Taehyung has been begging for since the last time they went to Planet 43 Z-7, but Jungkook has no idea what that is.

And then he’s off.

Jungkook has long since grown comfortable with the emptiness of space, a desolate feeling that oddly made him feel at home. But, as he hurtles towards his destination, there’s a newfound sense of anxiety that consumes him at the thought of this unknown planet— this ‘Earth’ that his fellow Sixamian friends speak so highly about.

He lands in a field. Well, ‘lands’ is a bit of a stretch; his pod comes to a stop a few feet above Planet 43 Z-7’s surface, hovering over the natural flora that seems to grow in abundance in this part of the planet. It’s… dirty, compared to the sleek skyscrapers and glowing structures of Sixam.

He steps out tentatively, the vegetation crunching beneath the boots of his skintight spacesuit. The folks back at Sixam had told him that whatever the residents of this planet breathed in was compatible with Sixamians, but he still hesitates to click off his helmet.

The planet is quiet, save for the quiet chirping of some creature underground. The AI on his helmet pulls up the information before his very eyes, the advanced technology quickly tapping into wherever it was these beings stored their information. A mole cricket, he reads, first documented by a researcher about two hundred human years back. Very annoying.

His pod seals itself shut again, presumably heading back into orbit until Jungkook calls for it again. With it gone, he’s faced with the vast nothingness of Planet 43 Z-7, just grass and trees with very few things in between. He’s beginning to suspect Jimin might have sent him to the wrong coordinates, a void space on the planet with nothing but vegetation for miles.

Part of him is frustrated, beyond annoyed that he cannot even complete the one thing he came to do if there is no being in sight. But another part, the part of him that had been nervous to even accept this mission, feels grateful. Well, there was no use complaining about it now, he thinks. He pulls up his virtual journal, ready to catalogue every bit of vegetation he can set his eyes on.

After a while, his helmet becomes stuffy, the digital screen that plays over the glass piece fogging up with his breath. So Jungkook takes his chances and clicks it off, the sudden wash of oxygen filling his lungs quickly. It’s fresh and moist? It smells like his laboratories back on Sixam, the ones that took years of countless trips around the universe and meticulous gardening to cultivate. Yet here on Planet 43 Z-7, this type of phenomenon is common, and apparently, ignored by its residents.

One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, he supposes.

He’s scanning a peculiar organism, reddish and dome-shaped, when he hears the first crack of a twig. Immediately, his defenses rise. Jungkook was by no means a skilled warrior, but most Sixamians fared better than other creatures in the universe. Save for the few barbarian, primitive species they’ve encountered, 9/10 times any wild encounter was in their favor.

His eyes scan over the perimeter of the field, scanning, scanning, scanning— until he spots two, huge, glowing yellow eyes from distance. His eyes widen, flicking on the retractable blaster from his wrist and pointing it at the creature.

It’s bigger than him, with eyes that look over only a short distance before gradually dying down. He wonders if that’s the scope of its field of vision, crouching down along the vegetation. He creeps closer, rounds the bright beams until he can see the creature’s side, an oddly shaped thing, almost like a shell. It has wheels, he realizes, mentally jotting down the fact this species is advanced enough to develop such technology on their own.

Right as he’s beginning to lower his wrist, deciding this metal creature posed no threat from its lack of movement, something smaller moves around it, carrying a compact version of those glowing eyes.

Jungkook panics, wildly clicking through the modes on his wrists. He jumps from his blaster to the thermal detector, and the smaller creature that moves around the metal beast has a heat signature he’s never seen before, warmth that begins at its core but doesn’t drop drastically as it fans out. And then he’s switching to his electroscope and is startled to see that the smaller creature even carries an electric charge beneath its outer membrane.

This is terrifying, he thinks to himself, wondering why his friends back home had decided to trick him into believing Planet 43 Z-7 was remotely safe.

Before Jungkook can act rashly and accidentally kill that terrifying creature, he’s blindly stepping into a hole in the ground, a dip in the field. An uncontrollable yelp tears itself from his throat at the roll of his ankle.

Immediately, the yellow eye is upon him, flickering over his kneeling form in the vegetation. Jungkook freezes, caught in the all-seeing rays of the yellow eye. He wonders if this is the end, the end of an undoubtedly legendary run, as the creature slowly approaches.

Its figure is shrouded, the blinding eye turning them into just a silhouette that closes in on Jungkook fairly quickly. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he never stepped out of his pod, when the beam flickers off.

“Hello?” a hesitant voice calls out, and then he’s met with you.

You had always believed holding out until marriage would come as an advantage. You played it safe your entire life, always did what you were told. You had grown up in a relatively traditional household, always following the rules like a good kid. Your parents said no dating until seventeen? You waited until seventeen. Your health classes in school said practice abstinence? You practiced abstinence.

Following the rules was what got you into a prestigious university. Following the rules is what got you your first, quite admirable, job. Following the rules is what had gotten you into your first serious relationship with your boyfriend, who became your fiancé, who would become the man to cheat on you three nights before your wedding.

Being a virgin— that symbol of purity —was supposed to make you desirable to men, you thought. It was supposed to protect you from bad experiences, keep you perfectly polished until the time came. You had many a friend who had engaged in sex at a young age, experienced mind blowing sex that would never be topped, even by their own future husbands. You had saved yourself from disappointment by saving yourself in general.

Except that concept, that meticulously followed tradition, was what ultimately drove your fiancé away.

Three days.

Three days before you would marry and lose that treasured thing you had been carrying around for the past twenty-five years, flushed clean down the drain all because he couldn’t wait any longer. He had managed four years with you, four memorable years where he had religiously told you he loved you every chance he got, regardless of your lack of sex life. Just to blow it for some barely legal chick at a bar.

Needless to say, you were done. Absolutely finished with him and your friends who claimed they “weren’t surprised” only after the fact, or your parents who had urged you to try again. You were done with this saving and waiting all for a man who ultimately did you dirty. You needed to get away from it all, and the only way to do that was to leave the city all together.

Your parents were uncomfortable with the idea. They said it was too brash a decision to give up after one try. But your whole future had been riding on this one try, and to have it completely ripped away from you crushed not only your hope but your pride.

On the other hand, your grandmother and her lifelong experiences with men understood you just perfectly. She was old, living in a retirement home near your parents’ home in one of your city’s many suburbs. There was a house out in the countryside, about a two-hour drive from the city. She had grown up there, and even though she hadn’t lived there in years, she simply couldn’t bring herself to sell it off. So she gave it to you.

It was a cute little thing, a stereotypical farmhouse surrounded by miles and miles of nothingness. Well, your neighbors were about half a mile off on either side, but who was walking half a mile for a cup of sugar? No one.

You loved it.

It was peace and quiet, long days of focusing on yourself and your tiny garden outback. There was no societal pressure to act right, or forced ideologies to make yourself the ‘perfect woman.’ It was just you and a stray cat that visited now and then, spending day after day reading and writing, working from home.

The trips into the city were far and few between. There was a general store close to your house, nestled into a quaint little town you visited every so often. And the mailmen still had to make their stops through here, so everything was practically at your fingertips. The only thing you had to do in the city was drop by the main branch office of your job. Your work had mostly been over a computer before, so moving to work at home was rather easy. However, there was still the occasional board meeting to sit through.

So here you were, three months into your new living situation and on your way back home from the city. The evening sun is beating down hot on your yellow Beetle. You were in desperate need for a check up, but you kept pushing it off and telling yourself tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It seems tomorrow should have been today, because by the time the sun is setting, home is still another thirty minutes away and the temperature gauge is climbing to unhealthy levels.

The Beetle pushes for another two minutes before wheezing to a stop in the middle of nowhere, your angry slaps against the dashboard doing nothing to revive it. With a muttered curse, you switch the car off. The front lights remain on even as you round the dead car, angrily kicking the tire with your heel. It doesn’t budge.

You sigh, sinking down to your knees beside the opened door you came out of. The nearest mechanic was still a forty minutes’ drive from here, and you doubt anyone is still open. The con of small towns is that most of the businesses close after sunset. One glance at your phone lets you know it’s way too late to call anyone for help. You contemplate just walking to your house, but it’s dark and far, and your heels were only meant to be worn for an hour or two during your meeting. Not for an entire transcontinental trek back home.

Sighing, you decide your best bet is tinkering around yourself. You weren’t a total idiot, so you hope whatever is wrong with your car is something you can fix on your own. You shoot back up to your feet, patting the blood back into your face as you round the car.

There’s nothing but you and the Beetle for miles on end— or so you think.

Just as you flicker your flashlight over the expanse of grass, there’s a startled shout that scares the living daylights out of you, flashlight fumbling in your hand in your haste to see what it was.

Great, so not only were you stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but your heels to carry you to safety, but now there was also a man out there, hiding in the tall grass like a voyeur.

It’s a terrible idea, but you approach him anyway. There’s a huddled figure, a gleam of a bizarre outfit that has you shaking in your heels as you step closer to the edge of the road. And when you finally get close enough, the light shining over their figure, you’re not exactly sure what you’re looking at.

“Hello?” you call out, and are met with the most violet eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Jungkook thinks you are an odd creature.

To begin with, you carry an electrical charge at your fingertips but are unable to revive your rickety metal ride with said touch. It is undoubtedly a trait he does not remember cataloguing in any other species before yours; it might rival the Sixamians’ aura sensing abilities, the little triangular markings beneath their eyes that allowed them to alter another’s emotions. Electricity beneath surface, he mentally notes for the nth time that night.

The inside of your vehicle is disgustingly mediocre, a mixture of old clogs and pipes he’s only seen in ancient Sixamian textbooks. Still, they’re devastatingly easy to figure out. One simple twist of a lid later and your car is revving back to life. You squeal and clap, clacking around on the frankly terrifying footwear you call heels that are practically knives as stilts.

Amazing, you cry, moving like a mini tornado around him. You don’t seem the least bit phased by his appearance, despite the initial shock you’d gotten when you first made eye contact. Actually, Jungkook thinks you might be the quickest extraterrestrial being to accept his existence as fact. He has to wonder what exactly goes on here that has these Humans, as Jimin has called them, so desensitized to the appearance of otherworldly figures such as himself.

You invite him into your moving death trap, not the least bit concerned with the chest piece of armor he removes and tosses into the seats behind him. Jungkook has been in a lot of near death situations, and somehow your manner of driving this metal box marks high on the list.

“My home,” you tell him when you finally pull up to a tiny shack of a house. It’s about the same size as his personal lab back on Sixam, so he wonders just which one of you is being deluded by the size. The car engine shuts off with a practiced flick of your wrist, and then you’re making your way up the front steps without sparing him a glance.

“Lovely,” he says at the entrance. He moves to travel deeper inside, but you warn him to remove his shoes. He does, hesitantly, bare feet padding along the wooden floors behind you. “Forgive me,” he apologizes, watching you bumble around a small space with a standing cooler and heat box. “I haven’t asked your name.”

You hum, tugging out two cups from a hanging cabinet. You fill them with a white substance, followed by a light brown powder that almost makes you sneeze, before shoving them into the heat box that begins suspiciously counting down. “__ ___,” you offer.

Jungkook frowns. “You have two names?” he asks skeptically. In Sixam, rarely anyone had two names. “Are you a government official?”

You laugh. “No, but I do work for an office. I have one name, and then my last name,” you explain.

This only perplexes him more. “A last name?” he repeats. “What is the purpose of this last name?”

You shrug, and the heat box beeps loudly. Jungkook twitches, ready to aim his blaster once more but you calm the beeping box with a gentle click that has the front opening, the most heavenly scent wafting into his nostrils. Oh Jungkook definitely needed to take that back. Much to his surprise, you hand him one of the handled cups, the sweet smell making his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Well,” you say, seemingly unaware of the way you just changed Jungkook’s entire life. “I have my name, and then I have my family’s name. Like, to show we’re in the same group, kinda,” you explain. “And it also helps sort of differentiate you from other people with the same first name.” You settle down on a seat in front of the counter, carefully blowing across the liquid contents of the mug. Jungkook doesn’t get why until he tries to take a sip and the liquid scalds his tongue. You laugh. “Gotta cool it down, silly.”

He feels silly. In fact, he feels beyond embarrassed that someone who is not a Sixamian is looking at him with the same eyes you look at an infant with. He has a strong need to reinforce his superiority over you.

“Well I am Jungkook,” he announces proudly. “Jungkook of Sixam. The only Jungkook of Sixam, because we do not believe in sharing something as intimate as our names with another,” he huffs. You scoff, a genuine look of amusement crossing your features that Jungkook simply does not understand.

It’s with a practiced grace that you set your cup down on the counter, face coming to a rest in in the palm of your hand as you watch him talk over himself about the intricacies of Sixamian names, and how each one is carefully selected at one’s first celebration to honor the first long year of life they overcame. That look on your face, that disgustingly entertained expression does not melt away, even when Jungkook hastily calls your people imbeciles to your face.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, staring deep into the contents of your hot cocoa, as you had called it when offering him a second cup, as if you don’t seem to disagree in the slightest. “Humans are like that.

There’s a quality to your voice, a rather melancholy tone that curls around your words that stops Jungkook’s tirade against your race for a moment. There’s a look in your eyes, hollow and alone, that he cannot place. He wonders if it’s from past experiences or from a shared Human trauma. Either way, he does not understand.

It’s with a shake of your head that you look up at him again, sweet smile back on your features. “Humans are selfish creatures, Jungkook,” you say.

He is not sure if he believes you.

Jungkook has traveled to many parts of the universe, has visited places your tiny Human brain may never comprehend. Yet he has not always received this treatment. There have been missions where he has been picked on and abused for his curiosity, rudely ejected back into the vast emptiness of space just because he wanted to know more, learn more. Not every planet welcomes him with a soft smile and a warm place to stay.

Despite the initial unimpressed confusion he felt upon entering Planet 43 Z-7, there is something about the quirk of your lips and gentle tapping of your fingers that intrigues him.

Huh, he thinks, subconsciously cataloguing your mannerisms in his head. He will write about this later.

You let Jungkook sleep in your quarters, a small area with a mattress that he sinks into with delight. There’s a change of clothing you set out on the edge of the bed, a rather shabby set that matches yours. He is reluctant to peel away his bodysuit, even more so when he realizes he is standing naked on a foreign planet with a very strange creature clattering around downstairs. He hurries into the clothes.

You peek your head into the room later on, carefully flicking off the lights as he settles onto the mattress. Jungkook is beyond tired, body fatigued from hurtling thousands of light years through space in such a short amount of time. The abundance of breathable oxygen is still something his body has to grow accustomed to. Your voice is soft as you whisper out a goodnight farewell that he can only sleepily mumble back.

Jungkook is quite literally the most gorgeous person you have ever seen. Well, person is a stretch considering you’re not entirely sure what he is, or where he’s from. When you found him, sadly crouched in the middle of nowhere, you wanted to convince yourself he was some random college boy lost on his way to a costume convention. But he’s not. His big purple irises are oddly bright, practically luminescent, and that’s definitely not something one could achieve through stage makeup. And he’s not a college student either, despite how youthful he looks, but a foreign being at least three times your age.

Or so he says.

Honestly, you’re torn between wanting to write him off a nutjob or believing he is this highly intelligent extraterrestrial being. In the case he is the latter, you find it odd that of all the planets in your solar system— a whopping eight, maybe nine —he chose crappy old Earth to visit.

Jungkook moves like a fine tuned instrument, graceful limbs wandering around your home and backyard the next morning. His little head piece, a unique accessory that wraps around the base of his skull like a microphone headset or something, seems to keep him in constant communication with his fellow brethren so long as he wears it. So he wears it all the time.

Still, you’re able to differentiate between his messages back home and his mindless mumbles. Those usually happen more often than not, soft muttering as he inspects your garden, vivid descriptions of the plainest things like an onion.

“Lemonade’s ready,” you call, stepping into your backyard. Jungkook peers over your rosemaries like a bunny, wide eyes scanning the pitcher you set out on your back porch’s table. Carefully, he steps around your meticulous rows of vegetables. He’s wearing the clothes you lent him last night, a pair of shorts and a shirt your brother had left when he visited a few weeks ago. They fit him nicely, shorts just shy of his knees.

“This is lemond-aid?” he asks quizzically, tentative hands reaching for the quickly perspiring glass. He has unique markings that begin at his hands, twisting and curling carefully around his arms. They’re gold in the sunlight, contrasting softly against his relatively peachy skin. There’s a matching set on his knees that wrap over and around his thighs, beneath his shorts. He looks every bit the celestial being, yet here he is marveling over the lemon slice balanced on the rim of his glass.

“Lemonade,” you correct, sitting down on your rocking chair. Your floppy sun hat protects you from the brutal rays of the sun, practically scorching in this summer heat. It reminds you of the honeymoon you were supposed to take a few months back. You stomp out the memory.

Jungkook takes tentative sips, stopping every few seconds to smack his lips at the taste. Then, suddenly, he’s plopping down on the wooden planks of your porch criss-cross applesauce. The bracelet-like contraption he had removed from his suit is sitting on his wrist by itself, with Jungkook rapidly tapping some unseeable button on it until a blue hologram appears between the two of you.

“Woah,” you gasp, the projection flawless and stable. Jungkook gets to work tapping at it, unrecognizable symbols appearing on the screen. His glass of lemonade is by his knee, ice tinkling inside.

“Lemond-aide,” he repeats, mouth moving awkwardly around the world. He glances at you for confirmation. You shake your head. Frustrated, he scoots up beside you, pressed against your leg like a puppy. “Say it,” he commands, tapping at his screen once.

You clear your throat. “Uh, lemonade?” you offer. Jungkook nods, clicks something else, and then your voice is repeating itself back to the two of you. He looks for your approval once more. “Perfect,” you nod, slightly bashful to hear your own voice played back like that.

Content with your approval, he gets back to work, clicking and typing wildly at the screen until it’s filled to the brim with those strange symbols. When he’s done, he says his name and date into the same recording device and shuts off his hologram. “It is an interesting thing,” he says quietly, bare feet swinging over the edge of the porch. “A sweet drink procured from a tangy fruit.”

You nod, can’t stop the smile that consumes your features at his childlike wonder. You know it’s not his fault that such simple things astound him, but there’s something about Jungkook’s genuine curiosity and snarky tongue that make you feel young again. Like a teenager in her prime, sitting with a silly high school boy. Not a woman sitting on the cusp of thirty, alone and untrusting of the world.

“What are hot dogs?” Jungkook cuts in abruptly, turning to face you with those purple eyes of his. You can’t help it; you laugh.

“I have some in the fridge,” you answer, leaving your rocking chair and him on the porch. Jungkook doesn’t sit still for long, quietly trailing behind you inside the house. The stray cat is here today, slinking around your ankles as you scour the fridge for the hot dogs. It’s a perfect day for a barbecue, you think, with hot dogs and lemonade.

The cat wanders over towards Jungkook, sniffing at his ankles before nuzzling against him too. “You also have smilodon on your planet,” he comments. ��You are comfortable with such murderous beasts in your home?”

You furrow your brows. “It’s just a cat,” you shrug, leaning down to pick up the furry baby. He purrs against your chest while Jungkook glares at it.

“Have you taken its teeth for your own?” he asks.

“What?” you laugh. “He has all his teeth.”

Jungkook frowns. “No, his unusually large canines,” he explains, mimics two giant fangs with his fingers. “Is this a kitten of a smilodon?” You have no idea what he’s saying at this point, rubbing the cat’s back gently as Jungkook talks over himself. He does that a lot, you realize, ramble about facts you would otherwise see as of little importance.

The afternoon is spent grilling hot dogs, Jungkook carefully trailing the cat he has taken to calling Smilodon. You watch from the grill as he follows the cat around the garden, gently shooing it off when it gets too close to your broccoli plants. He’s cute, you think, watching him maneuver around your plants with the grace of a trained dancer.

He absolutely adores the hot dogs, spending another twenty minutes typing out one of those funky journal entries into the computer in his wristband. He asks about the Nintendo DS, something that makes you laugh boisterously at the absurdity of the question.

When it gets dark outside, he stands in one place and stares up at the sky, rendered motionless at the sight. Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, but he loves hot cocoa. He settles in to watch the nightly news with you, every five minutes filled with an abundance of questions about your planet— which he refers to by a unique set of numbers and letters you’ve never heard before —and what you like to do. Every tidbit of information is documented in his wristband.

He sleeps on the couch this time, feeling shameful to have pulled you away from such an amazing mattress. He says goodnight shyly from the bottom of the stairs, followed by a tentative wave he saw you give the mailman that morning. You say it back and fall asleep, the alien in your living room not making a peep.

Thus a whole week passes with Jungkook of Sixam.

On the seventh day of his stay, Jungkook is woken up by the quiet beeping of his headpiece. It’s Chief Kim Namjoon, calling to ask how his population operation of Planet 43 Z-7 is going. Jungkook stills, the quiet chirping of the birds outside your window filling in the space. The water is running somewhere inside your house, signaling your conscious state.

His answers are quick and sharp, nervous laughter falling from his lips as he rushes to end the call with Namjoon. He manages to do so just as you appear in the living room, skin nice and dewy from your morning shower, eyes still showing signs of your peaceful slumber.

“Good morning,” you rasp quietly, a soft ruffle of his hair as you pass by Jungkook on your way to the kitchen. His face feels warm, under eye markings surely glowing a vivid red at the gesture you have gradually ingrained into him, one that makes his heart rev up like an engine preparing to shoot off millions of light years into the distance.

Jungkook enters the kitchen behind you, your pet smilodon greeting the two of you with a gentle head butt against his ankles that is unlike any other smilodon he has encountered before. He sits at the counter as you work on breakfast, the faint scent of your cucumber body scrub wafting by with every turn you make in the small kitchen.

And then he’s thinking.

There are a few crucial bits of information that Jungkook has come to realize over the past week, some of which he hears directly from you, others he picks up from watching your ancient projection in the living room.

One: of the variety of human genders that exist on Earth, you are one that seems to carry the specific set of bodily structures necessary for reproduction. He’s inspected you carefully the last few days, watching the way you move and carry yourself, just to ensure such is true. By finding you right away, Jungkook was halfway to his goal of settling his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7.

Two: unlike most humans of Planet 43 Z-7, your body seems oddly… preserved, to say the least. He knows you are familiar with their reproductive rituals as he’s watched a few of said rituals on the projection box in your living room with you. They were very normalized among your people, with almost every broadcast including at least one mention of them every day. Despite that, your body shows no significant reaction to the scenes, and one sneaky scan of your vitals shows Jungkook that you have yet to participate in this ritual yourself.

Lastly, Jungkook has come to the terrible, godawful conclusion that he does not wish to rope you into breeding with him for the sake of Sixam’s colonialist ways. There’s something about you and your people that does not deserve to be seized by Jungkook and his people. A sort of untouched quality of the progression of your species.

As the oldest and most advanced planet in quite possibly the entire universe, Sixam holds significant power over everyone else. Their higher order brains have helped many a planet follow the right path in attaining the same level of perfection. They were saviors of some sort, touching every planet they visited with the finger of a god. While there were certainly some Sixamians who did not believe in this way of life, of stretching their hold across entire galaxies, others did.

Jungkook had always fallen in the middle. He had no particular desire to reign over the planets he visited, because his interests had always laid with the existence of the individuals on said planets. He was a researcher, not a military official like Namjoon or Jin. But he has to admit that time and again his research has procured the same results; while there were certainly other planets where the beings were more beautiful or the landscape more stunning than that of Sixam, there was not a single planet that matched their advanced mental capabilities.

Until now.

Your civilization moved in a rather fluid way, always changing and never settling. There were eras he learned about on TV, revolutions where one invention rose to prominence, where one sub-race rose to power. Even now, a simple scan through your news broadcasts leaves Jungkook curious. For the first time in a long time, his countless journal entries of information do not lead him to a plausible conclusion. Would you make it right and settle your disputes? Or would this endless fighting, sometimes carried out passively and through words, other times with the use of advanced weaponry, continue until the end of time? Jungkook didn’t know.

And it was wrong of him to ask you to carry the burden of introducing an entirely new species— a Human and Sixamian at once —for the sole belief that it would somehow “fix” your planet. For the sake of your people, it was best if Jungkook just bugged off.

And yet, the soft scent of your body lotion, the gentle brush of your hands against his scalp, the delicate way his name rolls off your lips like you’re tasting it for the first time, they all make his heart beat unnaturally fast beneath his skin. They make him yearn for a feeling, an emotion, he cannot quite describe.

He was in trouble.

Ovulation creeps up on you early into the next week.

You hadn’t been too focused on it this time around, mostly just worried about your period and how awkward it would feel around Jungkook of Sixam. Preoccupied with stockpiling pads and finding your heat pad, you forget about the few days before the period. The time where your libido rages like an animal that has been poked at one too many times.

The realization dawns on you slowly. Jungkook is sitting on the couch, avidly watching a documentary on ancient civilizations. He’s got one hand in a bowl of popcorn you set out for him, another mindlessly toying with a stray thread on a throw pillow. It’s when he looks at you with those big purple eyes, lips pouty and pink, that something distinctly carnal flickers on inside of you.

You ignore it. You wrap those feelings in a box and shove it deep into the recesses of your mind.

But Jungkook was devastatingly handsome, that much you’d known from the moment you saw him. When he’s not in the sun, those Sixamian markings wrap around his body in charcoal streaks, peeking out from the hem of whatever clothes you find for him everyday. For the most part, he’s been running through the pack of plain shirts you picked up from the general store, and the same two pairs of shorts on rotation. His body is artfully toned, thighs big and bulging, but waist small and tapered. His lower lip is the juiciest pink color you’ve ever seen, plush and soft, framing two rows of pearly white teeth. His hair is jet black, part favoring one side more than the other.

His hands are firm on the rare occasion he touches you; on your hips when you stumble around the kitchen, on your shoulder when he’s pointing out a particular constellation to you. Jungkook’s presence slowly begins driving you to insanity.

The worst thing is, you cannot tell if his curiosity comes from your status as a potential partner or his overall interests in your species. You want to convince yourself that he is just as interested in your body as an individual as you are his, but those hopes are dashed with every question he asks. Where does the sink drain? Where does the chocolate powder come from? How far is the nearest government official?

So you calm your thoughts, push them away with the same practiced ease you’ve mastered from a young age. Your purity remains untainted by others, only teased in the shower when Jungkook is wandering around outside. Then and only then do you offer yourself a reprieve, press your fingers down between your thighs and wonder what it is like to have someone else there.

You picture two purple eyes peering up at you from below, a pink tongue carefully licking against your puffy folds until you’re shaking. How well endowed was a Sixamian? You didn’t know, but you imagine them to be quite big if the subtle shifts you catch of Jungkook every now and then are any sign.

One finger wiggles past the tight ring of muscle surrounding your hole, the intrusion makes your knees buck. You sink along the shower wall, huffing and puffing as your fingers dance along your swollen clit, thumb swirling hurried circles around the bud until you’re cumming, body spasming from the force.

The water rains down on you, washes your shameful acts down the drain. Vaguely, you wonder if Jungkook is still outside or if the heat drove him into your air conditioned home. Did he hear you? For all his curiosity, you’re certain there are some aspects of the human experience that Jungkook did not want to see. His roommate/caretaker/only-human-friend masturbating was probably one of them.

It has been years since your fantasies included any other man, faithfully revolving around your ex-fiancé until the very end. It is scary how quickly the mere idea of Jungkook riles you up, how that violet gaze is enough to tear you apart.

When you resurface in the living room, the house is still. The only sounds are that of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the occasional creaking of the pipes. Jungkook is still outside, you sigh in relief, catching his fluffy head of hair bounding across the front yard with Smilodon on his heels. When he turns, you catch his eyes and he pauses. He offers you that same cute wave he learned last week, gentle smile gracing his features.

It’s the soft curve of his cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners, that make the rapid thumping in your chest settle. You raise your hand, waving back through the window. All was well.

For now.

The next morning brings with it an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Namjoon calls him again in the morning, and this time Jungkook cannot skirt around the truth. He hurriedly tells his friend of his findings, of the beautiful society that flourishes on Planet 43 Z-7, and the never-ending personalities he has the chance of encountering. There is an author fansign, you told him, of a book he thoroughly enjoyed taking place next week. There is a woman in town who can fix any technology sent her way. There is a group of children who pass by and sell you food, these flattened things called Girls Cout Cook Ease. There is so much to see and so much to learn that it has Jungkook unconsciously projecting his excitement via his under eye markings.

You come downstairs mid-call, smiley and ditzy. You were normally a bubbly person, but this much excitement can’t possibly be yours. It’s the sign Jungkook needs to settle down, but Namjoon offers him one too.

Much to his chagrin, he warns Jungkook against getting too comfortable, tells him to finish his operation and scram as quickly as possible. The Higher Sixamian Court does not take kindly to Sixamians becoming enamored with other planets, especially if they are as advanced as Jungkook claims them to be. He’s rushing out information, begging Jungkook to finish or abandon his mission, anything but stay too long, and before Jungkook can respond, their comms are abruptly shut off.

He’s left blankly staring at your coffee table, Namjoon’s caution ringing loudly in his ears.

After the effects of his accidental influence wear off on you, you shake yourself awake, confusedly glancing around the place before shrugging it off. “Morning,” you say, the same as ever, patting his head softly. Jungkook watches you begin your daily routine, the kettle running on the stove as you get to work preparing his hot cocoa.

For a moment he wonders what it’s like to be like this, to live like this. Free from the standards of Sixam as you go about your morning. There is no drive in you to conquer everyone, no overwhelming need to ‘fix’ those around you. You exist by yourself in this tiny house outside the city, like a moon always circling but never interacting. He knows you have your own circumstances that drove you here, issues where you suffered that same grueling past of people forcing ideas and beliefs upon you as Jungkook. But now you’re here, housing an extraterrestrial being such as himself without any payment.

He wants to be like you.

He wanders over towards the kitchen, returning your sleepy smile when you catch his gaze. Jungkook likes this. He enjoys seeing you in the morning, still trailed by the remnants of sleep, with skin tender to the touch. The smell of cocoa filling his nostrils, the chirp of the birds outside your window. He likes Smilodon and the mailman, and the woman half a mile from here who brought you peaches the other day.

Most importantly, Jungkook likes you.

Not as a breeding partner or convenient hostess, but as a person. Your laughter makes him feel warm inside, like he is genuinely appreciated as is. You’re gentle with your words, and even more so with your touch; hands pat his head, hold his arm when he stumbles too close to the garden.

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.

He wants to remain beside you.

It’s a little stuffy inside your house today, a problem you solve by cracking open the kitchen window. A nice breeze flows over the two of you, pushing the scent of the cocoa and your coffee his way. But a sweeter one follows, something thick and earthy that rolls off of you in waves. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, tries to ward off those sounds he heard from you just yesterday afternoon.

Those whiny sounds, airy whimpers that had drifted down from upstairs. A wet squelch that had registered a little too loudly to his superior ears. It had haunted him last night on the couch, made Jungkook twist and turn until the fuzzy image of you relieving yourself went away.

Jungkook wanted to help with that too. He wanted to put his hands and his mouth in places you needed him most, pleasure you like you deserved.

But how could he tell you all this and more? Did he even have the right as an invader to profess his infatuation to you? This Planet 43 Z-7, this Earth, was filled to the brim with interesting things, yet you remained at the very top of Jungkook’s list. He couldn’t leave, not now, but he couldn’t stay either. His entire presence in itself was a ploy to spread his seed, a fact you continued to be unaware of.

Namjoon’s words bounce around his brain, twist and wrap around him until he’s shakily reaching for his mug. He couldn’t stay here any longer under this false pretense. He couldn’t lie to you another day, another second more. He was tired of being a sheep. It’s with this conflicting resolve that he commands himself to confess this to you at once.

So he spills it all out to you.

From the complex history of the Sixamians to his assignment of this mission. You listen quietly as you munch through breakfast, nodding along to each new point he brings up that changes the story. He tells you about the population mission, about how he was sent here to spread his superior genes over the land, but how he’s let that sit on the back burner while you taught him all sorts of new things. If you are unimpressed with Jungkook and Sixam, you don’t show it.

“So you came to... breed?” you ask when he has finished, hands neatly folded on your lap. Breakfast is finished, plate scraped clean.

Jungkook nods shamefully. “I was asked to contribute to the reconstruction of Planet 43 Z-7,” he says, repeating the practiced reasoning every Sixamian has heard at least once in their life. But in front of you, it makes him cringe.

The grandfather clock in the hallway clicks along quietly, the soundtrack to Jungkook’s desperate read of you. Your eyes are focused on the plate before you, lost in thought at the abundance of information he has just thrown on you. He could easily switch his influential abilities back on, brighten your mood like he has been taught to do with countless other species since the beginning of time. But it feels wrong to subject you to that, to strip you of your emotions, even if it would save him the discomfort.

Instead he sits in silence.

Jungkook waits patiently, even though every fiber in his being is telling him to get up and make a run for it. Escape before he can see a look of disgust aimed his way. But he has come to value your opinions as equal to his, and the thought of leaving you by yourself does not sit well with him. So he waits.

It takes a few minutes of contemplation before you grace him with an answer, nervously rubbing your hands over your thighs. “I understand, Jungkook,” you exhale tightly. “But I don’t think I’m the partner you are looking for.”

“No! I was not— It was not my intention,” he stammers, waving his hands all over the place in his hurry to explain. He sucks in a sharp breath. “I do not wish to force such a burden on you, __,” he manages, “I would not do that to you.”

He is about to pat himself on the back for his save, when suddenly the corners of your lips take a sharp drop. “Oh, I see,” you mutter, arms self consciously wrapping around your frame. “So you don’t see me as a suitable partner?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your drawn conclusion. “No,” he chokes, and your frown deepens. “I mean, yes, I do see you as a viable partner to engage in reproductive activities,” and now he’s spiraling, the surprised look on your face only fueling his pea-brained ramblings, “I just—I assumed you did not enjoy that?

His excuse sounds so unbelievably weak even to his own ears.

“What made you think that?” you ask. At the rate this conversation is going, Jungkook fears his brain will soon fry itself out.

His mind is a spinning mess, like the inside of a vacuum that rumbles and turns with each new thought that enters. What was he supposed to say? That he’s heard you in your most intimate moments, moments where you hid from him? Or that he’s done countless scans on your body when you weren’t looking and came to the same result every time; that result being that you have never been touched by another before? And what was he supposed to draw from these conclusions if not that you abhorred such intimacy?

“I-I heard… you,” Jungkook admits quietly. “And, I felt your emotions. They were nervous.” He does not need his thermal detector to feel the heat that floods your face. “I did not want to impose on such a fragile moment,” he continues. “And I apologize if my actions have made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” you wave off, pressing the back of your knuckles to your cheeks. “I apologize for doing something so inappropriate with you in my house.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Do you not enjoy participating in sexual activities, __?” he asks curiously.

You gulp loudly, obviously startled by his question. Which part of it, Jungkook doesn’t know. He nudges your knee with his, urging you to answer. A shaky exhale, and then you’re rambling. “I-No, I do,” you rush out, avidly avoiding his gaze. “I, um, I just have never, uh, been with anyone.”

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks. “Is that why your reproductive areas are strangely well preserved for a being your age? I was beginning to wonder about the complexities of Human reproduction after meeting you, __. Is there a certain tradition one must follow to copulate with you?”

“No, no,” you rush to correct. Jungkook has obviously said something that upset you, because when you speak again your aura is tainted with the hints of irritation. “Tradition is stupid,” you explain slowly, a sense of heartache consuming him at your rather lonely figure. He is beside you, yet feels a thousand light years away from your heart. “I was just a fool.”

His gaze softens, carefully placing a hand on your knee comfortingly. He doesn’t have to say anything more, just let you know he isn’t far at all, and you understand. You lean against his shoulder, the same sad look in your eyes. The grandfather clock ticks on in the hallway, in sync with the slow rhythm of your heart. Jungkook places a kiss to the crown of your head.

The day drags on.

Your morning chores are finished quickly with Jungkook at your side. He obsesses over the plants and plays with Smilodon. You make apple juice today with the fruits that fall from the tree out front. Jungkook enjoys it, but not as much as lemonade. Still, it gets its own entry in his log.

He asks more questions about your world, straying away from the ones he had last week that seemed to exclusively revolve around the fauna and flora. Now, he is interested in your Human way of life. The TV confuses him, and he doesn’t quite understand the difference between dramas and news stations. So you explain as best you can for him.

His main issue lies in his inability to comprehend the constant strife within your planet, especially when you explain to him topics like poverty or homelessness. Sixam is nothing like Earth, he says, because everyone on Sixam is looked after and taken care of as deemed appropriate. There is no division of classes because deep down, every Sixamian acknowledges they are superior to the rest of the universe. It sounds like a utopia to you, but you’ve read enough books to know how those usually turn out.

That fact intrigues Jungkook as well. How Humans can be aware of so many altering concepts and beliefs, yet desensitized to all. He doesn’t get it, and explaining the concept of fiction existing on a separate plane only confuses him more.

Eventually you bring it back to tradition, somehow, that dreaded word you’ve come to abhor. Jungkook enjoys learning about your culture and your way of life, little things you do here and there. But as most things do in your life, the conversation circles back around to your failed marriage.

“Ah,” Jungkook says. “So it is tradition to save your first reproductive act for the one you ‘marry’?” You nod, toes tucked up into the couch. It’s a little before sunset now, the orange hue of the outdoors leaking into your living room. “And then you take their last name? That is very confusing, __. I thought this last name identified you to your fellow Human, how can you so easily change it around?”

You laugh. “It's complicated,” you offer. Jungkook chuckles as well, obviously overwhelmed with all the new information you provided him with today.

Jungkook nods pensively but you doubt he understands. “I see,” he mumbles, fingertip tapping against the armrest he’s leaning against. It’s a tell tale sign that he desperately wants to document what you’ve said in his supercomputer bracelet but is holding back for the sake of this moment. You think it’s rather sweet. “So copulation does not always secure you a partner.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “People have different drives,” you say. “Some of them want love and some just want sex.”

“And you?” he asks suddenly, big purple eyes swirling with entire galaxies. “What would you like?”

A lot of things, you think, but when it comes down to it, when Jungkook asks you with his pretty eyes and pouty lips, you can’t find the right words. “Both,” is your measly reply. “What about you?”

He seems just as thrown off by your question as you, eyes widening as he leans back. The living room is bathed in warm splashes of color, the last of the sun’s rays painting Jungkook in a rather romantic light. You can’t look away. “I too would like both,” he admits, idly tracing the tip of his finger along the markings that decorate the tops of his knees. “This notion of attraction beyond the physical realm is not common in Sixam,” he answers. “Sixam is very… strict about what a relationship entails.

You set your mug down on the side table, shuffling around until your toes poke his hip, arm thrown over the back of the couch. “How so?” you ask.

Jungkook’s lips push out into a frown. “The Higher Sixamian Court has long since ruled that mating rituals between citizens are strictly limited to those that will produce the most immaculate genome,” he says, as if that is just another simple, everyday fact of life. It is for him, but not for you.

“So, are you like… assigned?” you press, suddenly wondering how a being as curious and sentimental as Jungkook has survived so long in a place like Sixam. “And like, do you raise kids together?”

“Until the end of their first era,” Jungkook supplies, as if that makes the slightest bit of sense. “And sort of. Sixam is not that oppressive,” he jokes, but there is something about his eyes missing their usual glow that tips you off. “I have yet to copulate for reproductive purposes.”

You pause. “But you have for… fun purposes?”

Jungkook looks at you seriously. And then, ever so slowly, the little marks beneath the corners of his eyes, the little triangles that usually flare blue, fade into a lovely pink shade. “I-“ he stammers, obviously flustered by your question. “I have.”

Your mouth parts into a little o. “With other Sixamians? Or….” Jungkook flushes, nods meekly. His expression seems off, like it isn’t a particular fond memory he carries. “Was it bad or something?”

He sighs. “It is… very lacking. Nothing like the scenes depicted in your projection box.” He nods towards the TV, you barely contain a giggle at its name. You reach for your mug instead. “There is no,” he waves a hand in front of his face. The last rays of sun catch on his hand and turn his charcoal markings a pretty gold. “No expressions of adoration beyond what is necessary. And I do not particularly enjoy that.”

You nod understandingly. “You're soft,” you tease, watch his little triangles light up again at your words. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “so am I.”

He says nothing, just stares blankly out the front window as the sun disappears behind the horizons, leaving thousands of glittering lights in its wake. Not man made but natural; right. “I think your last name is lovely,” he suddenly announces. You chuckle against the lip of your mug, but Jungkook doesn’t find it amusing. He turns to you with that sparkling purple gaze, like you’ve hung those stars outside yourself. “There is no other __ ___ like you.”

Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from the coffee steam rising from the mug or Jungkook’s unexpected reassurance. It makes your heart tender, sends a shock through your system that leaves your body buzzing. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, covering the palm he rests over the couch with yours.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to.

Ovulation ends, but your blossoming feelings for Jungkook do not go away.

The next morning his comms remain shut off. Jungkook has never had his communications back home cut off, save for the time in his first era where he brashly spoke out against his superior in a lab. He was young and had much to learn, took too many risks and didn’t consider the consequences. He guesses he hasn’t grown much since then as he watches you tend to your garden.

“Smilodon urinated in the closet,” he announces, witnessing the smile slowly slip off your features. He lets you revel in your annoyance for exactly two seconds before following with the phrase he heard on your box the other day. “Just kidding! You are being prank’d.

Your frown is nothing like the expression the program’s contests exhibited following their supposed pranking. “Jungkook, that’s not funny,” you huff and his heart sinks. A soft snort. “Okay, maybe a little,” you concede with a terribly contained smile.

He bounds over, kneels down beside you, and begins pulling the overgrown weeds out with you. “I saw it on the projection box the other day,” he explains excitedly, tossing the weeds into the bag between you two. “I did not know such pleasure could be received from silly broadcasts like that.” You nod, say something about all kinds of dumb shows existing before a pout taints your lips. “What's wrong?”

A long sigh from you. “I think the sun isn’t reaching these,” you tell him, lifting the stem of a sad looking tomato plant. It’s the closest one to the house, often covered by the house’s shadow when the sun shines best. “They’re sad.”

He tilts his head to the side quizzically. “Sad?” he repeats, reaching for his wristband before he can stop to think. If his extensive journaling reads right, your planet’s vegetation follows similar patterns to that of another’s, requiring allotted amounts of sunlight and water to flourish. “How can it be sad?”

Caught up in his notes, he doesn’t realize you’ve migrated to the other side of the garden now, dutifully picking out more weeds. “Well, it looks sad doesn’t it?” Jungkook glances back again. The tomato stalk is significantly droopy and malformed, smaller than its brethren who sit only a few inches away in direct sunlight. It’s colors are dulled and almost… sad. Huh. How peculiar.

He chances one glance back at you, deems you far enough, and then channels the entirety of his energy towards the tomato plant. It wiggles a few times, kind of like it’s dancing, before you’re calling his name from the other side. “What’re you doing?” you ask, hand on your hip. Jungkook stills.

“Um,” he drawls. The plant returns to its sulky state.

Garbage bag full of weeds, you pass by him with a shake of your head. “Don’t do anything weird to my plants, silly,” you chide. Jungkook huffs, follows behind to take the bag off your hands. You thank him, join him for his walk around the house until he tosses the bag into the garbage can out front. Before he can retort and engage you in a playful argument regarding his superior abilities, you’re crouching down by the spigot out front. It’s making a weird hissing noise that has Jungkook frowning as he walks over.

Right as he approaches, you make the amateur mistake of turning the handle, water spewing out from the gap between the spigot’s mouth and where it’s supposed to meet the hose. You screech, and Jungkook can’t shut it off fast enough.

In the end, both of you are drenched.

“Ugh,” you groan as you walk around the house to the unlocked back door. Jungkook trudges behind, just a teensy bit annoyed by the mud that quickly stains his rubber sandals. “This is so annoying!” you complain loudly, shaking yourself off like Smilodon when it accidentally fell into the sink the other day. “Ruined my day.”

At that Jungkook frowns. He does not want your day to be ruined, especially not by some faulty spigot outside. You were too good for such emotions, too perfect in his eyes. Sadness and the like did not suit you; they had no place ruining your beautiful features. You’re huffily patting yourself down at the back porch now, distress prominent on your features as you most likely consider the second load of laundry you will have to do today.

The tomato stalk glances at him sadly from the ground, and before Jungkook can stop himself, he’s breathing in deeply and pushing his generally relaxed attitude onto you. You can be mad later, but right now Jungkook doesn’t want to see you sad. It’s effective immediately, your gloominess quickly fading away. You breathe in deeply, eyes falling shut, and when you open them again you’re offering him the most gentle smile he has ever seen.

And a soaked through shirt that highlights the shape of your red undergarments. Jungkook’s eyes widen, unconsciously flicking down to the sight you present him with, and a different emotion floods his senses.

It’s quite possibly his biggest mistake. Because while he can easily look away, it takes longer for those emotions to fade, and soon they’re being reflected on you.

“Wow,” you exhale, shaking your head in confusion because these aren’t your emotions— you probably know they’re his. Jungkook feels terrible instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, scrambling up the steps to guide you inside. Simultaneously, he’s shutting down his influential abilities, scolding himself for slipping up with you like this. You most certainly did not want to feel this way around Jungkook, yet here he was quite literally projecting onto you. “Please, let’s go inside.”

You nod, jolt when his hand touches the small of your back as he guides you in. “Oh,” you gasp, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to force himself from making the situation worse, from thinking thoughts you would not approve of. “Why— what's happening?” you ask in a breathy tone, lingering by the staircase Jungkook tries to push you up.

He sighs. “I— I was trying to brighten your mood,” he admits, metaphorical ears pressed against his head like when Smilodon gets scolded for knocking down a plant. “And, um. There was— the, um, sight of your undergarments distracted me for a moment.” You glance down and seemingly become aware for the first time that your bright red bra is on display, shyly covering yourself with your arms.

“Distracted?” you mumble softly, leaning against the banister of the stairs. Your skin is radiating more heat than Jungkook ever recalls, face demurely turned down towards the floor. He could have sworn he stopped projecting minutes again— why were you still behaving like this? Did he break you? Did he exude more energy than he meant to, accidentally extend the length of the emotions? “I’ll go upstairs now,” you announce quietly, touch his arm almost sensually as you pass by.

Your skin is warm, that heavenly scent that Jungkook craved rolling off in waves— but he was certain he’d stopped himself before anything became too overwhelming. Were his emotions stronger than he had fooled himself into believing? There was no way he had felt or looked as riled up when he accidentally influenced you. So where exactly were these emotions coming from? What exactly was making you behave this way even after he’d withdrawn his influence? Could it be...

Jungkook watches with wide eyes, almost certain that your behavior, though sparked by his initial slip up, was entirely your own at this point.

There was a lot of weight behind that.

The water turns on upstairs, and he has to strain his ears, still his breathing, just for a hint of your sounds. But they’re there, quiet successors to the louder moans you’d let out the other day. They make him shiver, melt against the staircase as his cock twitches in his pants. His body comes alive, something distinctly carnal twitching beneath his skin, blossoming out at the base of his spine.

And still, as he grinds his hand into his palm, it is not merely the sight of your red undergarments that render Jungkook useless. No, the ghost of your smile at his poorly executed prank follows, brands itself into the inside of his eyelids as he slowly falls apart.

Was it your own emotions that had made you like that? he wonders, sinking to his knees in the hallway. If you came down right now, you’d certainly catch him. But Jungkook can still hear your muffled cries from upstairs, and furthermore, Jungkook wanted desperately for you to catch him. He knows you won’t, but the idea makes him shiver, has him coming in his bottoms shamefully.

“What the,” he huffs, sweat trailing down his forehead. His brain replays that look in your eyes. That emotion you displayed that, although it may have been planted by him, was taken by you and magnified. Had you been just as excited by the sight of Jungkook’s wet body as he had yours? And if such was the case, was your attraction to him limited to the physical realm?

He doesn’t want to delude himself, but your words from the other day ring loudly in his ears. Soft, you had called him, for wanting something both physically and emotionally intimate. But you were the same, or so you claimed.

Was it so wrong for Jungkook to think that ideology applied now?

That night you join Jungkook outside for his routine stargazing. He sits on the porch while you sit on your rocking chair, mugs of hot cocoa in hand as Jungkook retells his adventures across the universe.

Space is bigger than you thought, with a culture far more complex than Earth’s. It makes you wonder how Jungkook, who has quite literally seen it all, can become so enamored with this place. There’s bigger and better somewhere out there; planets that won’t force terrible traditions on him or task him into ungodly missions. Yet he lingers here, in this quiet space between your garden and your house, head on your lap.

His hair is soft, almost like silk, and he enjoys having it touched. “I do not wish to leave,” he admits quietly, empty mug long since set aside. You hum, encourage him to elaborate. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7.”

You snort. “No way,” you say, trace your hand down his jawline. Jungkook says nothing of your wandering hands, skin warm to the touch. Some of his markings decorate his neck, curl around the pale skin in perfectly symmetrical swoops. They creep beneath the hem of his shirt, and you wonder what they look like down there.

You flush those thoughts away, that afternoon’s events still fresh in your mind. From your understanding of the events, Jungkook had been excited at the sight of your body, so he obviously had to hold some attraction towards you. But how much of that was purely physical and how much was emotional?

“I want to have your last name,” he announces suddenly. You choke, breath caught in your throat from the randomness of the statement. Your reaction makes Jungkook pull away from your touch, stare at you with wide eyes like you do him.

“I— what?” you stammer, having gained back your composure. Or at least some of it. “Jungkook, I don’t think you know what that means.”

He frowns, shuffles around until he’s facing you, and lays his head across your lap again. This time, those purple eyes that dance with nebulas and stardust zero in on you. His hair tickles your bare thighs, makes you unconsciously press them together when his warm breath fans across your skin. “You amaze me,” he murmurs, eyes glazed. “I have never seen a being like you, who lives so far off from society, thrive in their own bubble— is it too much for me to want to live like you? Be with you?”

“Huh?” you ask, ever so eloquently.

Jungkook smiles, turns his face to hide it against you. Pink lips brush against your skin, your hands unconsciously shooting into his hair to guide him away. When his head rolls back, he’s got this rather melancholy look on his face. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7,” he says again, “and I am looking right at her.”

Your face burns.

Heart hammering in your chest, palms sweaty, you don’t know what to say. He looks at you with that vibrant gaze, drinks you in like you’re the finest of wines and your heart absolutely cannot handle it. Your brain fumbles for a response but by then Jungkook is standing up, head tilted downwards cutely as he observes you. One hand in his, thumb gently swiping over your knuckles. “I would like to show you every expression of adoration possible, __,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing back inside.

You stay outside, turning his words inside and out, backwards and forwards, until you deduce that Jungkook of Sixam most definitely harbored the same feelings for you as you did for him. It’s odd, because it is exactly what you want but the idea scares you to death. The last time you let a man into your life under a similar guise you ended up wasting years of your life, clinging to this grand finale you never got. And now this foreign being was proclaiming his feelings for you, possibly propositioning you for the same thing.

Did you want Jungkook? Yes, undoubtedly yes. He was free from the shackles of tradition that had held you down so long, didn’t believe in this twisted notion of your body being “sacred.” He was a breath of fresh air, unlike anyone you’ve ever met before (although part of that was due to his alien heritage).

However, he was not free of flaws, and perhaps that is what entices you more.

Jungkook, though he looked and spoke like the perfect man, was a being of his own, with struggles of his own. He too had his own handful of painful memories, toxic ideologies that followed him around. But Jungkook was willing to learn, to change. And you admired him for it.

Tip-toeing back inside, you find the house shrouded in darkness. The steady tick of the grandfather clock lessens the rapid beating of your heart. Jungkook is sitting on the living room couch, legs pulled to his chest. Muscle memory has you reaching out for the top of his head like always, ready to pat his fluffy hair as if you hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes outside doing just that. He turns around just as your fingers touch his soft strands, purple eyes meeting yours. You trace your hand down the side of his face, knuckles brushing over his cheekbones; he puckers his lips, bestows a second tender smooch against you.

“I like when you do that,” he says, voice unexpectedly loud in the otherwise silent house. As he speaks, he shifts to the side, arm thrown over the back of the couch to look at you completely. You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip and he gulps. “Makes me crazy.”

You chuckle, releasing him to round the couch. Jungkook’s got this sweet smile on his face, hand outstretched for you. When you take it, he tugs you onto the couch, flush beside him. Your thigh is practically thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. You heart flutters and you can no longer look him in the eye.

But that’s okay because Jungkook can. He ducks down, dark hair tickling your skin as his breath ghosts over your lips. “May I?” he asks softly, nose bumping against yours. “May I have the honor of pleasuring you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, answering with a tiny nod that makes his lower lip brush against yours teasingly. “I-If I am suitable,” you mumble, tingles spreading all over your body.

Jungkook smiles, pretty and bright, as he turns his head to slot your mouths together. “No,” he says, “if I am suitable. You are more than enough.” Lips brush against yours, shaky breath meets yours, and then he’s kissing you. Slow yet suave, carefully molding against you as if he is afraid of breaking you. His lips are like two soft pillows, moving against yours in a practiced rhythm that makes you tremble against him. Every bit the measly virgin, but Jungkook likes you just so.

He pulls away with a pop, his figure shadowed by the darkness of the room. But his eyes, purple irises, glow brightly. Like two pools of cosmic dust swirling around his dark pupils. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before, but you hardly saw Jungkook in the dark anyway. He hides them too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in again.

The second time, there’s a faint flick of his tongue against your bottom lip. The action makes you gasp quietly, lips parting for a fraction of a second. But Jungkook is quick, slips his tongue past your lips. It’s lewd; his breath mingles with yours, tongue pushing against yours. Slick and dirty, spit traveling between your two mouths, but Jungkook makes sure you’re okay, sinfully wrapping his lips around your tongue when you get too brave. A moan escapes you, fingers squeezing around his.

Jungkook squeezes back, pushes forward until you’re pressed against the back cushions of the couch. “This okay?” he husks, low-lidded eyes meeting yours when he pulls away. You nod, words caught in your throat. Jungkook’s gaze lasers in on your mouth, and he seems to have an internal debate before eventually pulling away to kiss your neck.

You tilt your head back, choppy exhales creeping out from between your lips as he kisses down the column of your neck, untangling his hand from yours to press against your hip instead. It’s with a devastatingly slow speed that he eventually slinks away, finds himself kneeling between you on the floor with hands dancing over the tops of your thighs. Your heart is beating a thousand miles in your chest, threatening to rip itself right out when he meets your eyes a second time.

He pushes your legs apart, not once looking away as he gently encourages you to raise one. Lips pressed against your knee, slowly trailing down the skin of your thigh. Your hand squeezes at the couch cushions. Jungkook pulls a startled yelp from you when he tugs at the backs of your knees, makes you slump down the couch with your legs perfectly spread out for him, feet flat on the floor. Then he’s back to kissing you, languidly pressing smooch after smooch against your scorching skin until he’s reaching the apex of your thighs, stilling once to look your way.

“Go ahead,” you choke out, hands clutched over your chest, as if that’ll keep your heart from up and running away. Jungkook takes your admission and moves on, puckered lips meeting your mound through your clothing. It’s the first time you’ve ever had someone else so close to your most sensitive areas, and rightly so, you whimper.

“Shh,” he soothes, thumb pressing against your hip as he carefully hikes one of your legs over his shoulder. You’re quivering like a leaf, lower lip bitten raw between your teeth as you watch him move between your legs. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” Jungkook murmurs.

Another press of his mouth against you, this time right over where your bud hides, and the sensation makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers tighten around the waistband of your shorts, take your underwear with them when he begins pulling them down your hips. You push yourself up briefly, let him slide them down your legs and bare yourself to him for the first time.

Your cheeks flood with warmth, hands unconsciously reaching to pull your shirt down, but Jungkook catches you. Fingers tangle with yours, warm breath fanning over your slick folds. Unconsciously, you tense up at his proximity, the stark realization that this was the moment you had waited for for a good chunk of your life suddenly hitting you. Jungkook seems to notice you crawl inside your head, drawing you back with a squeeze around your hand, luminous eyes meeting yours.

“If you need me to stop, I will,” he reassures you.

The blood is rushing to your ears, his words nearly lost in the madness. “Aren’t you scared?” you ask quietly, voice wobbly, holding his hands so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t complain.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Would you like to know how I feel?”

Hesitantly, you nod. Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, but the little triangle markings beneath his eyes begin to glow. Like fireflies in the dark, two little lights that intensify as he exhales.

And then, suddenly, you’re flooded with a new wave of emotions, similar to yours but not. They feel like yours, but are distinctly his, make you arch against the cushions with a soft groan.

At the forefront, lust that swarms your senses and makes your body melt into the couch beneath you. It makes you shiver, nipples peaked beneath your top as his feelings and their intensity grow on you. It feels like drowning, like swallowing a thick and sticky substance that lingers in your throat and refuses to go away. It’s how he feels about you at this moment, so strongly it could drown him.

So overwhelmed with that sensation alone, you almost don’t recognize the second emotion that Jungkook takes and pours into you.

Warm and comforting, like being embraced by a thousand doves, kissed by a swarm of butterflies. It’s different from the first, doesn’t tap directly into your physical body, but wraps around your heart, creeps into your thoughts. Until you’re rolling your eyes back open and meeting his, the feeling so plainly spelled out across his features.

Sheer and utter adoration.

“Oh,” you breathe, face scorching to the touch following the emotions Jungkook’s just revealed to you.

He grins, shy, and squeezes your hand. “What do you want to do?”

Biting your lip, you take initiative and hook your knee over his shoulder, the same way he had shown you just moments prior. “Please,” you murmur, “show me more.”

And Jungkook does.

A soft kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose running along your skin teasingly. And then he’s faced with your puffy lips, pink skin slick with arousal. Jungkook sighs softly, tilts his head as if he’s analyzing his next course of action, and then carefully places his mouth against you.

“Mmmh,” you whimper, hips instinctively bucking into the touch, never having felt such intense pleasure before. Jungkook doesn’t mind as he languidly kisses your folds, eyes shut as he loses himself in the motions. The first swipe of his tongue makes you twitch, arms flailing but Jungkook holds them down, entwined fingers pressed against the couch.

His tongue is an entity of its own, wet muscle pressing and licking at your most sensitive areas like it was made specifically for this. Never mind talking, Jungkook’s tongue was made to lap at your pussy like this. He licks a long stripe up from your quivering hole to your engorged clit, curling at the end as if you were nothing more but a sweet for him to mindlessly play with.

Your muscles clench up, the leg thrown around his shoulder unconsciously pulling him closer until his nose is pressed flush against your clit. Jungkook breathes in deeply, moans softly but it sends earth-shattering vibrations up your core until you’re a whimpering mess. “O-Oh,” you cry, sweat clinging to your skin as Jungkook continues lapping at your folds.

He releases one hand, uses it to push your other leg further away to properly slot himself against you. You take the opportunity to wildly reach for him, grabby hands lost in the silky waves on his head as you urge him closer to where you need him most. You’re not even sure where that is anymore, your clit or your entrance, but Jungkook switches between the two just fine.

That warm tongue prods at your entrance, tip sinking inside just enough to make you gasp. It’s a new experience for you, someone’s tongue touching and stroking you there, and it feels like an entirely new door opens from that action alone. You whimper his name, dig your nails across his scalp like maybe he’ll grant you a reprieve and pull away. But you don’t really want that, and so you’re happy when he stays where he is.

The hand that had rested against the juncture of your hip glides up, lays flat over your mound with his thumb idly swirling around your clit. The combination of his tongue breaching your hole and his fingers playing along your clit makes you spasm. “Wait,” you sob, the muscles in your thighs twitching as he licks away. “I-I’m gonna—“

An overpowering wave of relief floods your senses shortly before that last syllable can escape your lips; everything goes tight and then suddenly you’re on a cloud, cum spilling from your heat and onto his waiting tongue. Jungkook licks it all up, slurps loudly against your clit as the last waves of your orgasm run their course. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing up your navel, t-shirt pushed away as he goes.

When he reaches your face, you’re quite embarrassed to find the area around his mouth to be glistening with your juices. “You’re incredible,” he says, easygoing smile on his lips. But there’s something hard and heavy against you, snuggled between your thighs, that makes your face heat up all over again.

You can’t find the words to respond, and lose the opportunity when Jungkook captures your lips with his again. He’s more assertive this time around, roughly pushing against you until you’re certain you’ll bruise. But it feels good, makes you wrap your hands around him as Jungkook grinds down against you. When he pulls away, he’s got this dark look on his face, out of place against such bright eyes.

He says nothing as his hands creep up your waist, push your t-shirt and bra out of the way, until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. Experienced hands massage them thoroughly, roll the soft skin between his fingers. His mouth is against yours again, tongues pressed together; Jungkook groans and the sound shoots straight between your thighs. He pinches a nipple between his fingers and you whimper, break away from his kiss to hide your face against his shoulder.

His cock is heavy against your folds, the thick material of his pants slowly stimulating you again. The cotton brushes against you, most certainly picks up your wetness as it goes, and Jungkook lets it as he continues to grind down against you with his hands on your tits. Your hands tear their way down his back, fist the material of his shirt in your hands. “Off, off,” you plead, desperate to feel more of him against you.

Jungkook complies, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. You were right about his markings, dark swoops and circles that decorate his chest and abdomen before tapering down around his waist. Your mouth salivates at the sight, blindly reaching for your own clothes as if one look away will make him disappear.

He doesn’t.

In fact, the removal of both your tops only makes Jungkook hungrier, completely abandoning your lips to suck your breast into his mouth instead. “Jungk— fuck,” you wail, slipping further down the couch as you lose yourself in Jungkook’s embrace. His teeth nibble at your swollen bud, roll the sensitive skin around before pulling off with a wet pop.

Your breath jumps when he reaches behind you, corded arm locking around your waist as he repositions the two of you, unsatisfied with the previous position. He lifts you up with his undoubtedly superior strength, one palm beneath your thigh as he plops you down across the couch more comfortably, head neatly resting on a throw pillow.

Your heart is in your throat, desperate to memorize the man before you, inked skin, lean and meaty, vibrant violet eyes that focus solely on you. Before he can join you on the couch, Jungkook steps away, tucks his thumbs into his waistband and swiftly removes them. His engorged cock, bigger than any you’ve seen in any erotic video— and that was saying a lot —springs up against his navel, flaming tip glaring right at you. Your pussy quivers at the sight.

“Come here,” he husks out as he moves towards you. You welcome him with open arms, a soft groan of his name against his lips as he shoves his tongue past. His hands are everywhere now; one squeezes at your breast, hand molded to the flesh, while the other runs along the underside of your thigh, guides it over his waist. And another tickles around your navel, soft—

You shriek, eyes snapping open as you tug Jungkook over you as a shield. “What was that?” you heave, wide eyes roving over the dark living room, like maybe you’ll find Smilodon traversing the carpet and it was his silky tail that came too close.

But Smilodon doesn’t usually appear at night, nor is there anything else in the living room with you and Jungkook. Your heart hammers in your chest, carefully meeting his dark gaze until something thin and distinctively alive appears over his shoulder. Another scream tears itself from your lips.

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook shushes, pulls away to cup your face in his hands. “Forgive me,” he says tenderly, “we are so similar, I forget you do not possess extra arms.”

You pale. “E-Extra arms?” you choke, eyes focused on the thin ‘arm’ that slinks out from behind Jungkook, almost screeching again when a second one appears on the opposite side. And then a third, a fourth.

It is no arm, but rather… a tentacle? Sans the weird suction cups. They’re thin little things, no thicker than his wrist, that dance behind him as if they have a mind of their own. They move as if suspended in water, soft lilac skin tenderly touching yours. You shiver, its smooth skin odd against your supple flesh. Jungkook relaxes, but draws them back anyway. “Forgive me,” he says again, taking your hand in his to press a peck against it. Your heart flutters at the gesture that was slowly driving you insane. “I shall keep them at bay.”

You nod shakily, but cannot deny the curiosity that picks at you when they slink back into the base of his spine, blend seamlessly against his skin. “What… what do they do?” you ask tentatively.

Jungkook hums as he descends upon you, featherlight kisses against your shoulder and up your neck. “Hmm? They help me out,” he explains mindlessly, pulling you flush against his cock again. A moan tears itself from your throat, eyes fluttering shut as you force yourself to focus on the moment again.

But your hands unconsciously wander down his spine as he kisses you, circle the skin where your swear they had to have disappeared beneath, until Jungkook is pulling away with a confused expression on his face. “Would you like to see them again?” he asks quizzically, sweat forming along his hairline.

You cannot play it off any longer; meekly, you nod. “I— they were interesting,” you admit in a quiet voice, nervously twiddling your fingers over your chest.

Jungkook says nothing for a second, until he’s lightly chuckling and pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Okay,” he concedes, and goes back to rolling his hips against yours.

About to protest, the words are robbed from your throat when something soft and blunt tickles your thigh. “Oh,” you shudder, prevailing through the initial shock as Jungkook’s ‘arm’ slides around the diameter of your thigh to brush against your cunt. It’s silky and smooth, pushes against your lips until it’s emerging past them, slipping inside of you.

You gasp, head lolling backwards as the sensation gets to you. It feels the same as your fingers do when you’re in the shower, but it moves differently, gauging your reactions as it curls within your walls. Jungkook muffles a low chuckle against your chin, kisses spread over you until his tongue is back down your throat.

“Feels good?” he asks, hot mouth against yours. You nod jerkily, hands digging into his biceps. Another appendage tickles around your waist, dips into your navel and makes you giggle. It’s a sound that’s frankly out of place amongst your moans and whimpers, but it makes Jungkook smile. It eventually moves away, continuing its soft caresses elsewhere.

The one that plays in your pussy has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, jaw slack. Perfect for Jungkook who pushes and prods until his saliva is dripping down your throat, catching in the corners of your lips. It impossibly fattens inside of you, makes you choke just as a different one dances around your neck. “I— I,” you stutter, boneless beneath him as the soft tip traces around the column of your neck tenderly, lovingly.

There’s so many different areas to focus on: one rubs comfortingly beneath your breast, while another fucks into your cunt. The contrast has your head spinning, unsure of where to look.

There’s something about the one inside of you that makes you feel so sticky and wet, more so than before. Like it’s oozing something out, making the glide against your walls smoother than before. It makes your body tingle, sends a feeling down your spine that you’re almost certain isn’t normal.

At the same time, there’s a brush along your thigh again, a tight coil around the flesh of your skin tightly that encourages your legs apart. More room for Jungkook to squeeze in. It wraps around you, slithers past its sibling and prods against your ass. Your heart skips a beat, buck into Jungkook’s embrace as it slips between your cheeks— you gasp. It releases that same substance that makes everything so wet. You tremble at the touch, body already so overwhelmed.

Your attention is snatched away before anything can happen, Jungkook tugging you closer until the ridges of his cock are running along your folds, each push sending his goddamn tentacle deeper inside of you. You moan, hands shakily traversing his skin until you’re cupping his face in your palms. “More,” you hoarsely whisper, dazed eyes meeting his. “Please.”

Jungkook nods, presses one more kiss against your lips before shuffling around. The appendage inside of you swiftly recoils, has you shivering from the way it slips out of you so easily. As it finally emerges from your folds, you find it’s slick with cum and something slightly pink, sparkly and wet as if it’s got precum of its own. The sight amazes you, makes you want to touch it. Before you can, it’s moving again. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t return to hide within Jungkook’s body, but wraps around his cock tightly. Purple tendril against engorged skin, makes him sigh at the squeeze.

He holds the base of his cock, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he regards you with an unrecognizable look. One hand on your thigh, fingers gripping tightly even before he’s done anything. “Tell me you want this,” he exhales, “please?”

You nod hurriedly, hands reaching for his hips to urge him closer. “Want this,” you assure him, quiver when the head of his cock presses against your folds. Bigger than your fingers, bigger than that damned appendage, and it was going inside of you. “Want this so bad,” you whimper, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. A squeeze around your breasts, a flick against your nipples. It’s not Jungkook’s hands, and that fact makes you shiver.

They curl around your breasts, frame the mounds gently before the flatted tips meet your nipples, tease them with featherlight nudge.

Eased by the certainty of your words, Jungkook relaxes. He places a hand on your hip, the other still holding his cock as he lines himself up with your throbbing entrance. You’re so wet, dripping in your own cum and whatever that tentacle released, thighs slippery and shiny. The anticipation in your chest swells, pushes against your rib cage until you’re afraid it’ll break. The little markings beneath his eyes flash and suddenly it’s gone, replaced with a sense of comfort that only doubles when he flashes you a tiny smile.

The first press of his cock makes your back arch, has you knocking every throw pillow off the couch as he slowly eases his way in. “Oh god—“ you sob, the sudden intrusion being questioned by every muscle in your body. Immediately, two of his tentacles snap forward, release their soft grip on your neck and their wrap around your breasts to caress up your sides, smooth ends practically kissing your skin with their soft nudges.

They by no means lessen the pain, but their butterfly touches are a nice distraction that tickles your skin, makes you whimper softly as Jungkook slowly sinks into you.

Jungkook ducks over you, tip of his nose against yours. “Breathe for me,” he instructs, even though his breath is labored against yours. One appendage cups your cheek, curls softly around your ear to hold your head still— you feel so spoiled with all the attention. You make an effort, breathe in swiftly through your nose as Jungkook pushes in deeper.

Slowly, the discomfort fades away. It melts and in its wake you’re left with a dull numbing sensation that starts in your toes and magnifies as it reaches your ears. It grows until the weight of his cock inside of you has you drooling, eyes unfocused as you watch Jungkook push himself to the hilt, the ridges of the tentacle wrapped around his cock making you jolt with every push.

At the same time as his cock thrusts inside of you, a sneaky little thing continues it’s dance between your cheeks, pokes and kisses at your hole like it’s testing you. It is, really, because you've never had anything up your ass before— up until a few moments ago, you had barely had anything in your pussy.

This was your first time, yet two seperate holes were begging to be filled, clenching tightly at Jungkook kisses along your chest, hands wound beneath the small of your back. The playful tentacle near your behind does just that— plays until you gently reach back for it, trembling hands giving it the go ahead it needs to finally plunge itself within you. Like an excited little being, it flutters against your hand a soft, kiss-like press against your palm before returning to its favored spot.

It chooses the perfect moment to press in, takes advantage of Jungkook’s first few slow thrusts to slip its way inside. A loud moan tears itself from your throat, and Jungkook joins along. “I-I’m sorry,” he pants, mouth against yours. “I-I just want to feel you.”

You shake him off, body twitching from the utter fullness you felt, the weight in between your folds and your ass that moves in opposing strokes. His cock, wrapped in those bulging ridges, pushes in just as the tentacle in your rear pulls out, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper and sob.

It feels good, amazing even, and you almost can’t believe it’s happening. Jungkook’s lips slot against yours, slow and lazy as he lets your body grow familiar with the stretch. He kisses you until the cat-like grip you have on his shoulders weakens, replaced with wandering hands that trail down his spine. The base of his spine where his protrusions appear is unique, makes him buck against you when you wrap your hands around one appendage.

“S-Sensitive,” he says as an apology, never mind the fact you want him desperately to fuck into you like that again. You voice such thoughts and Jungkook groans against your skin. “Really?” He chokes out, “I can move?”

One nod and then he’s off, for real this time.

He’s slow at first, like he’s hesitant about hurting you, but you tuck one leg around him, pull him closer until he’s forced deeper inside of you, and from there everything is a downward spiral. You forget Jungkook of Sixam is superior for more than just one reason, harsh reminder given in the strong snap of his hips that would have otherwise sent you flying off the couch if that same strength wasn’t channeled into the arms he held you with.

You reach for his hair, desperate to feel that comforting silk between your fingers, but then there’s something wrapping around your wrists. It pins your hands down, twists around your wrists twice before snaking up and curling along your fingers. Like it wants to hold your hand, wants to fill the spaces for Jungkook. The thought makes you burn, insides a boiling mess as he fucks into you, hands held down above your head.

“Jungkook,” you sob, squirming in his hold. It’s like whenever you move, there’s something there, holding you down or fucking you senseless. He responds with a grunt, roughly thrusting into you over and over until all you can manage is a series of hiccups.

The ridges around his cock, the added thickness lended to him by his extra appendage, has every shove past your lips sending tingles like an ascending xylophone shooting throughout your body. The rhythmic stretches make you huff like a dog against him, brain fuzzy and overwhelmed.

At the same time as he delivers killer grind after grind, another arm, the one that had been left out of the fray, slithers around your chest, looping twice around your frame and caging your breasts between them. Like bondage, except it’s Jungkook’s own body holding you down.

You don’t think about the absurdity of it too much, couldn’t anyway. Your brain is a scrambled mess of Jungkook’s lips and incandescent eyes, lost in the purple galaxies and stars he holds, slowly slipping away from reality with each brutal thrust he gives. His name tumbles from your lips, and yours from his. He holds you like you’ll slip away, sweaty skin pulling you impossibly closer with each roll of his hips.

The thick appendage buried within your ass makes you squirm. It’s a tight fit, one you don’t get too stuck on because for every reprieve from its maniac thrusts you are met with the equally ferocious slam of Jungkook’s cock. So it stays in the back of your mind, this curling tentacle that stretches the tight rim of your ass apart.

You were stuffed to the brim, eyes rolling back as you struggled to keep up. A soft brush along your jawline makes you gasp, before your mouth is tentatively filled with something soft and pulsing. Oh, you would die, you think, mindlessly sucking around the tentacle squeezed between your lips. It fattens in your mouth, pushes roughly against your tongue in rhythm with Jungkook’s cock. You cough, gag even, but it doesn’t move away. It drips a thick substance down your throat, disgustingly sweet.

“Please, please,” he pants, quiet and lost among your own higher-pitched moans. Your leg hikes itself further up, accidentally brushes at the base of where two of his tentacles protrude, and Jungkook jolts against you. His cock presses so deep into your walls, you swear you feel him kiss your cervix. “__,” he pants, tongue lapping at the skin of your neck, picking up the sweat and replacing it with his thick saliva. “Be mine, please.”

Your heart pounds with the beat of a marching band's pace, loud thundering that competes against the slapping of Jungkook’s skin against yours. You whimper around the weight in your mouth, the idea he places in your head only fueling that lifelong dream of yours. Your grip around the appendages that hold your wrists down tightens, its faint heartbeat-like pulse felt between your fingers.

“Let me be yours,” Jungkook moans, pulls out once only to slam his cock past your folds, hold himself there as your brain scrambles to rewire itself. As he says this, your mouth is freed, saliva and that sticky wet substance sloppily splattering across your lips and chin at the rather harsh exit. “And you will be mine.”

“Yes, yes!” you choke, dribbling drool down your chin.

It ends too soon.

Jungkook reaches a hand down, thumb feeling for your clit, but he’s pressed so tightly against you, it takes a second before the rough pad makes contact. That simple swipe, one half circle, is enough to make you unravel. “J-Jungkook,” you wail, biting down against his shoulder, “I’m—“

Your orgasm swallows you whole, his tentacle in your ass joining alongside you. It bursts inside of you, makes your ass leak with cum when it finally pulls out.

“I’ve got you,” he shudders, stills when your pussy clenches down around him, creamy pleasure dripping down around his cock. Your cries fill the air, body falling slack against the couch as you struggle to recover. Your head is a foggy mess, clouded by the slow snap of Jungkook’s hips as he reaches his arousal. Each push against your folds feels even more intense now, overstimulated walls fluttering wildly around him as his cock slips in.

His body stiffens and he swiftly pulls out, every ridge of his cock sucked back by your pussy, and when he finally frees himself— from your clenching walls and his tightly-gripping tentacle—he spills over your abdomen. Sticky and pink, like the strawberry lube you keep in your drawer, except its come out of Jungkook as a result of your rump in the sheets.

As quickly as his body locked up, it slumps just as fast, heavy muscles and long limbs crashing down over you before you can react.

“Jungkook—“

The sun shines in through the front window, wakes him from his slumber slowly and then all at once. He accidentally shifts into a patch of sunshine, the blinding light irritating his eyes until Jungkook is forced awake. His body aches but has never felt better, a weird sense of relaxation flooding his senses. For a moment, he is confused.

Eyes scan over the room, purple irises carefully calculating every bit of information until he catches sight of Smilodon’s furry tail and the memories of last night come swarming back in. He sits up quickly, whirling around for any glimpse of you, only to find you’re nowhere in sigh—

“Morning.” A small hand atop of his head, fingers stroking against his scalp. Instantly, Jungkook melts into the touch.

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where you get to work making the usual breakfast for you and Jungkook. He watches you from the couch, naked beneath the blanket you’ve so graciously covered him with. The sun leaks into the kitchen, paints you in soft shades of orange as you amble around the area.

The scent of hot cocoa fills the air, calling him to the space behind you after he dresses. “Good morning,” he says shyly, presses a kiss against your shoulder. Hesitantly, he lets his hands slide around your waist, lock over your navel. You don’t push him away, simply pat the side of his head as Jungkook snuggles into you.

You don’t speak about last night and neither does he. You eat eggs for breakfast and Jungkook playfully knocks his foot against yours beneath the table. “Don’t play footsies with me,” you laugh. Jungkook quite likes footsies.

Morning chores are skipped, pushed off in favor of sitting in front of the couch. You sit beside him, flush against his side, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. The projection box tells him about the weather, says something about a stock market, but other than that, it is relatively quiet.

There is no mission to complete, no tradition to uphold. It is just Jungkook in this new and not as scary world. The mailman always visits, and Smilodon shows his face every now and then. It is a routine he adores, but not as much as the Human at his side.

He doesn’t remember taking his headpiece off until it beeps from its spot on the coffee table, three distinctive chirps that signal an incoming call from the Higher Sixamian Court.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #alternative ending by rumu omits the last paragraph and we all pretend to live happily #but im evil so we suffer together #jeon jungkook x reader #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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tangledinmdzs · 4 years

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arms like yours, junior quartet hcs

junior quartet reacting to you running and jumping into their arms

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ ✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ ✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Lan Sizhui

you stand at the highest steps of Cloud Recess, eyes anticipating the figures that would appear around the bend

next to you Jingyi is similarly standing

even though you can’t see his hands, you know he’s wringing them together behind his back

because it’d been a least a year since you both had last seen Sizhui

so much time had passed when he asked for his parent’s blessings to go on a self finding journey

to uncover his past

save some people along the way

and all his adventures would finally be told, because he was coming home today

“Sizhui!!”

the call of your friend’s name draws you out of your daydream

you look up to see two figures just turned around the bend, one donned in light white and the other in deep grays and blacks

your eyes light up as their figures come closer and you notice the changes in him

the broadness of his shoulder

how much longer his hair got

but one thing that stayed the same, was the light shining in his eyes

when you both lock eyes, you forget the distance between and the rules of his home and simply run

even though your robes are long, you keep a tight clutch on the fabric as you race down the steps, hearing Jingyi’s accompanying steps with you

you hear Sizhui distantly shout back to you not to run though it’s all playful

a little part in the back of your mind revels in how different even his voice sounds

and when you reach close enough to him, you jump up and into his unsuspecting arms

Sizhui doesn’t stumble back, though he does inhale sharply at your impact

beside him Wen Ning, his uncle, coughs quietly into a closed fist

your arms are wrapped around Sizhui for a solid minute before your mind catches up with your actions

oh my goodness, Jingyi was right there i should have let them talk first

Sizhui probably wanted to see his best friend more

and i’m hugging Sizhui OH MY GOD

you’re about to pull away in embarrassment when you feel arms wind themselves around your waist, drawing your body even closer to him

you jolt slightly when he digs his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply

“i was going to say that no one missed you as much as me, but i think y/n’s stolen my spot” Jingyi teases you both, though he smiles

you hide your own smile holding onto Sizhui just as tightly

cause you’re not planning on letting him go any time soon

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Lan Jingyi

the night was dark, not only because it was so late

it had been hours since you had last seen Jingyi and a group of young disciples off

you didn’t think it would take this long

it really shouldn’t be this long, you think but don’t say

“shouldn’t they be back by now?” Zizhen asks both you and Sizhui as you guys stand by the front gates

you all have yet to see anyone

“don’t worry, they would have sent a signal if they needed anything” Sizhui tries to reassure

but you are unassured, already mildly ruffled

something doesn’t feel right

you’re about to jump onto your sword and fly to the scene yourself when you catch shadows of swords flying in from ahead

“they’re back!” you shout, excitedly (hopefully) to your two friends

but that dies the moment that the first people land

they’re two of the younger disciples, and one person is basically carrying the weight of the other

Sizhui widens his eyes and the three of you rush to the injured

“what’s happened?” Sizhui asks, because it was supposed to be a little trickster spirit, not something that would have injured anyone

your mind is fearful, because you hadn’t see-

“where’s Jingyi?” Zizhen asks the two disciples

“he, he was just right behind us” the young disciple splutters helplessly, holding his friend up as he looks up to the dark sky

it’s nearing late midnight, so it’s already hard as it is to see anything

your heart feels lodged in your throat

Sizhui and Zizhen take to helping the younger disciples back into Gusu, taking care of their injuries first

but you stay rooted in your spot, staring up at the sky

you tell yourself you’ll give him five minutes

five minutes before you hop onto your sword and go find him yourself

you count down every second as you stare up at the sky

it feels like an eternity

but then as you’re pacing you hear someone land heavily near the gates that you’re waiting at

you turn to see none other than the man that you’ve been looking for

in the moonlight his robes look a bit dirty, a bit ruffled

but otherwise he looks fine

he’s fine

you had planned to walk up to him, give him a piece of your mind

but your feet were running before you could stop yourself

and Jingyi doesn’t really react until he hears your footsteps and realizes that you’re probably gonna hit him

“y/n let me explain-”

you don’t let him explain, jumping straight into his open shaking arms

you don’t know why you’d been so scared

but to feel him so solidly around you, eases your mind after your wait

Jingyi takes in a deep breath, wrapping his arms around you and laying a hand on your head

a reassurance

he’s fine

you’re fine

you both are fine

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Jin Ling

today, everyone had been invited to Jin Ling’s second home, Lotus Pier

and it was a fun occasion for all, especially for you since this would be your first visit

but just because it was your first time, doesn’t mean that you were going to behave

out of the entire group of your friends, you had been the last to arrive

because you had taken a little detour around your own sector to gift shop for them (but we don’t talk about that)

so it’s no surprise that as you’re walking up to the port side entrance, you already see the rest of your friends waiting for you

as you’re walking up to the group, you notice that your favorite sect leader has his back turned to you

and you’re feeling mischievous today

so you walk gentle (but big) steps along the pier to sneak up on Jin Ling

you’ve made a good distance along the pier when you see Jingyi catch your eye

he’s a trickster himself, but he blabs everyone else’s pranks

so you find yourself breaking into a run before Jingyi can expose you

but what you failed to take into account was that the wooden pier is quite a noisy thing when you’re running on it

so just before you reach Jin Ling’s unsuspecting form, he turns suddenly and you end up jumping into his arms, instead of onto his back like you had planned

you’re surprised that he does not stumble with your weight, almost like he had been prepared for it

the rest of your friends laugh at you

because the blush on your face is noticeably red despite this being a prank for Jin Ling

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Ouyang Zizhen

it would be the first time that you were visiting Zizhen’s sect

he had always invited you, when you and your friends were studying together at Gusu

but you never thought that there’d be as great of a time as now

the weather is beautiful today as you approach Baling Ouyang sect

it would also be the first time in a long time that you guys were reunited

after your shared classes in Gusu a short summer ago, you all had went back to your sects to fulfill your duties as rising heirs/heiresses

and the time’s passed by so fast, you don’t realize that it’s been two summer since you’d last seen him

so when you climb off your horse and see him standing there waiting (anticipating) your presence, you can’t help the smile that breaks across your face

and the run that you take suddenly take up

he sees you running towards him and you watch as his surprised face morphs into a laugh as you jump into his arms (wide open for you)

he grabs you and spins you

half because of the momentum that you came at him with

the other half because he’s just that happy

you’re both laughing in each other’s arms

as his hand squeezes you tightly, you can’t believe that it’s been so long since you’d last seen each other

when he finally puts you down, his arms stay around you and his smile is wide

the look of pure joy on your shared faces makes you feel that the wait had definitely been worth it

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michaelmyersmalewife · 3 years

Text

the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat 1/?

- sephiroth/reader

- sfw

“The hell, man?”

With a sharp jerk of your wrists, you flipped the headset above your eyes, roughly shoving your hair up at the crown that gave you the vague appearance of a hastily arranged bird’s nest. Seconds ago, you were cutting down Shinra grunts on the Midgar highway like they were nothing but flowers. And now you were standing in a dome, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins. As the sim around you dissolved in a shower of 1’s and 0’s, the source of the interruption blotted out the light from the training room’s exit. Standing across from you - draped in black and wearing a grave face that would’ve made a skeleton shiver - was your mentor.

Sephiroth was an obelisk of a man, tall and lean and not unlike one of the statues you’d see guarding the churches in Sector 5’s slums.

“Least you could do is give me a warning before you pull me out like that.” you whined as you rolled your shoulders with a satisfying pop. “I was doing just fine before you rudely interrupted.”

“‘Just fine’ won’t cut it when you’re face-to-face with Wutai soldiers.” he said, crossing his arms. “You can do better. I’ve seen you do better.”

Sephiroth always spoke in a calm manner (as if he wasn’t already a pain in the ass to read), but since taking you under his wing you had come to recognize the many different flavors in which that calm manifested itself. And this was specially reserved for when he was very, very tired.

Feeling your palms prickle, you shoved your pair of shortswords back in their scabbards.

“Right.” you nodded curtly, setting the headset back in its charging port and already meaning to leave before he could cite some vaguely-worded and slightly cryptic advice. “There’s always tomorrow, right?”

Sidestepping in front of you in one fluid motion, Sephiroth peered down at you with an icy gaze. Craning your neck upward at an uncomfortable angle so that you weren’t eye-to-chest, you ground your foot into the floor.

“So we’re good tomorrow?”

He was as rigid as a glacier, and just as vocal. You sighed.

“Permission to return to quarters, sir?” you grumbled.

“Denied.”

You wheezed out a bitter laugh. Sometimes you wondered if he got off on bossing you around, but the notion of Sephiroth getting off to anything was enough to send you reeling.

“I thought you wanted to make 1st.”

A pithy breeze flashed in front of you, and it took you a second too long to realize there was a sword directed at your sternum. You stumbled backward, only barely finding your balance.

“What-“

“Don’t worry, this won’t be a fight.” he said, slowly inching Masamune forward until you had no choice but to walk backwards. “Think of it as a dialogue.”

You steadied the heavy thump of your heart as you straightened yourself, lifting your chin maybe just a little too high in a feeble attempt at hiding your nerves. The only time you had ever faced your mentor in a fight was the day he chose to train you out of a flock of other SOLDIERs. It was a punishing session, and in the end he had disarmed you in three moves. You had heard later from the other recruits that that was the longest anyone had lasted.

“Isn’t that the opposite of what you should be teaching me?”

“A SOLDIER isn’t just their kill count.”

Unsheathing your swords, you let slip a snort. “Easy for you to say.”

“I mean it.” he said, fortifying his stance as the room melted back into the sim.

“You’re getting sloppy. Good form, but no tact. When you accept those as parts of you,” he said, nodding toward your swords. “And not just a tool, everything else becomes an afterthought.”

He was awfully serious today - and he had practically cornered the market on being serious - but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you just a little nervous. You were used to aloof Sephiroth - succinct nods of approval and pointed glares of disapproval, both marked by a signature silence that could fill a room. Talking someone’s ear off wasn’t something Sephiroth was known for (or particularly good at, if you were being honest), but when he did, man was it weird.

In that time, you were back in the sim, now finding yourself standing outside a Shinra facility - a mako refinery, if the acrid odor drifting beneath the thick, briny scent of seawater gave you any indication. The two of you were standing on just one of the massive metal-plated pipes that fed into the factory. Jutting out the side of a cliff like a blossoming giant, a mess of pipes and valves, it faced a sea.

The environment around the facility was in a perpetual state of dusk, the sun sitting just above the water’s horizon, with clouds in shades of pink and gold that hovered wistfully in the sky. The last of the day’s blue disappearing into a day that would never come. The sea itself was dark, lazily churning against the face of the cliff, the sun’s light refracting into thousands of tiny gems on its surface.

Sephiroth took no time to admire the sim’s flawlessly randomized recreation - raising the hilt of his sword up to his eye level while keeping his right hand close to his body, shifting his weight on one foot while the other stayed back, ready to spring him forward at a moment’s notice. Taking his cue, you balanced yourself, holding your swords out in front of you in an x-shape.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a tiny, self assured smirk (though, to the untrained eye, resembled more an involuntary twitch of muscle than anything), blinking long and slow. Your teeth worried at the inside of your cheek. Had he made you wait any longer and you think you would’ve broken skin.

But before you could worry a hole through your cheek, 7 feet of sinewy muscle charged at you like a bullet shot from a gun. His sword clashed against yours with an ear-splitting clang, the ringing of metal running down the tips of your fingers. Grunting at the force pushing back at you, you slid one sword out from under Masamune, slashing the air between you and effectively getting him to step the fuck off.

He bounced back, landing gracefully on the tips of his toes like a dancer coming down from a leap. His eyes narrowed, but there was a twinkling in his pupils. Normally, a beaming Sephiroth would’ve been a sight to commemorate, preferably behind a neat little frame set on a desk somewhere. But it only gave you one thought: Shit.

In a very short space of time, you were standing face to face with your superior once again, his sword slamming into the broad, flat side of your right hand’s blade. You had barely raised it in time, and he had only given you a moment to prepare yourself against a barrage of attacks, somehow managing to parry each one.

“You block too much. You’re a sword, not a shield.” he said, almost sounding bored.

You would’ve responded with any number of pieces of crude backchat that you’d accumulated since training under him, but the man hardly gave you time to breathe let alone think.

Each twitch of his sword was a masterpiece of technique. He fought like a well-oiled machine, inevitable, bloodless, with absolute awareness of the power he held. It was beautiful, or, it would be if you weren’t on the receiving end of his advances. He was fast, inhumanly, unfairly fast. And with his equally unfair reach, it was a miracle if you ever came close to landing a hit on him. The man had some cruel agreement with gravity.

After your nth parry and a last minute pass back, you held Masamune in place, running your left blade down its length. His eyebrows briefly twitched upward before flicking his sword up, sending your blades down and away. But in a flash, you lunged forward, cutting just beneath his chin and hacking away thin slivers of his bangs. You were about to allow yourself a smirk, maybe even a ‘hmph’ born from pride and amusement.

What happened instead was something so irritating it didn’t register with you until you were slammed to the floor. Pivoting away from an overhead slash, he - very gently - tucked his blade underneath yours, sending another bone-ringing clang through you like a bell. And (incredibly obnoxiously) he used your weight against you, forcing you backward. But, in a last-ditch effort to not look like a fool, you stuck one leg out - effectively killing any chance of recovery but by Gaia were you gonna take him down with you.

You staggered backward like a flimsy piece of rubber, hitting the ground with a thump as your swords clattered on either side of you. Of course, Sephiroth landed with grace - hardly falling at all so much as shifting himself in tune with your otherwise graceless tumble. And yet - despite being perfectly fine, actually - he wore an uncharacteristically poleaxed expression, his lips hanging slightly open like a man caught mid-practical joke.

The sim had already disappeared, the panel next to your head flickering off and on before completely shuttering off a few seconds behind the rest.

That was when the sound of cracks splitting across the floor met your ears. His sword had pierced the tile mere centimeters away from where your forehead was, drowning out the sound of blood rushing to your ears. Sephiroth stood hunched over you like a gargoyle, one knee drawn up to his abdomen while the other pressed hard into the floor, effectively caging you in black leather and silver hair. Tucked between cold tile and an even colder man, you couldn’t get back up if you wanted to.

“Was that good enough for you?” you wheezed, feeling like a pair of bricks had been shoved in your rib cage.

He studied you with close scrutiny and a blank expression, hardly winded but breathing quietly, evenly. You could never tell what he was thinking, even this close. You had resigned yourself with the thought that you never will.

“Dismissed.” he ordered, finally.

Pulling himself up, he tugged Masamune out from where it had wedged itself, stepping over you without so much as a look back.

You tried to sit up, only managing to lift your head before a singular phlegm-raddled cough sent you thudding back to the floor, dazed and hot - uncomfortably so, like you had been tossed in a furnace. Feeling the muscles in your arms and legs cry for mercy, you decided to lay there. Just for a few minutes more.

#sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #ff7 crisis core #my fics

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uponrightful · 3 years

Text

Second Chance Ch. 6

Read Chapter Five Here

Warnings: Injury, Angry/Sad/Confused/Depressed? Din, Cursing, Bad Guys Die in canonical ways & as always my terrible editing.)

Authors Note: I have no idea what possessed me have such a fucking sad chapter. (Insert Fair Warning Here) But not only did I personally need this, the plot needed this.

Word Count: 11.5K

Mando woke up to the low ambient noise of his quarters funneling through the amplified speakers in his helmet pressing up against his ears. His body felt stiff, and his mind felt fuzzy from the unusual amount of sleep he’d somehow allowed himself to have. The windowless hull afforded him the luxury of not being able to discern daylight from dark and the deflector mods for some reason had darkened his HUD. With a low grunt he reached for his vambrace with his opposite hand and adjusted the brightness on his display before hauling himself back to his feet with another defeated sigh. His swim with the girl still weighed heavily on his mind despite his long sleep and as he walked into the empty hull the silence surrounding him only made his conscience weigh heavier. The door to the girl’s room was swung wide open with no sign of her boots, or her anywhere to be seen. Only an empty can of soup sitting next to her bed gave Mando any sign that she’d been on the ship any time in the last couple hours.

He knew better than to think she wasn’t confused with him, but that didn’t help his own confusion when it came to how easily she affected him. With an empty ship he took the opportunity to find some food for himself and quickly get it down his throat ignoring the opportunity to fully remove his helmet in the chance that she did come back soon. Glancing over the ration stock he took note of its reorganization, the corners of his mouth twitching up in appreciativeness of the unnecessary job she’d completed. After a couple checks of the Slave, he made his way to the cockpit in a habitual routine of checking fuel and water levels before noticing the bright light flashing on the comm link. He felt the hair on his neck raise as he stood looking at the anomalous sight of a missed comm.

As unusual as it was he pressed the strobing light, bracing himself for what was to come. His stiff muscles stayed bunched in anticipation until he saw a familiar green and red Mando helmet staring back at him through the blue tint of the HUD. Boba Fett and a his gruff tone urged him to respond at his soonest -convenient or otherwise- opportunity, letting Mando know just how irritated he was in the strict posture he held.

Begrudgingly, he turned to look towards the ladder to the hull and listened for any sign of the girl’s approach before connecting to Fett’s last link. Glancing back towards the ladder again, hoping that she wouldn’t walk in right in the middle of this unexpected conversation and get caught in the middle of Fett’s -admittedly- unavoidable charm.

“Find someone better to talk to last night?” Mando could sense Fett’s irriation and mocking in the strict sound of his tone. “Maybe you’ve found someone to warm up that bed you’re not doubt not sleeping in.”

“Why complain if you’re the one wasting time?” he barked back with impatience.

“A group of Hothian’s came looking for you, asking questions about a beskar Mando and a little slip of a girl he was keeping hostage.” Fett almost chuckled after mentioning the girl, finding humor in the terrible reasoning for the girl being with him. “Of course there was no one with any helpful information or a sighing… but that didn’t keep them from upsetting a few of my contacts.” He tone settled back down, lulling back into a more business-like tone that unsettled Mando more than his typical grumbling.

“Did they talk to you?” Another bad feeling crept up Mando’s back and settled at the nape of his neck, biting hard into his conscious.

“I hardly blend in.” he remarked, tilting his head down to motion towards the helmet. “I said there was no Mandalorian for parsecs. They were more than ready to leave with a unfriendly warning.”

“Combative?” he questioned, watching as Fett’s shoulders sagged as he blew out a breath.

“Approaching anyone with blasters on a foreign planet is kriffing unusual… but that didn’t keep them from shoving them in anyone’s face that looked suspicious enough.”

“You didn’t lie. We’re perfectly safe here.” Telling Fett their exact location wasn’t necessary, even if the other Mando was simply trying to warn them.

“That’s bantha shit. And from the way you keep looking over your shoulder I expect you know it to.” He pointed into the holocall transponder, straightening his posture with a satisfied smirk perceivable on his shielded face. “You’ll receive encoded coordinates in the next minutes. I expect you can read Mando’a.”

“I’m not leaving without kriffing good reason for it.” Mando was aware of how his pride was getting the best of him. Fett wasn’t overacting, but it wasn’t sitting right with him that Boba was keeping such close tabs on him and the girl for no good reason other than personal intrest.

“My offer stands. I expect you’re in an uncharted sector, but that only deters the Imperials. Anyone after you certainly knows their way around all of the little hiding places you’ve found rat hunting.”

Mando and Fett stood silent in a battle of wills, completely content to wait one another out until the other conceded. However Fett was the first to break this time, growling impatiently when the familiar sound of Cleeah’s voice echoed from in the distance. Mando couldn’t make out the entire sentence, but she sounded like she was in a hurry. No doubt Fett was leaving Coruscant before the Hothian’s came knocking for a follow-up interrogation. Even in the best of circumstances Fett wasn’t willing to risk his posh hideaway under any conditions. He surmised that Fett was inviting them to a secondary location; One where Mando was unhappily admitting to being safer than anywhere he’d taken the girl up to this point.

“Mando’a.” It was all Fett said before the holo disappeared and Mando was left to decide on whether or not to leave.

***

FOUR HOURS EARLIER

A walk would clear her mind. After all, it was too pretty of a morning to waste it sitting on the ship.

Mando weighed heavily on the her mind, more so than she’d ever anticipated. He was the embodiment of emotional whiplash, steeled over from any real infiltration by the thick glittering beskar jacketing him. She tried her best to gauge his moods and respond accordingly but the more she thought she understood, the Mandalorian seemed more than happy to prove otherwise. Mando had a knack for using her lack of control against her in the worst moments, leaving her with more than a knotted up stomach and tangible mortification. The waterfall hadn’t been an accident, he was the one who said he would teach her… but after he’d shown interest it immediately dissolved like sugar in a hot cup of tea. It wasn’t like she could see through that kriffing visor of his; something kept her from acting on the obvious -yet confusing- ways he acted around her.

He must believe that she wasn’t good enough.

The girl’s stomach dropped at the thought of him preferring someone else to her even though it was a ridiculous idea in the first place. She didn’t belong to him, or vice versa so it shouldn’t really matter anyways. Mando was a man with undeniable magnetism no matter if you hated him -or had began to develop a certain liking- for the bounty hunter. She wasn’t jealous, but after hours of imagining the woman she believed to match Mando, it was like shooting herself in the foot with a blaster… nothing but pain and no benefit to herself. All of the imaginary women were like Cleeah, exotically unattainable with beautiful clothes and lifestyles that exposed them to all of the things she lacked. The longer she compared herself to these illusory women it became apparent that as long as they weren’t her nothing else really mattered. She was too small, and couldn’t defend herself like Cleeah. The names of changing seasons were still new to her, along with the idea of swimming in water that wasn’t cold enough to freeze a person in minutes. She could shoot a blaster, but that didn’t mean anything to a trained bounty hunter… nothing she did made a difference

Maybe learning a few things would impress him? Then he might not think so lowly of her.

Despite her perpetually adverse sentiments towards herself, there was one thing she knew she was lucky to experience… Mando. Living on the ship gave her more than enough time to soak in his small idiosyncrasies - when he wasn’t paying enough attention to mask them – and without anyone to discourage her, she paid painstakingly close attention to them. It wasn’t smart, and she knew that doing so wasn’t helping her growing infatuation towards the Mandalorian; pouring fuel onto the fire that licked at her core when he was around. Every day she found more and more parallels between him and the many suns they’d passed travelling through the galaxy.

Domestic things that Mando did made the biggest impressions. Seeing him rinse out a cloak in a stream and hang it to dry, or mindlessly rubbing his gloved fingers rubbing at the dirty spots on his thigh plates to clean them was radically opposite to his typically statuesque personality. He liked to cook, or at least when it was available for him to, and for a man who lived on the edge of certain death laying low on this moon suited him right down to the ground.

Every living thing gravitated towards him, from the tall waving grass to the low hanging tree branches that skimmed his pauldrons and helmet. Inherently he looked more machine than biological, but every movement was fluid and effortless like there wasn’t anything unnatural about him. Mando blended into his environment, letting the mirror-polished shine on his beskar envelop him until he was almost a shadow against his surroundings; Like he was the perfect hunter with the entire moon assisting in his hunts. The girl couldn’t be sure if Mando knew how well he blended in or if it just naturally happened; Either way it was always something she had begun to love about him.

Quietly she slipped out of the ship, hoping not to disturb Mando as he slept through the morning. Hopefully until after she got back… There was nothing worse than the feeling of his hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her back again him after she’d wandered too far from his eyesight. It had nothing to do with the thought of him tracking her down, but more so with the way he did it. Feeling the icy surprise of his steel curiass against her back and the slow rise and fall of his chest made more than her chest clench. It was hard to think straight with Mando so close, and the idea of him chasing her down was more than enough to have her trembling.

She neglected her boots, opting for the soft padding of the grass under her feet. Saying this moon was anything less than divine was a discredit to just how beautiful it was. She couldn’t imagine a prettier color than the deep browns of the soil sticking to her toes and the hundreds of shades of green covering every inch of the valley. Of course, Ashas Ree had been beautiful but not a single drop of rain had fallen since they landed and it was nice to explore without getting wet. After deciding on a heading, she made out towards the waterfall hoping one last visit would get it off her mind before Mando woke up. A clear head would make talking to him much more approachable when she returned back to the ship.

It wasn’t long before the familiar sound of the water reached her ears, and an even more familiar feeling of dread filled her stomach when the sizeable resonances of voices layered over the spray of the water. The girl stopped in her tracks and dropped down to the ground behind a tree placing a hand over her chest; Trying desperately to calm the thumping feeling in her heart that racked against her sternum. There were at least six different voices she could differentiate, but from instinct she estimated there to have been more than ten people rummaging about at the base of the cliff and waterfall.

Get yourself together, and find out what’s going on before you lose your kriffing mind.

Her next exhale was shaky, but not as bad as her knees when she peeked around the thick tree trunk to look between the thick trunks towards the sounds. One ship sat at the top of the cliff, it’s durasteel paneling just barely peeking through the canopy of densely needle-covered branches. Less than a hundred feet or so, stood a group of men preoccupied with setting up tents and another group sitting around a stump with playing cards in their hands. Immediately she recognized them playing Sabacc and slowly came up to her feet, taking two careful steps backwards. All of them were covered in grease, and filthy beyond any real recognition of who they might’ve been. That didn’t keep the girl from identifying that they were smugglers, just getting ready to settle in for the day.

She needed to get back to Mando before they noticed the Slave sitting in the middle of the valley… or her spying on them.

The girl didn’t have enough time to realize anything but the dull throb of a fist swiping across her cheek. Her whimper covered the sound of her body slamming back down to the ground from the heavy assault. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the tall figure towering above her who presently stood resting his hands on his hips, laughing darkly at her.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing way out here?” his scratchy voice rumbled as he roughly yanked her to her feet, sneering with blackened teeth. The girl winced away from him, still feeling the awful pain in her face and fearing another blow. His awful breath blew in her face leaving her feeling doubly sick in her current situation.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” She cried out unable to resist the need to let her tears flow. The man laughed aloud this time, shoving her in the direction of the camp she’d desperately been trying to hide from.

“Oh I expect we’ll have some fun first.” He laughed again, calling out to the men nearest to them. “Look what I found boys!” Her gut churned as she struggled against the man dragging her, violently kicking and jerking her arms in attempt to get away before someone else could come to help her attacker.

“Please let me go!” she screamed, praying that somehow Mando might hear her before anything happened to her. It was all in vain for the quick reflexes of her captor who clamped a hand over her mouth, pressing down hard against her already aching face. Her ability to breathe slowly worsened as they got closer to the camp, multiple voices coming closer and almost echoing in her pulsing ears.

A black rim started closing in on her vision, collecting at the corners of her sight and slowly dotting closer to the center of her field of view. The girl couldn’t fight much longer, and the outlook of her situation ending positively made resisting feel that much more unreasonable. Maybe it was the overwhelming helplessness that enveloped her right as she was passed through the flaps of one of the many tents that she’d been observing Or it might’ve been her body’s lack of oxygen mixed with her quick hyperventilation that caused her to pass out. Either way she wasn’t awake to feel the second blow to her face, or hear the way her body hit the ground after being tossed carelessly to the floor by her attacker.

PRESENT TIME

Mando was growing more impatient by the second as he waited for the girl to return. The girl had never been away from the ship this long, especially without giving him some type of idea as to what she was doing before she left. He tapped his heels impatiently on the floor, watching the valley in front of him, as if his thoughts alone were going to be enough to make her appear from thin air. It wasn’t the first time he’d went out searching for her, and he was sure this time wouldn’t be the last either. His mind raced with instinctual thoughts, running through scenario after scenario until he’d worked himself just short of full-blown fury before he collected his blasters and set out to find her.

There was a certain coldness in the air around him as the sound of distant voices were picked up by his helmet, chilling past his weighted armor and icing over any of the emotional turmoil that the girl had created in her absence. The sun still shown bright but Mando couldn’t feel anything other than that prickling sense of death creeping up on him. A slight breeze rustled the trees but for Mando it sounded like millions of whispers all crowding out any thought that didn’t have to do with his girl. Even death seemed quite willing to agree with Mando in the moment and he was certain that even if death wasn’t willing it wouldn’t have mattered anyways.

Laughter and the unawareness of the smugglers were telling. All of their tents were set up, and sabacc decks were huddled around by a few groups of men, all of them either yelling or doing their best to keep their tell from showing. Baudy jokes and drunken howling set the background of a hellish encampment of men who most likely wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to steal away a stranded pretty girl. Mando bristled at the sight before him, instinctually targeting the tents in search of any movement that might mark if she’d been taken by them. He could see multiple heat signatures, but at this distance there was no definition to the blurry red blobs in his HUD. She was here… he knew it.

If the smugglers hadn’t been engrossed in their petty gambling they would’ve been shocked to see the imposing figure lurking right out of eyesight. It would’ve looked like the gods had created the image of hell right in front of them. The shadows of the trees clung to Mando, radiating outwards like an ominous haze of black unfurling like heavy wings around his statuesque frame. A reaper had taken form in the shape of a bounty hunter, more destructive than any known to walk the galaxy. Mando knew that death clung to him but he didn’t know that this was what set him apart from all others. Others didn’t see him as a purveyor of death’s wishes, what others saw was the incarnate of revenge and prowess. Power and menace fearfully evident on the slate black visor of The Mandalorian. This was what the girl hadn’t seen of him. Nothing she’d heard or ever would hear about Mando would compare to the malevolence displayed before these smugglers. The sunlight that she saw, swallowed whole by the all-encompassing rage that flowed through Mando as he paced imposingly towards the center of the camp. His calmness only proved the efficiency of his body and the instinctual way he was able to concentrate his intensity for the most lethal means.

Only after a dried branch that had been carelessly tossed to the edge of one of the groups snapped under the weight of his boot did one of the men look to meet Mando’s emotionless stare. The man’s eyes widened in panic just long enough for him to remember that he wasn’t the only man there. He collected his fear long enough to nudge the man sitting next to him who still sat focused on his hand of cards, unaware of the mental battle Mando was waging on the now standing smuggler. The Mandalorian couldn’t help but smile, wickedly content with the silent terror he was providing.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man finally spat out, masking his voice well enough that his partners wouldn’t notice what Mando was privy to. All eyes in the camp looked up from their cards to stare at the beskar-clad reaper. Mando’s silence unsettled the entire clan and the unanswered question rang true in the minds of all the grease-stained men. After a long moment, one of the larger men singled himself out and approached Mando with an obvious false-confidence that screamed out for attention. His long blonde hair was coated in filth and ratted into knots that collected mud; freshly dried blood coating the knuckles on his right hand.

“We were under the impression this moon was deserted.” The man smiled, unable to help himself from smiling at the inside joke Mando was also privy to. “My men and I just settled in for the evening… I expect you’re coming to say hello?” The man reached out his blood-stained hand to Mando, who momentarily thought about shooting it clean off.

“I came to get what’s mine.” He growled lowly, lowering his visor to meet the eyes of the man speaking.

“I have nothing of yours.” The man responded casually, settling his tightly clenched fists on his hips. He even took a glance down at the blaster strapped to Mando’s hip. “We just dropped our shipment, so there’s nothing for you to take anyways.” It wasn’t a convincing bluff, but the other members of the crew were obviously certain that it would deter the man in front of them into leaving. Their visible relief diminished once Mando rested his palm over the handle of his blaster, slowly resting his fingers over the well-worn finish of the weapon.

“You’ll die in five seconds.” He pointed to the tents gathered behind all of the men with his free hand. “If you don’t return what you’ve taken.” Mando’s mind wasn’t allowing him to speak of her, despite his honest attempt in saying that she was his. His anger blocked any real thought of sentiment, protecting himself in the chance that they would try and use it against him, or worse realize that she meant something important to him.

“We don’t have what you’re after.” The man sneered quickly drawing out his own blaster. The action end trained itself right at the center of Mando’s chest, gently wavering in the anxious hands of its owner. Mando sneered under his helmet at the pitiful challenge in front of him, feeling just how threatened the man felt under his unhuman stare.

Everything happened quickly. The first shot between the two men were almost in sync, Mando’s dropping the man to the ground in a fit of screams. The first blast Mando took was to the chest, knocking him off balance long enough for others in the encampment to pick up arms against him. Only a couple others picked up blasters, issuing three more inaccurate shots to his beskar; These men were the next to fall. The rest preferred hand to hand combat, assuming that Mando couldn’t fight off more than a couple men at once. His Whistling Birds allowed him the space to fight off the remaining stragglers that didn’t catch the attention of his heat seeking projectiles. In his haste, he checked the tents and found that one tent still carried the signature of three bodies huddled in a corner. Before he could move close enough to see inside a booming voice echoed over the rocks of the cliff surrounding them.

“Get any closer and she dies!”

Mando moved to stand in the opening, allowing himself to wince at the sight before him. Two men -bigger than any he’d seen- crouched over the still form of the girl, one pointing a blaster at Mando while the other held a knife to her throat. He was in terrible position and any wrong move would result in a stray blast hitting her, or a knife wound that couldn’t be healed on the ship. There had to be some way to get them away from her.

“What do you want with her?” he asked coolly, letting his modulator mask the infinite levels of fear and rage mixing with his tone.

“A fuck.” The knife wielding one spat, touching the edge of the blade to the girls throat with a an evil snarl.

“She’s a criminal.” -he lied- “Wanted for murder on Hoth. I hunted her to this moon, so she could stand trial.” It was his only chance. Even horny smugglers didn’t like the idea of fraternizing with well-known criminals.

“You’re a bounty hunter.” The second man surmised, “Then you’ll pay to get her back.” He smiled, glancing down at the multiple satchels attached to Mando’s belt, his eyes widening at the thought of making even a few extra credits.

“I wasn’t given an advance. Instead you’ll split the bounty head.” He quickly thought on his feet, watching as the gravity of the situation began to lift, if only by a minuscule amount.

“How much?” The first man asked, glancing down at the girl who was still breathing evenly despite how weak she looked.

“I take half. You split the other.” They would be insane to not take an offer like that from any bounty hunter… especially from a man like Mando.

The two men shared a glance, and nodded before removing themselves from overtop of the girl, and tucking away their weapons. It was foolish of the two smugglers, but Mando already knew how much power money held over every sentient being in the galaxy. The two men followed a silent Mando as he brought them back towards the center of the camp, and turned around to face them, mimicking the actions of finding something in his belt. He listened as the two men talked, mentioning how simple of a fight the girl had been.

“She’d gone down in two punches. Kriff, I can’t imagine how she’d killed anyone bigger than a child.” It was the man who held the knife who laughed as he imagined the false scenario of the girl.

“You think that’s the best part? I’m guessing you didn’t get the chance to smell her did you?” The second man emphasized his addition to the conversation with an exaggerated inhale. “Sweeter than any candy I’ve ever tasted.” He chuckled, turning to Mando who’d finally had enough of the charade he was orchestrating.

“Did you get more than a smell?” Mando prodded with a low growl, watching as a grin crept across the man’s face.

“I may have sampled the goods.” He chuckled before leaning in just far enough that he could reach Mando’s implied ear. “That little curve at the top of her tits… well, let’s just say it couldn’t resi-.” The register of Mando’s blaster echoed in the trees, barely muffled by the point blank contact with the man’s chest. It was followed by confused shouts and a loud groan, but it all fell on Mando’s deaf ears. There was nothing stopping him from finishing this, these men had been dangerous; Now that they were away from the girl Mando could fully punish the bastards for what they’d done to her.

Those horrific thoughts kept replaying in his mind long after he’d dispatched of the other man who’d been to startled to even make a reach for his knife. Mando’s entire body was trembling with emotion as he lifted the opening of the tent to face his failure to protect her. She was still out-cold, and a deep blue bruise was already forming on her face as Mando gently collected her in his arms to abandon the now silent camp. She didn’t move a muscle the entire walk to the ship, and Mando did his best to keep her close to his chest in case she was more injured than was visual. He could feel that shadow of darkness trailing behind him, it’s draw to seek out any of the men left alive dissipating with every step closer to the ship. He looked back down at her and set his jaw, doing his best not to scream out in frustration at the pain he’d allowed to fall on her. The outline of knuckles were already imprinting themselves onto her face, with a gut wrenching trail of blood running from her nose.

“I’m so sorry little one.” Mando’s broken gasp spoke louder than any apology he could ever verbalize. “I need to clean you up.” He murmured as he shut the hatch door behind him, feeling the need to separate her from the world outside the ship.

He laid her in his bed, cradling her head down into the pillow as he checked for any other outward signs of injury. His shaking body jerked even harder the longer he stood over her, waiting for her to open her eyes. He smoothed her hair back out of her face, and let his fingers lace through the strands for a few minutes, in his own mind thinking it might soothe her knitted brows and tightly shut eyes.

“Please wake up little one.” He begged quietly, “I need to know you’re okay.” If he’d not been paying attention Mando might’ve missed the slight twitch of her fingers followed by a quick reaction of pulling her knees to her chest, and wrapping her arms over her face. His heart clenched with helplessness as she opened her eyes and peeked through the space in her arms to face him kneeling down at her side.

“You found me.” She whimpered still protecting her face. He nodded silently, losing all of the words he’d been speaking before she’d had the ability to look back at him. Her shaky inhale was followed by another whimper as she touched for fingertips to her bruising cheek; Wincing, she lowered her arms back down and slowly scooted herself closer to the edge of the bed, judging Mando’s reactions closely.

“I didn’t protect you.” His sadness was pitifully evident as he lowered his eyes down to the floor in front of him. Nothing he could do would make up for the hurt that she’d displayed after touching her cheek. He felt her hand rest on the crown of his helmet, pushing gently as to ask him to raise his head back up. At first, he protested unwilling to face her after such a breach of trust.

“Look at me Mando.” Her voice was raspy, no doubt from screams that he hadn’t heard. It was another blow to his gut as he relented and met her soft gaze. “You found me. Saved me.” It was her acceptance of his apology, however he was almost sick to accept it. Nothing he’d done deserved such an honor as her acceptance of his failure, and it was enough to drop him to both knees under the weight of her hand on his helm.

“I don’t understand you.” He murmured, the weight of her hand traveling over the back of his helmet towards the sides and back up to the top where she seemed content to hold it. “I almost lost you.” He admitted, finally able to allow some of the weight of his emotions to strip away.

“You didn’t, and you won’t.” she assured. Mando was astonished at her bravery after what she’d endured, and he found it hard to believe that she was the one reassuring him as he shook with adrenaline release on the floor next to her. She let out another whimper, this time letting her arm fall back down across her eyes, biting her quivering bottom lip. Even in his wrecked state, he could tell she was trying to be much stronger than she needed to be.

“Where does it hurt?” he questioned her gently, making sure not to touch her as he repositioned himself to stand up.

“My head.” she whispered. “They hit me… and other things.” Her whisper broke into small sobs as she began to remember the encounter much quicker than he’d hoped she would. Mando didn’t know what to do this time as he watched her rub small circles at her temples.

“What can I do little one?” His voice broke again.

“I want it all off me.” She whined. “ ’Fresher…” she mumbled, pulling at the hem of her dirt and blood stained shirt in attempt to pull it off. “Help me… please?” Her tears welled in the corners of her eyes, as she looked up at him.

“Can you stand up?” He asked, keeping himself from touching her. Nothing would be worse than another man touching her without making it clear first. She tried, but didn’t get further than sitting at the edge of the bed before she looked back up at him, pleading eyes and a wobbling bottom lip.

“Please.”

Mando broke, and nodded gently before setting to his armor slowly removing it piece by piece until only the much preferable fabric of his shirt flight suit remained. Nothing could be worse than having her feel the cold beskar, he’d always noticed her gasps when the cold steel made contact with her skin. She reached up to grip ahold of his shoulders, defiantly wanting to do as much as she could independently while Mando supported her at her hips, keeping an arm secured around her as they slowly made progress towards the ‘Fresher. The girl did her best to hide the pain but Mando knew it was making this easy walk virtually impossible.

“Sit down here.” He whispered, sensing how easily it affected her to hear loud noises. Tired and frustrated at her lack of independence, she let Mando ease her down without even trying to do it herself anymore. He opened the water valve and let the heat rise until it was comfortable enough on the back of his bare hand before turning back to see her staring in the mirror in front of her.

“I look hideous.” She furrowed her brows and frowned, upsetting the sore muscles in her face again. She moaned at the frustration situation and looked back up to Mando who was already crouching down next to her again, tilting his head as he searched her face for any signs of sever injury.

“Can I check something?” he lifted a bare hand up towards her face, watching as her eyes widened at the sight of his scarred skin in the light for the first time. “I won’t hurt you.” It was a weighted statement; One that the both of them understood to mean more than the current circumstance at hand. She hummed a quiet okay as he touched the edge of her cheekbone, just underneath of her eye feeling along the edge until an abnormal angle caught his attention.

“What is it?” her brows pulled together for a moment before forcibly relaxing again.

“Let me look at the other side.” He removed his other glove and mirrored the same path he’d followed on the bruised side hoping that the edge he’d felt was just unique to her bone structure. Mando let out a deep sigh when he didn’t palpate that landmark on her other side. “You’ll need bacta… more than a patch.” His hands dropped away from her face. “You’ve got a fracture… that’s part of why the bruising is so bad.” There was a certain softness in his voice, only attributable to his need to soften the edge of hearing that her wounds looked awful.

“I just want to get clean.”

Mando helped by pulling the narrow legs of her pants from around her ankles, not allowing her to reach any further than necessary; Also by cutting the side out of her shirt so she didn’t have to reach above her head to remove it.

“You’re always cutting my clothes off.” She remarked with the slightest intonation of humor, and Mando couldn’t help but stifle a chuffed laugh. It wasn’t the most endearing thing to be known for, but it did seem to interest him that she didn’t seem the least bit upset by his newfound propensity for ruining her clothes.

“You can have something of mine when you get out.” He offered turning his eyes towards the floor as she reached around to unwrap her breast band. Mando worked at his own boots, sitting them out of the way as he waited for her to make the next move. Her hand rested gently on his shoulder and gripped tightly onto the fabric as she tried to push up onto her feet.

“Give me a second...” She sighed before once again attempting to get to her feet.

“Take your time. I’m right here little one.” His endearment plus the small support of his words seemed to give her enough stamina to get onto her feet, and remain there long enough that she felt confident to let Mando get her the rest of the way into the ‘Fresher.

It wasn’t comfortable in the small stall, and the sopping wet feeling of Mando’s flight suit didn’t bode well under the hard water pressure either. The girl rested against Mando as she slowly worked soap over her face, cleansing off the dirt and blood while Mando took the liberty of washing out her hair. It didn’t take long for her to get so tired that she couldn’t continue, and simply let Mando finish what she couldn’t. All of the necessary places she’d done herself, and he couldn’t have been more grateful that she’d spared him from the experience. Even if the situation was ideal, he wouldn’t have had any way of knowing just how she did things, and he didn’t want to get it wrong.

“I’m cold.” She murmured against his chest, nuzzling her unscathed cheek into him a little more as he ran his hands down her soapy back to remove the excess lather.

“You’ve been in the water too long.” She only nodded in response, and relaxed further into him as he turned off the water and reached outside of the door for a towel to wrap around her. “Here. Take this.” He wrapped it around her back, handing both ends to her with his head turned to the side.

She was about to lean away, but Mando had already decided that she wasn’t walking back. Without much effort he pulled her off the floor and kept her tight against him as he brought her back into his quarters. The room was already darkening due to night approaching, and it made transferring her onto the bed a much simpler process without the impropriety of seeing her without the towel. Mando himself reached under the bed and blindly pulled out a dry set of underclothes for himself and retreated into the girl’s room for the old shirt of his that she’d taken to wearing to bed. He changed before returning, running a towel over the wet strands of hair that strayed from underneath his helmet and donning a pair of socks and his gloves. After he'd hung his flight suit over an active draft grate and returned to his dark bedroom with the shirt and the highest strength bacta patch he could find in his supply stores.

“This should keep you warm.” He held the shirt out blindly, hoping that he was close enough that she could take it.

“Thank you.” The sound of the fabric rustling gave Mando a sense of calm and he was prepare to leave her in peace when she hesitantly mumbled something. It wasn’t loud enough to hear, but he knew it was directed at him off instinct. Patiently, he waited for her to repeat herself, either her courage or energy needed the chance to catch up.

“Say it again.” He prodded gently, taking a step towards the bed.

“Would you stay?” Her voice sounded much like normal with that sweet intonation that reminded Mando just how innocent she really was. He went cold then hot in a matter of seconds, feeling the pull of fear and desire pulling at his conscience. He stood in silence, weighing his thoughts until he just couldn’t stand the idea of needing to rationalize every decision he made when it came to her.

In two strides his knees his the edge of the bed, and he felt his way up towards the head where he nervously sat down, and brought his legs up beside hers. He crossed his arms over his chest, and took a deep breath to calm himself down. The girl made her own small adjustment and settled down closer to his side, intent on seeking out the warmth that she apparently wasn’t getting from the shirt or sheets. Quietly, he placed a hand on her face turning it so that he could apply the patch. She hissed under the cold contact, but stilled after a few minutes of letting the analgesic treatment work into her damaged muscles and bone. The girl rested an appreciative hand on top of his arm and gave a gentle, sleepy squeeze.

“Are you still cold?” He asked through a tight jaw, still feeling the radical effects of her gentle touch vibrating though his arm. She gave another light squeeze, and nodded a little before tilting her chin upwards to look at him though the dark room.

“A little.”

Responding quickly, he turned onto his side and laid still as she turned onto her side to fit herself right against his chest. Even her legs fell flush against his thighs as Mando lifted the blankets over her. The girl let out a warm sigh of approval and Mando released his own withheld breath, only his held the strain of her bare legs entangling with his own. For someone that felt like they were running a fever, Mando couldn’t understand why she’d become so cold all of a sudden. Her light snores lifted into the bedroom within minutes; Already sleeping by the time he’d found the mental capacity to think about something other than the way her skin scorched though his compression pants and shirt. Under his unnecessary justification that she might still be cold he draped an arm over her waist, and gently pulled her closer watching to make sure he didn’t move her head more than necessary.

The steady rhythm of her breathing gave him time to think for the first time since he’d went searching for her. It pained him to think that he’d been so close to losing her… a group of smugglers who hadn’t had any idea of who she was or that there were men after her. Even worse, she was seriously hurting and the only thing that was keeping her from feeling it was the adrenaline still slowly passing through her system, drip feeding protection from the fracture in her cheek. He looked down at the bacta patch, studying the dimly lit lights glowing on the surface, lighting up her face just enough that Mando could trace her features. Mando couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a pretty face, and he was even more certain that he wouldn’t find someone that beautiful for the rest of his life. Freckles had begun to appear on her skin after being in the sunlight, darkening the smattering of color that collected on her nose and on the apples of her high cheekbones.

All of the darkness that he’d felt when walking into the camp had faded into grey, mimicking the steel tone of the beskar that lay abandoned in the floor of the ‘Fresher. It felt like he was finally able to escape the draw of battle for once in his life. Simply laying with her was enough to keep that biting instinct to hunt and fight away, even if just while he held her. He tightened his grip on her waist further, dreading the moment that he’d need to leave, and pilot them away from the maker-forsaken place forever. There was one person he needed to tell before they left.

Inside the safety and sound-proofing of his helmet he comm’ed Fett, letting his hand trace along the curve of the girl’s hip as he waited for an answer. He toyed with the frayed hem of his old shirt, feeling how low it rode on the girl’s thigh and silently admiring the drastic incongruity in their sizes.

“Mando.” Fett sounded quite tired, and for a moment he wondered just why he hadn’t comm’ed early in the morning instead of in the dead of night. He didn’t dwell on it for much longer than it took to register the thought.

“She was attacked.” He admitted, watching the miniscule reaction in Fett’s shoulders as he took in the information. Mando recounted details of the smugglers and their assault, leaving out nothing as he made certain to reassure Fett that none of the men had gone unpunished for the attack and that the girl was still unlocated by anyone other than the two of them.

“She’ll need healed.” He growled back to Mando, emphasizing the glaring issue at hand.

He had failed…

“They shouldn’t have died so easily.” He added with a sinister tone that Mando wasn’t very accustomed to hearing.

“I didn’t think… It was all I could do to get her out of there.” His voice broke under the pressure of his admission. “You’re offer still stands?” Mando asked quietly, glancing down to look at the girl who’d nestled herself tight against him, resting peacefully under the physiological sedative she’d been fighting against in the shower, mixed with bacta.

“Bring her here, she’ll be safe.” Fett’s typical tone of flattery and undercurrent of sexual tension was absent as he resent the coordinates to Mando even after he’d denied needing them a second time. Fett asked more questions about the girl, more so about her condition than anything. Repeating himself when Mando couldn’t keep his train of thought in one coherent strand as he delved deeper into the missing minutes of her rescue that had gone blurry in the midst of the blaster fire.

“She’s sleeping. It was kriffing impossible to help her do anything… Her way only.” He murmured, more to himself than Fett with a slightly frustrated sigh. Fett grunted in appreciation of her determination, although the mood wasn’t light enough for any real laughter. Boba took the lull in conversation to discuss the security procedures that he preferred -more so demanded- Mando take when approaching his landing on arrival.

“Drop straight in on the location. Don’t waste time. There aren’t inhabitants close, but if you come in at cruising altitude I’ll shoot you out of the sky myself.” Fett threatened, altogether serious in his attempt to covey the strict measures he necessitated.

“Fine.” Mando nodded, though Fett couldn’t see the physical acknowledgement.

“Make sure she doesn’t wake up to an empty bed… She’ll be feeling the full force of this tomorrow… bacta patch or not.” Fett added, dropping his visor with an lowly with a disheartened sigh. Of course he couldn’t fault Fett’s reaction, if anything he wasn’t surprised at how seriously he took the care of the women in his life when it came to safety and being overly protected when the situation called for it. Boba Fett might’ve been the most irritating man Mando had ever met, but he was still respectable in Mando’s visor. More than ever he was beginning to think that getting the girl her own comm link was one of the best decisions he’d made since bringing her aboard.

The comm ended, and Mando returned his full attention to the girl, didn’t move an inch the entire night and neither did Mando; He didn’t sleep, but that wasn’t anything new. She had lulled him into a state of complete resignation when it came to thinking about getting up. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb her obviously comfortable position. It would be the best sleep she’d get for at least a couple days, and Mando was set in the idea that he wasn’t going to be the one to ruin her opportunity. He spent the hours rubbing her back, and smoothing her hair back out of her face until he was certain she’d need a shower to clean the smell of his blaster residue- covered gloves.

She wouldn’t wake up until late morning, with a low groan and a deep stretch that made her muscles quiver. Mando watched as her grogginess wore off and the gravity of the situation fell onto her face. He was fully prepared to answer any questions she had, practicing his responses throughout the night in the idea that he would be more than competent to provide any information she wanted.

His work went completely untested.

The girl took a moment to reach up for the patch covering her cheek, letting out a whimper when the light pressure she applied intensified her pain. When she recovered, her sleepy eyes fell on Mando who still had his arm possessively tucked around her middle. No amount of preparation prepared him for what she finally asked him;

“Did you sleep well?”

Awestruck by her comically causal statement he gave a swift nod, feeling the edge of his helmet gently bump against the crown of her head. He touched the spot with his free hand, hoping that it hadn’t hit her hard enough to cause any discomfort. When she happily sighed, and relaxed back into his palm heat spread through his chest, warming the cold anxiety he’d been harboring throughout the night. They laid in comfortable silence for what felt like an eternity to Mando, as she let him continue running his fingers through her hair without any complaint to the way it gleamed with oil from his gloves or the tell-tale smell of a freshly fired amban rifle. It was enough to have Mando feeling like he was back in the water, toeing the edge of an endless cavern, dangerously warm and inviting.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe. Where I can be sure that you’ll be safe even if I leave.” His voice rumbled with the lazy intonation that could be felt in every inch of the rest of his body.

“I shouldn’t have gone so far from the ship.” The girl shifted onto her back, looking up at him with an apologetic look that fired his fury towards her attackers all over again. He didn’t know how else to tell her otherwise, feeling contrary to her point of view and blaming himself for the attack.

With a deep breath he lowered his helmet to rest his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and hoping that she understood what he was incapable of telling her. It was an unfamiliar intimacy that Mando was already impatient to get more of. Nothing compared to the subtle way her presence cleared away his anger, and effortless ability to blind the dark shadows he could feel lurking patiently just outside the door to the bedroom. The girl was the first to break away, only to press another kiss to his visor and settle her forehead back against his. She was the one hurting but found the necessity to calm his unspoken distress.

“When are we leaving?” Her hot breath fogging up his display.

“It’s up to you little one.”

***

With a fresh bacta patch and some soup Mando was thankful that she slept through the entire flight. It wasn’t a long journey -no more than five standard hours- but by the time Mando’s landing gear hit the ground it was night on Aeos Prime. Nothing but the sound of water could be heard over the Slave Two’s engines as Mando piloted the ship above what looked to be a bombed out shelter of some kind as he took note of the jagged edges of durasteel, melted and bent from the long-past impact. Endless ocean surround him and for a moment he was unable to register just how much reach Fett had across the galaxy.

“Kriffing impossible.” He breathed out, watching as a shield rose up from beneath the thrashing waves to push away the water that covered a ship-sized lock gate nestled into the sand at the sea floor. Hesitant to push through the blue forcefield, he slowly pushed though watching as the penetrable shield bent around the ship until he was fully within it’s protection. The angry water raged against the power shield, trying it’s best to thrash at the charged wall separating Mando from the risk of losing another ship.

The lock gate below him opened with a metallic thud, allowing access so the slave could descend into the cavern below. Once his revelation faded, Mando was left to observe a single ship sitting in the underground loading bay… the sister to his own ship, the Slave One. Old cargo crates sat at the wayside, along with old land speeders retrofitted to haul the same crates that sat strewn about the ground. The grey duracrete walls and steel support beams looked almost untouched compared to the reinforcements above ground. Although everything was well preserved, abandonment was obvious. Dust covered the once striped floors, and deactivated droids sat at the edges of the bay, rusting from the lack of maintenance. All of it screamed military property or something of the like, what exactly he wasn’t sure of… but it reminded him of the Imperial Base on Nevarro that they’d blown sky high. That didn’t keep him from opening the hatch and stepping out into the recycled air of the underground world he’d been so hesitant to enter.

“I told you to haul ass, di’kut.” Fett’s booming voice echoed through the empty loading bay as he appeared from one of the long tunnels that connected to the giant room.

“Don’t act like that’s normal…” Mando challenged, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed that he hadn’t ever experienced something quite as unreal as disappearing underneath the ocean. Fett approached with a somewhat friendly smile, and clapped a hard smack over Mando’s pauldron before turning his attention towards the ships.

“What a pair.” His voice beamed with pride as he looked at the sister ships. “I haven’t seen them together like this in longer than I’d care to admit.” His slight chuckle eased Mando’s taught nerves.

“What is this?” Mando took his own glance around the bay, trying to find some marker of property or ownership.

“It was a city… at one point. But now it’s almost a dead planet.” Fett explained, wandering towards the Slave Two’s open hatch. “Only beings are on the opposite side of the planet, and they keep to themselves… all twenty of them. But I don’t like giving them the opportunity to do so anyways.”

Mando could only silently agree. Not just for the consistency in Fett’s operational standards, but for the safety of the girl who still lay asleep in his bed.

“How is she?” he asked, lowering his voice when he came into the hull of the ship.

“Sleeping for now. But I’m afraid she’s got a fracture, or maybe more than one.” Mando hated saying it, but there was nothing he could do but help her heal at this point. If that meant telling Boba, then so be it; It wouldn’t’ve been the first time he’d swallowed his pride in the presence of the green Mando.

“I’ve got everything she’ll need.” Fett nodded back in the direction of the way he’d come, before turning his attention back to the ship’s ration supply crates. “Bring these along… and anything else you can think of needing. If we are caught, there’s nothing worse than being without everything.” It was directed at The Crest, and no matter how badly Mando wanted to defend himself he could tell that Fett was simply being rational. Within the hour, Mando and Fett had loaded one of the speeders with rations, a third of Mando’s weapons closet and the two small boxes that the girl kept her belongings in.

Lastly, Mando made one last trip to get the girl. She was still dead asleep when he lifted her off the bed, bringing along the blankets she’d wrapped herself in to keep her bare legs from being exposed to the cold air and Fett’s possible wandering eyes. In her dream-filled slumber she nuzzled her face under the edge of his helmet, breathing steadily against his neck. Boba gave Mando a nod of approval, ignoring the opportunity to make a comment about her unconscious desire to seek him out; Instead he opted to settle behind the controls of the speeder, and pilot them down the long tunnel. Mando shielded her from the wind, keeping his back towards Fett as they traveled the long distance deeper into the darkness until the arcing floor grew tall enough to block the view of any light from the loading bay.

Further underground… He thought, instinctually wrapping the girl tighter in the blankets to keep the cold from getting through. Even the duracrete walls seemed to get darker the further they traveled below the surface of the planet. Fett slowed the speeder outside of a sealed door at the end of the hall, taking a look at his own vambrace before unlocking the thick security doors. He pulled though, and resealed them before turning to face Mando.

“Take this hallway,” -he pointed down the one to his left- “And you’ll see the common area. From there, pick a door and that’s where the two of you will stay. Full accommodations.” He gave a curt nod, and began unloading the supply crates without giving Mando any further instruction.

The room he found himself in was similar to the loading bay, but not available for any ship to enter. Most likely a docking station for speeders. He examined the room another time before following the general direction that Fett had given. Once down the hall he came into the ‘common room’ as Fett had called it, seeing the generic markers of a kitchen and dining table with a large portion of the room being occupied by a wall of instrument panels, communication equipment and radar monitors encompassing a remarkable distance around the central location of this base. Mando found the furthest door from the entry hall, shouldering through the door to find what he could only describe as the most domestic place he’d ever seen.

A bed was centered at the back of the room, with a full ‘Fresher off to the side through another side door, accompanied by three geometrically designed shelfs molded from duracrete in the walls of the room. Left untouched, the room looked empty despite its somewhat lavish accommodations. Even simulated moonlight peered from behind a thick curtain that hung over the false window in the wall.

Kriffing impossible. He repeated to himself, feeling the girl stirring in his arms. She let out a tiny whimper, sleepily brushing her hand against her face. The girl opened her eyes and looked around for a moment before resting her head back against Mando fully contented to stay right where she was as long as he would let her.

“Are we safe?” Her voice coming much clearer than her physical reaction to waking up.

“Yes. How do you feel?” He strode over to the bed and regrettably sat her down so she could gather herself without the struggle of being bunched up against him. He saw how difficult it was for her to move her mouth without the pressure being too overwhelming and quickly changed his tactics. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded quite quickly, her eyes widening at the thought of getting something to eat. Mando was more than pleased, feeling much better knowing that it wasn’t deterring her from wanting something to eat. He studied the way she looked about the room, bringing her palm up to her cheek and a small wince forming on her brow.

“Do you feel like walking?” It was a test question. Of course he wasn’t surprised when she shook her head ‘no’. Quietly he thanked whoever was listening that she didn’t say yes.

He wanted to prolong her interaction with Boba as long as he could without drawing attention to how miserably obvious it affected him. He bowed out of the room, leaving her to fully wake up and take some time alone while he went to check with Fett who’d made himself busy settling the final two crates in the common room. His own stock was nothing compared to Fett’s towering collection of non-perishables and water supply that looked just re-stocked. In silence the two men worked to collect everything into designated shelves before either of them felt the need to speak to each other.

“You don’t trust me around her.” Fett stated with a somewhat smug tone, sharply snapping his gaze toward Mando who was still sitting the final few cans of soup on the shelf. The tone in the air was charged at the quick bite Fett hadn’t been able to hold back any longer.

Mando swiftly turned to meet the hard stare in the man’s eyes, scanning the almost black rims of his eyes. Their silent battle seemed endless as both fought under the pretense that they were the clear dominant. Both had a damn good reason to stand their ground no matter who’s floor it belonged to, or what physical prowess the other possessed. Mando didn’t understand what he’d done to Fett, or why it mattered if Mando trusted the girl’s life in his hands. He hardly trusted himself with her…

“I don’t.” He finally growled out straightening his posture so Fett would have to look up at him.

“You’re foolish to think you deserve any part of her when you can see past your fucking helmet boy.” The venom of the truth dripping from the Mandalorian’s words poisoned any calmness that Mando had been carrying. The space between the two stayed out of arms reach, but that didn’t keep them from slowly walking a dangerous dance around the common room.

“I’m nothing to her. Therefore what I think has no importance.” Mando couldn’t argue against Fett, but he wasn’t willing to abdicate the challenge from a man who had no reason for desiring the fight in the first place. “I am not your son.” Mando’s words gritted under the his tight throat and the urge to show Fett just how much he was willing to prove his blood superseded Boba’s. His chest swelled with the pressure of a tightly wound coil, slowly twisting tighter with every second that Fett didn’t leave the subject alone.

“You’ll do well to keep her alive.”

It was the last straw.

Both men lunged at each other, in a clash of armor and wordless communication verbalized in low growls and grunts as they wrestled each other back and forth. Both men pinned the other to the walls of the room, struggling when the other gained the upper hand with a swift punch or a well-placed grapple that caught the other off guard. By the time each man hand found a hand on their blaster each had their sights set on the weakest target on each man. Mando found the center of Fett’s forehead most preferable, while Fett had chosen dead center on Mando’s hips with a more than deadly look filling those dark eyes.

“Mando!” The girl’s scream brought him out of the haze he’d fell into but he couldn’t drop his sights from Fett, who was fully focused on the girl who no doubt had a horrified expression. The full weight of her crashing into his exposed side rocketed him the rest of the way from his stiff posture towards Fett.

“Please don’t hurt him Mando.” She pleaded with a wobbly voice, as she gripped tightly to his cloak and the edge of his chest plate. Her hard tugs at his armor finally unwound the bunched coil around his focus. Finally realizing what the girl had said, his entire body burned to hear her say it again. Mando relished in the knowledge that Fett would have to live with the idea that she thought him superior. It stroked his flaring -and bruised- ego long after the tension in the room faded through the floor both men still stood bonded to. Again she tugged on his chest plate, pulling him to break the hard stare that as still fixed to Fett’s profile. Her whispered pleads, mixing with fear brought him to look down at her shielding his weaker side as she stared up at him with expectant eyes, looking at his outstretched blaster, then back to him.

“You don’t have to prove anything.” She quietly soothed, reaching a hand out to palm the cold metal of his barrel and assist his frozen muscles in lowering it. “I’m not going anywhere.” She seethed, taking a hard glance towards Fett who had replaced his hard stare with a somewhat amused smile in her direction; Obviously finding her irritation with him humorous. With one final pull on him, she broke his feet from their holds finally letting herself grimace from the overuse in her mouth.

Mando could see fresh blood soaking into the backing of her bacta patch, and he was quick to exit the room away from the both of them towards the Slave 2. Fett was right. No matter how much he wanted to ignore the truth, he’d only proved Fett’s accuracy within three minutes of him speaking. The girl called out for him to come back, and she followed for a short while down the tunnel before she realized that he wasn’t interested in listening to what she had to say. He needed distance from her, more than ever before. A burn in his chest only accentuated the pain that floated through his mind as he replayed the times he’d let himself fall into her lull of security, thinking that maybe the old woman had been right. That even a damn soul could find some solace in the arms of a sweet girl who didn’t see his blood-stained hands, or ink-black soul.

He shut the hatch to the Slave and ripped his helmet away from his head, throwing it into the wall with a loud cry of desperation. In a fit of rage he balled his fist and slammed it into the durasteel wall, frantic for some release in the constant war he’d internalized. Mando wanted to go back to her, and ask for the relief that was unique to her. Let go in the heat of her arms and feel that acceptance he was finally able to admit he desired more than anything. Another loud scream scraped though his vocal chords, irritating his throat from the demanding use he’d suddenly used. It rattled the ship, an empty canister suddenly being filled with the bottled up anger of a man who’d suffered more loss than he could bear the weight of.

His rage continued on throughout the night crashing down on Mando like the thrashing waves of Aeos Prime hundreds of feet above him churning like an monster with an endless instinct to devour or demolish anything in it’s path. He wallowed in the loss of control that Fett had placed upon him, and there was only one way he knew he could solve it. It only made the blow worse, when he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Sealed in his quarters with his armor strewn about the hull along with his helmet and flight suit he finally collapsed onto the bed with a singular need to seek out any traces of the girl on his sheets. Even in the solitude he’d chosen over the presence of the girl, Mando found himself burying his bare face in the pillow searching for her comfort in the only way he knew how. Underneath the heavy scent of leather and metal he could finally smell that sweet mix of her sweat and something else foreign to anything he could ever guess to describe.

He found what he needed.

It smelled like her.

After all this time of keeping his distance he’d never allowed himself the purely selfish indulgence of knowing what she smelled like, and now he laid writhing like he was in pain to get just another hint of her. It was unlike him to be so unhinged; Only after Grogu had been kidnapped had anything ever felt so severe to him. Now nothing but his own guilt and fear stood guard over the one and only thing he’d ever realized he wanted. He stayed wrapped in the subtle reminder of the girl in his sheets, battling with the shadows of his training and the creed just hiding in the corners of his room and doing everything he could to fight them away just for a little while longer. Those dark figures and the evil laugh of death in the hull echoed for hours into an undetectable Aeos Prime daylight.

@spacedaddydinn @absurdthirst @crazybirb @hornystarwarsbisexual @roxypeanut

@bookloverkat @kat-r-in @clairobeatmeup @auty-ren @justbecausewecan @roseallisonparker

@peterztinglez @theamuz

@jade-jax

@hoodedbirdie @strawberryperegrine @panndastasia

@bel-ppa

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando #mando x reader #Mandalorian #SecondChance #uponrightfulwrites #din #dindjarin #din x reader #dindjarin x reader

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letitrainathousandflames · 3 years

Text

There Was No Father

Rating: Mature/18+

Warnings: force pregnancy, forced pregnancy, force rape (technically), sith mind tricks, foreshadowing, slavery, sexual slavery mention, childbirth, ask to tag

The atmosphere is hot, stifling. The black-haired woman squints at the sunlight, standing in line with other slaves, some human like her, others from different species.

The only thing she carries from the life she had before slavery is the name her mother had given her. Shmi. If she closed her eyes, she could still picture her mother’s face, feel the scent and warmth of her embrace back when she was only a child.

Now Shmi is twenty-eight, and her mother is long gone, worked to death as a slave at a mining planet. Her current owner, an angry-looking Rodian, pokes a nautolan slave with a shock staff. The nautolan screams.

“Fix that posture!” The slave master barks “We have a very important client arriving! If any of you wanna be purchased by this rich looking fellow, you better look decent and get me a good deal!”

The slave master walks away, most likely to greet the new customer.

Shmi sighs heavily, squaring her shoulders as best as she can with little hope. She doubts any new master will be much different from this one, of the one before. Being a slave is always a nightmare and all she could hope is that this one wouldn’t be amused by hitting her or not allowing her to eat.

She hears her master approaching and keep her eyes low on the dirt. She knows better than daring to look a potential buyer in the eyes without permission.

“-sure you don’t want to take off that cape? It’s very hot out here, sir. I hear the only place hotter than this is Tattooine, a couple of sectors away. If this one sun is nearly baking me alive, can’t imagine what two of ‘em must be like. By the way, where did you say you were from?”

Shmi hears a voice that is somehow soft spoken but at the same time carries a coldness that’s sends shivers down her spine.

“That is none of your business.”

Her master seems displeased at that.

“Now, listen, there is no need to-”

Shmi could feel the temperature drop, which would be pleasant any other day in this scorching planet, but all she could do was shiver, her entire body tensing up.

“I have crossed several systems looking for something that is in your possession. I do not have time to exchange inane words with an ignorant creature in this speck of uselessness you call a planet. You will show me your slaves, now."

The slaves held their breath, already anticipating their master's explosive outburst. Instead, he spoke in a dazed tone:

"I will show you my slaves now..." at the corner of her eye, Shmi could see the master and a man clad in a black cloak stand before a lean, battered wookiee "This one's mighty strong, good for hefting heavy stuff, can work for hours on end-"

"No. This isn't what I'm looking for."

"Well, then there is this human here, he's good at fixing stuff, got a couple droids back in business when-"

"This is not the one."

They kept going through the line quickly, approaching Shmi at every step and every discarded option. Shmi swallowed down, setting her jaw. At their steady approaching, she felt colder and colder, shivers creeping down her spine. Her breathing was shallow, her chest feeling tight.

The man in the cloak stood right in front of her, and Shmi felt like she was being engulfed by the cold, her body sweaty from the weather but every hair on her body standing up with her shivers. Her eyes were still on the ground, and she could notice the expensive material of the man's cloak and the robes underneath it, everything black, a strange choice of clothes for such a hot environment.

"...this one. Where did you find her?"

"Ah, I bought her off at an auction in Saleucami. Don't be fooled by her frail looks - this one is strong, can work all day long even without food."

The man's sharp tone shifted into a much softer, gentler one.

"Look at me, young one."

"Ah, sir, don't bother talking to the slave, I can tell you everything you need to know-"

"You will stop talking now." the man spoke harshly to the master "I can appraise her worth myself."

Once again, unexplainably, the master merely nodded, taking a couple of steps back and standing in silence. The man in the cloak spoke again, in a low, gentle voice:

“I said look at me, young one.”

Shmi forced herself to raise her face, looking up at the man in front of her. His face was partially hidden in the shadow of his hood, but with the closeness she could make him to be a man in his late forties or early fifties. His eyes gleamed at her, yellow irises surrounded by a red rim shifting into a gentle blue so quickly she wondered if she had seen it wrong.

The man brought a hand to her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone. His touch was strangely cold and unwelcome but Shmi tried her best to stay perfectly still. However, she swallowed down tensely, taking the risk of stating her limits, even though she knew that doing so might’ve warranted a slap across the very face he caressed.

“Sir, I am not that kind of slave.”

The man clicked his tongue dismissively, moving his hand to tuck his pointer finger under her chin and making her face him properly.

“How old are you?”

Oh, moons, he was looking for a bedchamber slave. Shmi gulps down, trying to keep the disgust off her features. Her master would often tell her to lie and take about five years off her actual age, but since he was being so complacent and Shmi would rather work to death like her mother rather than losing the very last shred of dignity she still had, she said the truth:

“I’m twenty-eight, sir. Will be twenty-nine in a few rotations. I-I am good with crops. A-and droids, I’m not as good as Jayden there, but I can fix a wiring or two. I’m strong, as my master said, quite used to heavy work.”

She raised her hands between the two of them, showing the scrapped and chipped nails and the dry, calloused fingers of a worker. Most men were put off by this, and Shmi would purposefully have her disheveled hair tied up in an unflattering low bun to warrant off any advances. At twenty-eight she was still a virgin, and she had no interest in laying with men, masters or otherwise, without any kind of connection, of love between them.

“Twenty-eight…” the man repeated, sizing her up with a gaze that swept up and down her form “Pity. A tad too old, I’m afraid.”

Shmi was simultaneously offended and relieved, lowering her hands at her sides; did that mean the man wasn’t interested in keeping her as a bedchamber slave?

“However, I cannot let this go to waste. Such power… If only you were young enough to be trained.”

Suddenly, Shmi could feel her entire body stiffen, as if she was being held by invisible ropes that tied every inch of her from head to toe. The man tilted his head to the side, smirking, and he brought his hand to her middle, right over her lower stomach.

“Hey!” her master shouted “Hands off the merchandise!”

The man ignored him, and Shmi could only whimper, trying to break free from the power holding her still.

“This will be very interesting.” The man muttered, and Shmi could feel a sudden warmth in her stomach, her skin tingling and her abdomen tightening; the feeling was as unwelcome as the cold that preceded it

Get your hands off me! Shmi thought, her face cringing in disgust, Stop touching me!

The man released her with a smirk, pulling his hand away. Shmi felt the power restraining her finally release her body and nearly collapsed, struggling to stay on her feet. Her body felt strange, and the warm sensation in her stomach did not cease.

“I believe this will be all. Goodbye.”

The man turned and left, leaving Shmi unsettled and her master furious, screaming at her to never say her true age in a sale ever again, but Shmi wasn’t really listening, her hands falling over her stomach. Something had happened, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t understand what it was.

A month later she had long forgotten about that particular incident, finding it very strange that she missed her period. On the following weeks, she would start feeling nauseous every morning. Two months later, she would notice her stomach swelling despite her poor diet. Several months later, on one late night of work all alone in a tool shed, she would collapse on the floor with the pain of her stomach contractions, muffling her screams in a cloth not to wake up her master and struggling for hours until she gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby.

“There was no father”, she would say, and no one would believe her.

#shmi skywalker #sheev palpatine #THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC IN THE LEAST FOR FUCK'S SAKE #PLEASE DONT TAG THIS AS SHIP EW!!!

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mneiai · 4 years

Note

Love all your JangObi works! Was wondering if you can write a vampire!au JangObi? Preferably vampire Jango but any take you like is ok too.

Thanks for the prompt!

CW blood, obviously lol

There’s a fade to black because sex scenes take me forever and I need to be in the right mood for them, otherwise nothing too racy. Lots of worldbuilding, though

It wasn’t that Obi-Wan was reckless, per se. He just...there were parts of himself he kept so tightly controlled with the Jedi, with Qui-Gon (he could only imagine how his Master would react), that sometimes he needed a release from the pressure so badly he...maybe wasn’t as careful as he should be.

He knew he should have reported his encounters in Mandalore during their year-long mission when they returned, but the Healers found no sign and no one had ever bothered giving him a mindhealer before. And the memories were his, something to cleave closely to his heart when it ached to leave Satine.

The cool bodies, the sharp teeth, the blissful high of giving his blood, his energy, over.

Vampires were supposed to be gone, even if the traditionalist Mandalorians kept up some of their traditions. How was he supposed to know that there were actually a lot of them in Death Watch and a Stewjoni might as well be tookabait to them?

So maybe dressing up like a spacer and heading down to the Mandalorian section of Coruscant, after a stressful two-month long mission wasn't the best idea. But the moment he realized someone was following him, someone in beskar'gam who still managed to be near-soundless as they moved? He couldn't help himself from slipping into an empty alley and just waiting.

The Mandalorian followed quickly, for a moment seeming surprised that Obi-Wan was there instead of running, and then a chuckle came through the vocoder in his helmet.

"Hello, there," Obi-Wan breathed out, staring into the eyes that were covered, but he knew would be brightening with the prospect of a willing feed.

"Su'cuy, mesh'la jat'verc'ika."

And just like that, Obi-Wan obediently followed the Mandalorian away from the street, towards a more secluded sector and a room that looked like it might be a regular spot for him when he was on Coruscant. There was no question what he was, no one was foolish enough to wear beskar'gam around there without the right to and no Mandalorian would pretend to be a tal'gaanla.

And only they would be calling strangers jat'verc'ika, no matter how obviously Stewjoni he was. During the height of the Mandalorian Empire, his people had been bred for the tal'gaanla, after all, and it would be dishonorable for anyone else to try to claim one.

When the door was closed (and thoroughly locked) behind them, the Mandalorian took off his buy'ce, allowing Obi-Wan to study his face as he set it aside and studied Obi-Wan back.

His eyes were golden, as most of his kind had, not the unnatural color of the darksiders but more akin to the metal. His skin was towards the darker side for near-humans, his hair was black and had the slightest hint of curl on the edges. He was around Obi-Wan's height, solidly build, and attractive on top of Obi-Wan's instinctual need.

"You must have it bad, to be wondering around here all alone," the tal'gaanla stated in Mando'a, voice calm, commanding.

Obi-Wan allowed a wry smile, leaning against the wall near the door. "It's been two years," using Mando'a in return, the language having come so easily to him.

"Really? What fools allowed you to be separated so long?"

The scowl was automatic as Obi-Wan thought of the people he'd desperately wanted and equally disliked. "Kyr'tsad cowards didn't deserve to keep me."

He waited for a reaction, ready to fight against his instinctive need if he had to make a break, but the hatred that seeped from the tal'gaanla's shields was an old one.

"No, they didn't." The agreement was certain, fierce, then there were hands dragging Obi-Wan deeper into the warm, pushing him towards a single bed. "I'll give you what you need, my beautiful feast, you won't have to crawl back to those traitors."

And he did, he definitely did.

After, Obi-Wan could barely move from the bed, shifting just enough when he had to for the tal'gaanla to care for him. He drank a thick, sweet juice to help with his blood loss and languidly shifted as he was wiped clean with a warm, damp cloth.

"I didn't even get your name," he murmured.

The members of Death Watch he'd been with had insisted that, traditionally, he wouldn't use their names. They were known by deeper ways than speech and it would be vulgar for a jat'verc'ika to say them as mortals aruetiise would. But this was a modern era and their kind were no longer so prominent. Obi-Wan thought they should adapt more.

As if to prove his point, the tal'gaanla with him bent back over him, letting his sharp teeth brush the healing marks on Obi-Wan's inner thigh. "Jango, Jango Fett."

After a moment, Obi-Wan's mind caught up to the words. "...Oh...Mand'alor, I--"

"Shh, there's no need for formality not from my jat'verc'ika." The possessive word and tone made Obi-Wan shudder.

"Thank you, for this evening...Jango," he replied, instead. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi."

There was a noise of acknowledgement before Jango had made his way back up Obi-Wan's body. He stroked his hair with one hand, moving the other up and biting his own wrist, the dark blood gathering sluggishly.

Obi-Wan eyes locked on it, a need building inside of him not unlike the one that drew him to have his blood taken in the first place. This part, he didn't know, none of the others had done it, but it was the easiest thing in the galaxy to drink when Jango's bloody wrist was pressed against his lips.

"This will protect you from the others. They will see you're claimed and know you will not taste for them as you might have, before."

There was more, Obi-Wan could tell, because as his instincts quietened the Force was screaming warnings at him. But they were so easy to ignore with Jango there, his presence seeming to fill up all the hollow parts inside of Obi-Wan.

Briefly, he realized this was what a Force bond could feel like, if it was stronger, sturdier, than the thing he had with Qui-Gon. He couldn't bring himself to care.

XXX

Mando'a:

Su'cuy - hello

mesh'la - beautiful

jat'verc'ika - vercopa is like a wish or dream, 'ika is a diminutive, jatisyc is delicious, so something like "delicious little dream"

tal'gaanla - literally "blood chosen," being used for vampire

buy'ce - helmet

aruetii -outsiders, traitors, foreigners, here I'm thinking the Death Watch vampires are probably extremely xenophobic and think any Mandalorians who haven't become vampires are not worth much and any non-Mandalorians (outside of Stewjoni) are definitely worthless

#jangobi #obi wan kenobi #jango fett #ask answers #star wars fic #my stuff #Anonymous

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the-pancake-writes · 4 years

Text

“Silks and Blades” - Preview #2 (Yugi will be gifted to the Pharaoh)

This is a preview for my brandnew puzzleshipping fanfiction. It will premiere on the 25th of September on AO3 and FF.net!

As war wreaks havoc on Egypt, Yugi has to become a whore in order to survive. Soon he is offered to Pharaoh Atem, the one Yugi thinks is responsible for the harm his home suffers. But Yugi falls in love with his “customer” and uncovers the truth. He faces conspiracies, betrayal, and his own past, yet he’s willing to give all he has to save his home from destruction

Together they walked back into the throne hall, past the carvings of Tamiat’s history, and up the stairs that lined the walls. Both were out of breath when they reached the tower’s flat roof. The cool wind made their clothes and hair dance in the wind.

Yugi supported himself on the half-wall enclosing the platform and looked over the sector. As usual, the sight was breathtaking. Yugi could even see the nobles of the north making their way through the city, no bigger than a trail of ants.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Otogi said beside him. He pointed into the distance. “That’s the harbour and the marketplace over there.”

“Yeah and those obelisks are all in the temple district,” Yugi said. The sight of his home made him feel a little lighter.

“You know, I’m glad you love Tamiat as much as I do. That I could give you another place that’s a home to you.”

“Yeah… You did.”

For a moment they enjoyed the sight of the city and a few of its surrounding villages, the sound of the waves splashing against the cliff behind them, the salty breeze Yugi could almost taste. Otogi gave a sad sigh.

“I don’t want all this to be destroyed by the Atlanteans. Just imagining all this on fire… Not to mention what they’ll do to the people…” Otogi said. Yugi shuddered.

“I don’t want to think about that.”

“Me neither. But I had to and I have to admit that Dartz was right about one thing. Tamiat will be safe if it becomes independent again.”

“You really think so…?”

Otogi turned around and leaned with his backside against the half-wall.

“The vow I made at the Pharaoh’s coronation forces me to lend my soldiers to any nobles under attack in the immediate surroundings. If Tamiat were independent, I could retreat all my forces. As a neutral party, nothing would stop me from cooperating with the Atlanteans. Since Dartz and I are business partners, we could no doubt agree on a solution that leaves Tamiat unharmed. An intact sector would also be in his financial interest. I could even mediate between Atlantis and the rest of the north. Everything would be easier.”

“That sounds good and all but how can you achieve it? The Pharaoh won’t just let you leave his country.”

“Indeed. That’s why I decided on three things.” Otogi took Yugi’s hand and both turned so they faced each other. “First: You’ll have your début very soon.”

Yugi’s jaw dropped.

“Already? But you said that with the war and so few visitors…”

“That brings us to the second point: You won’t have your début here. You’ll have it at the royal palace.”

Yugi had a hard time understanding Otogi. None of this had ever been mentioned to him as a possibility!

“But I thought for my début I’d get to work on the guest list with Mai so everyone I like comes. I don’t know anyone at the palace!”

“I’m aware of that. Now to my third decision: In order to convince the Pharaoh of giving Tamiat back its independence I need to gain his favour. And for a spoilt brat like him the only reliable way is giving him a gift. Something he couldn’t possibly get from anyone else, something completely unique, something he’ll never forget.” He pulled Yugi closer. “You.”

“Me?!” Yugi stumbled backwards. He waited for Otogi to take it back and reveal that this plan was a joke. But he didn’t do that. “That’s… No! You can’t just give me away like an object! I won’t agree to that!”

Otogi paused, then shrugged.

“So… I guess you lied to me when you said you’d do anything for Tamiat.”

Those words stung Yugi with guilt.

“I didn’t! But … that means I’d be the Pharaoh’s property. I’d be his…” Yugi had to force himself to say it. “Slave. I’d become what Master Pegasus and Mistress Cyndia saved me from. It’d be worse than death! My mother even…”

Yugi walked away and sat down on one of the three stone benches on the roof. It was cold, even through his clothes.

“I know that, Yugi,” Otogi said. “I thought about it all week and I feel awful for even suggesting it. I don’t want to break the promise I gave Pegasus. But when Atlantis attacks Tamiat … I won’t be able to protect you. Or anyone else for that matter.”

Yugi gulped. He had heard about the terrible things people did in war, some so gruesome just thinking about it made the blood in his veins freeze. If the Atlanteans managed to invade a city famous for prostitution … he knew what the first thing on the soldiers’ heated minds would be.

“You don’t even know if the Pharaoh wants me,” Yugi whispered. Otogi took a seat next to him.

“Everyone wants you, Yugi. You saw that at the feast. Also, I’m in contact with someone at the palace. She’s living there for a few years now and she knows how the Pharaoh likes his lovers. He experimented with women in the past but by now it’s safe to say that he’s into men. Especially those who are pretty and dainty with a few features that make them stand out. You are the most beautiful and exotic creature anyone has ever seen. You fit his taste perfectly, a lot more than anyone else in my brothel.”

Yugi hugged himself, a cold shiver crawling down his spine.

“But I … I don’t want to sleep with him! I don’t even want to be nice to him! He’s the reason so many of our soldiers are dying while he only cares about the south!”

Just the thought of having to kiss him, letting him touch Yugi everywhere…!

“Well, I can’t force you. But it’s either that or watching all of this burn,” Otogi said and gestured at the city. He laid one arm around Yugi. “Besides, if Tamiat were independent again … I think my nightmares would finally stop … and if you could assist me with saving Tamiat wouldn’t that also help you get over what happened at that bridge…?”

Yugi chewed on his bottom lip. He wanted everyone in Tamiat to be safe, wanted Otogi to get rid of his nightmares, wanted to ease his own conscience.

“Do you really think I could do something good this way?” Yugi whispered.

“You could help me save thousands of lives, Yugi. Just think about the other whores, your friends from the city, the villagers you visit every week… Otherwise, they will all die.”

Yugi’s fingers dug into Otogi’s sleeve.

“It won’t be forever, right? I heard the Pharaoh had many lovers in the past… He’ll get bored with me eventually, won’t he?”

“Of course he will. And then I’ll be there to get you back to Tamiat.”

“Do you promise that?”

“I promise.”

Otogi sealed it with a kiss. Yugi didn’t want to know what the Pharaoh’s lips would feel like on his own. He didn’t want to give himself to the Pharaoh, be his doll he could treat however he wanted. He didn’t want to make all of Pegasus’ and Cyndia’s efforts useless to protect him from a fate worse than death. But if it took only one person to save thousands from destruction, torture, and death … wasn’t it worth any sacrifice?

Yugi took a deep breath.

“I’ll do it!”

Fear gnawed on Yugi’s insides already but he knew it was the right thing to do. Otogi pulled Yugi closer with a relieved smile. Now his emerald eyes were as gentle as a meadow.

“Thank you so much, Yugi. I know we can save our home together. And once we accomplished that, it’ll only be me, you, and Tamiat.”

SILKS AND BLADES WILL PREMIERE ON THE 25TH OF SEPTEMBER ON AO3 AND FF.NET!

#puzzleshipping #puzzleshipping fanfiction #yugioh fanfiction #silks and blades #blindshipping #blinshipping fanfiction #brothel story

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vfenrirsv · 3 years

Text

When I die, let the wolves enjoy my bones; When I die, let me go…

I couldn’t even begin to tell you when I last felt like I was myself; when I last felt proud of who I am, or where I came from, or of all the obstacles that I’ve had to overcome in order to get to where I am today.

I was born “Vanessa.” A Gemini, an Air sign, a Horse under Chinese astrology. Coyote is my Totem. Wolf is my Sacred Guide. In Greek the meaning of my name is “Butterfly,” also from Phanessa, the mystic goddess of an ancient Greek brotherhood bent on finding Truth. Various accounts offer the ideas that someone named “Vanessa” bears the qualities of beautiful and strong, and most importantly ‘always tough on the inside.’ To the latter, at least, I can attest.

My Mother, in my infancy, called me “‘Nessa” in affection and “Vanessa-Anne” in ire. If my Father ever called me by any name other than “Baby-girl;” I can’t remember. I don’t remember much about my Father before my early tweens, when I was forced by the courts to spend time with him in an attempt to foster some type of relationship with the man that my Mother had divorced.

In elementary school I was simply “Vanessa.” Straight-A student in all but mathematics, budding lover of arts and crafts, and defender of both my own and my Mother’s honor on the playground when kids teased me about acting like a tomboy, or not having a father.

Throughout secondary school I was largely invisible – called a number of racial slurs, though I never considered any of them my name, even when someone took the time to recognize me; to bully me. Being white in a community predominated by African American and Hispanic families didn’t grant me the illusionary honor of being called anything other than “Cracker” or, “Piglet” since my parents worked in law enforcement.

By then, I didn’t want to be “Vanessa.” I didn’t want to have a name at all. Silence and being invisible was better than being called out for all of the things that I had no control of. It wasn’t my fault that I was born white, or born into a broken home, or the product of two law enforcement officers who sought happiness outside of their careers. In a quickly emerging socio-economic climate where all three of those variables were prescribed as being abhorrent or fundamentally wrong, I was cast adrift to navigate those faults as if I had brought them upon myself by my own hand. “Dealt a bad hand,” as they say; but it didn’t matter. “She’s a tough little thing.”

When I die, you can push me out to sea; When I die, set me free…

I was in fifth grade when I thought about suicide for the first time. Those dark thoughts were the result of climbing onto an overly-full bus to go to school; only to find that the only available seat was being used to hold the book-bags for a trio of African American girls who took one look at me and sneered. I sat on the edge of the seat, careful not to disturb their property; but when the bus turned a corner, and one of their bags fell the floor; they immediately grabbed my hair, punched me in the stomach, and began to degrade me with every slur they could think of. I hated myself and my name for no other reason that it wasn’t socially acceptable to be who I was.

When my mother later confronted the counselor of the school, a robust African American woman herself; she was told something to the effect of “to take her whining child and leave.” The "counselor" never said my name, because to them, I was a nobody. I was invisible.

In high-school I was both “Van” and “’Ness,” depending on how close I was with the person calling my name. I fell into Art and Science, and always kept my nose in a book. I avoided most people like the plague. When I joined the marching band I wore long jackets even in the summer and did my best to ignore the jokes about me being shy, but for the first time in a long time I wasn’t invisible and I wasn’t nameless.

I wasn’t “Vanessa” anymore, I wasn’t the bullied and disgusting child of a single-parent officer. I clung to being “Van.” “Van” was the introverted Artist who hand-made t-shirts for several of her fellow marching band members, and who thrived in studying Marine Biology and Criminal Sciences. I cut my hair and dyed it bright colors. I played soccer in short shorts. I free dived the local haunts in brightly colored bathing suits, and learned to connect to my peers. I got piercings up both of my ears and a tattoo on my back. I stopped wearing clothing to hide within. I grew to trust and love a very small group of people that, to this day – even though I’ve hardly spoken to any of them in years – I still consider my family. “Van” was the antithesis to “Vanessa.” Where “Vanessa” was reclusive, anti-social, and forced to grow up fast, “Van” was vivacious, carefree, and youthful.

Just before my 19th Birthday I met M. Tall, dark, handsome, though 10 years my senior; everything a budding idiot of a young woman would look for in a man – minus the obvious red-flags of him being not-so-separated from his soon-to-be-ex-significant-other and going thru a messy divorce. I saw a man, deliciously off limits, and he saw a young woman unclaimed by any other. When we eventually came together he panted into the naked dip between my shoulders, and between his ragged breaths on the precipice of a climax, the name “Vanessa” – for the first time in years – didn’t make me flinch or shy away.

When I joined the military midway through my first year in college, I was only identified by my last name, as it was barked at me for eight weeks in Boot, and then used as the only true thing that I owned without cost, once I was sent to my duty stations. It was tacked onto my MOS and Rank each time I was reassigned or given a new task. It was efficient, neutral, and impersonal. I grew to be the same. My shipmates called me by rank in the office, and “Van” on shore leave.

Years after; after M’s successful divorce, a couple more of my birthdays, and a few new duty stations, I began to better understand who I was as “Van.” I cultivated myself and thought for sure that this is who I was meant to be, and that I was with the person that I was supposed to be with. I soon learned otherwise. M was man with the world at his feet, divorced, with a young virile military girlfriend, he could do anything his heart desired. He ended up desiring all options that were the opposite of my own. So, true to my name, I tempered the steel within me; handed him back the $10,000 engagement ring he had placed on my finger; and told him “I love you, but now I know that love – sometimes – isn’t enough;” and we separated.

When I die, let the sharks come 'round to feed; When I die, set me free…

When I was honorably discharged from the military I was left adrift to deal with my PTSD and clinical depression. No one called me by my last name anymore. I was a civilian now. I did my best to stay “Van” in all the ways that mattered. I clung to my confidence, my intelligence, my MOS skillset; but I was also now blunt, with a dark sense of humor, and didn’t associate well with people my own age. I was standoffish and curt, expecting the same manner of respect and accountability from my new civilian peers as I had grown accustomed to while in the service. I started asking people to simply call me “V.”

“It’s just easier,” I’d tell people with a smile, but the truth was that I didn’t know who I was anymore.

When I met S, I was still “V.” I was mysterious and adventurous. I was a vixen, a one night stand, a pirate queen who left a trail of broken hearts behind her, a woman out to see the world and maybe watch it burn. I was fun and brutal in equal measures. The military made me sharp, and S was more than rough around the edges. We fell for each other faster that might have been wise, took to one another like melodramatic lovers always do. There was carnal passion and dangerous motorcycle rides down highways at 3AM. There were nights when we wouldn’t speak at all, and it didn’t matter that I didn’t want to have a name, or that his name was all that I would whisper or scream for hours. There were risks of getting caught, of getting pregnant, of getting too attached. There were days when all we would do was talk, and yet for all of our words we would talk about nothing at all. There were days when I knew that I had fallen in love, and nights when I had convinced myself that I didn’t deserve a single bit of it.

When you don’t have a name and don’t care who you’re becoming; it doesn’t matter what happens next. So one day, I left. I made the excuse that I had been offered a job somewhere across the country, that I was going on a vacation, that I was interning with a university out in the desert. It didn’t matter what I said. I was already gone. Lying to myself about why I was cutting the strings became easier the further away I got. Years later, S and I ran into one another; and he fervently admitted that he had been in love with me and had been too stupid to say it. I admitted that I had felt much the same, but had been too broken to allow myself to believe it.

When I die, let the flames devour me; When I die, set me free…

I rounded out many of the sharp edges that the military had left me with by moving back home. I had found employment in the civilian sector that matched closely with my MOS in the military, and I had begun to try and make friends on my off days. Mostly, I spent my free-time outside. I’d kayak or free dive the freshwater rivers in my home region, hike the beach trails or brush-land. I’d camp on the beach some nights or lay in a hammock in the dark of the pinewood on others. My time in the isolation of wilderness taught me how to sit still with my own darkness, and I believed that I would be mentally equipped to handle it.

Then, I stopped looking for myself in nature and started dating. I felt that I was ready. Tough girls move forward, right? That’s how I met J: completely by accident. A friend of my brother’s from the same high school – we had crossed paths more than a few times; with him a football star and me Second Chair in marching band. He called me “Van” and it didn’t strike me as odd, knowing that he knew me from before; when being “Van” meant more than being “V.” We connected, and did well for a time. He got a job as a Deputy and I as a Dispatcher. Things seemed like they were beginning to align. I thought my future was in sight. He said my name with pride and affection when he introduced me to his parents. He breathed life back into the part of me that was both “Van” and “’Ness” and “Vanessa” in equal measures, fixing me with slivers of adoration, challenge, pride, hope, adventure, and affection. We had many of the same interests, he never once stopped showering me in affection, and J could make me feel like the most treasured woman in the room with nothing more than a wink.

Moving in together with his brother and brother’s girlfriend is what killed all of the fragile progress that had been made. I came home from a twelve hour shift one afternoon to his brother’s girlfriend screaming obscenities. I didn’t clean enough. I didn’t follow her rules enough. I wasn’t present enough, or friendly enough. I was too young at the time to understand that she was unhappy with more than just herself, that there were things going on in her life that had nothing to do with me; but all I heard was: “Vanessa” wasn’t good enough to be part of “this family” anymore. They didn’t want anything to do with “Van.” I fell apart, and I was too broken to accurately convey to J what her statements had done to me mentally, what his brother’s silence in the face of those blatantly vindictive statement had done to me. I wasn’t able to convey all of the damage that I believed was irrevocably done.

I closed in on myself and became “V” again. If they didn’t want “Van,” or “’Ness,” or “Vanessa” in their picture-perfect ideations of the familial future, then I’d do them all a favor and leave. So I ended it. Moved into my own place. Started over. “V” didn’t care if she left another broken heart to the surf; didn’t care if starting over caused more harm than good. “Van” began to have the same connotations as “Vanessa.” I was running out of nicknames and letters to remove from my name; as if parceling out portions of my appellation would allow me the illusion that I was – somehow – keeping it all together. I gathered what I had left of myself and pushed forward. If nothing else, I was ‘always tough on the inside,’ right?

When I die, throw my ashes to the breeze; When I die, scatter me…

Later, I met my ex-husband D, an Air Force veteran, and each step in our post-military journey together unknowingly brought us closer to our unavoidable divorce. We both had scars that weren’t truly healing over, and we both had been losing ourselves to our own different demons for years before we met. We both wanted a distraction, someone to fall into on the weekends. He didn’t mind that I wasn’t looking for more than a dalliance, and I was secure in the knowledge that I could use him to chase away the solitude while maintaining my independence. By the time we realized that we were mired in one another it was almost a surprise for both of us to find that our demons played well together. Everything seemed fine, until it wasn’t.

We were always on the move. Influenced by work or family or our own personal goals; we would set out to each new place with hope in our hearts and dreams of bright futures in our minds. We’d drag each other along with us; happy to be in the orbit of the other even if it meant more change. Florida, Georgia, Tennessee. Kentucky, Michigan, Colorado…Each move was a fresh start, right? Each move was a learning opportunity, an adventure, a chance to explore instead of putting down deep roots…

I cannot speak on his behalf, but in my reality, each move brought a new job that I needed to train for, understand, and master; with new titles that I needed to be worthy of, and new responsibilities that I needed to fulfill. Each new apartment complex would be a new contract and a new name that someone would call me by; “206B,” “Mrs. Vanessa,” “Miss Van,” or some hybrid combination of both my and his last name.

By Colorado we no longer wanted the same thing. I hated being “Mrs. Vanessa,” or some last name sphinx-crossbreed. “Mrs. Vanessa” had suddenly become a weekend step-mother to two young boys who neither wanted me or needed me in their lives; and was now the wife of a man who didn’t know what he wanted out of a career or a marriage. “Mrs. Vanessa” found herself far from any semblance of a home, in a relationship that was coming undone at the very seams.

D moved back to his childhood home in Michigan, and I stayed in Colorado. Alone. We were separated for several weeks; trying to figure out how to salvage what we had attempted to build together. Demons play well together until, unsurprisingly, they don’t. The time that we spent separated outnumbered the time that we had been factually married. The distance allowed us to say all of the things that we otherwise wouldn’t have said to each other’s faces. Full disclosure and transparency came at the cost of long distance calls and aggravated re-dials. We yelled. We cried. We drew the venom out of the wounds we’d inflicted upon each other and finally relented. We didn’t attempt marriage counseling.

When the years have torn me apart; Just Let me be…

In an attempt to patch the internal damage, I made friends outside of my job. We started game nights, hosted pot-lucks, explored Colorado, and I was able to truly find kinship in one of my new friends. A fellow Gemini, Air sign, military veteran, person who had lost their path but had managed to find their way. I connected with them, trusted them, and turned to them when I knew that the floundering of my marriage was inevitability going to result in failure. I was branching out, I told myself. It was healthy to make friends and not let myself wallow in the fact that I had failed at being a wife. I buckled down and filed for divorce. “Tough on the inside,” I reminded myself. Always. Tough. On. The. Inside.

Failure makes us vulnerable, and vulnerability leads to poor decisions. On New Year’s Eve in Colorado, leaning on the trust of friendship and the influence of alcohol, I was sexually assaulted by the very friend that I had turned to for support during my divorce. He called me “Vanessa.”

God, I hate that name.

I adopted a cat to quell the gathering dejection, violation, betrayal; the over-abundance of feeling everything and nothing at all, and requested an inter-agency job transfer out of state. I landed in Kansas. The divorce was finalized less than four months from the day I married my ex-husband. I was a newly-wed in August and a Divorcee in December. I forced myself forward and turned over a new page in January of that following year. ToughOnTheInsideGodDammit.

All the world is dark, and I've looked as far as I can see…

This time, I did not seek out friends outside of my job. I kept my relationships professional. I was more willing to hang out with someone from the office in a neutral setting, but would stay home elsewise. I stopped responding to the name “Vanessa” entirely.

Loneliness also makes us vulnerable, but in a different way; and that same vulnerability leads us to do one of two things: Cloister ourselves away and never interact with people again, or Muster up enough courage to try new things. I chose Option #2: I joined some dating websites. I met men and women alike, and I began to grow more confident in my skin. I was “Van” again and I liked who I was becoming. I was independent and I wasn’t allowing myself to crumble beneath the weight of everything that I had been through. As my namesake, I was determined to be tough on the inside.

Being strong and independent and courageous led me to J. He didn’t mind that I was imperfect, didn’t balk at my scars or my demons, and didn’t shy away from my past. J had a past of his own, had made mistakes of his own, had a life of lessons learned and adventures had of his own; so it didn’t seem so scary to open myself up again. To be someone more than “V.” He promised the world; a future with deep seated roots, the dream of a home, a family. I believed him. Like an idiot, I believed him. We married. We vowed to cleave to one another alone, to put each other before ourselves, to love each other unconditionally; to battle the world together. We swore to cherish and adore one another, to build a life together and never take each other for granted.

I try. I try so fucking hard. When I feel ignored, I buckle down and swallow it. When I feel stressed I keep it in to prevent stressing him out more than he claims he already is.

He calls me “Beautiful” and “The Best Thing to Ever Happen to Him,” but follows these hollow words with casual indifference and gentle disregard. He doesn’t abuse me, but he doesn’t cherish me either. He speaks of me with pride when he talks to his family; but does not stand up for or defend me when his Step-Mother disparages me and belittles my actions. “Babe,” he calls me “This is just how she is with everyone. You’re Amazing.” I am supposed to be content with that. I am supposed to be content with sitting in silence, hailed as “amazing,” or “beautiful,” or “the best.” Hollow words echo in silence. Distort. Sound false. Do not bear weight in their worthlessness.

I realize that I don’t even know the last time he has called me by name and meant it…Maybe it was the day we got married. Maybe it was the day he proposed. Maybe it was our second date...

I try harder. When I feel neglected I go out of my way to do things for him that would please him; I cook his favorite meals, I wear alluring lingerie, I clean the entire house and make sure that he doesn’t have to lift a finger after work. When all else fails I reach out to his best friend to ask for advice on what I can do to make things easier, better, for my husband. I set aside my own embarrassment at having to ask for insight from someone else, instead of getting the answers from my own husband’s mouth, as to why he doesn’t seem to want me anymore. “It’s not you, Babe,” he says. It’s difficult to stay tough on the inside when “It’s not you,” echoes hollow and sounds more like “I don’t have a reason.”

When we disagree, he calls me by my full name, tacking on his last name at the end, as if in joking-jest; as if calling me anything other than some form of dead endearment will lend seriousness to his statements. “I promise,” he says. “I love you,” he says. I am not angry that his words hold no meaning or value anymore. I am just angry that I can no longer trust anything he says. I am angry that more often than not there are no words at all, just furious silence.

When I die, just let me be…

I am angry that I have allowed myself to become this nameless, hopeless, loveless thing. I am not even “V,” at this point. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

The wife I have become is a meaningless thing. What communication can be had between a wife who tries best to express her feelings and desires to a husband who reacts with anger and frustration when faced with the truth? What future can be had when a husband will not be intimate with his wife? What value do a husband’s words have when each promise is broken, when there is no follow-through on simple tasks of keeping a home, fostering a relationship, or growing a friendship?

“Nessa” and “Vanessa-Anne” in equal measures, had been emotionally bruised by the divorce of her parents; learning early in life that sometimes letting go is the best option. “Vanessa” was poisoned by the realization that your name means nothing to those who take one look at you and refuse to learn who you truly are on the inside. Both “Van” and “’Ness” learned the fragile existence of friendship, and the aching stab of loneliness that comes after you open your heart to a select few only to grow apart from them for no other reason than life gets in the way. “Van” was sullied by the painful growth out of adolescence and the realization that love just isn’t enough. “V” was grown in cynicism, the desperate child of PTSD and depression, and knew the devastation and loss that comes with refusing to make bonds with other human beings.

When I die, let the wolves enjoy my bones; When I die, just let me go…

So who am I now? I’m not even sure the wolves would know.

Daylight is waiting for you…

_________________________

“Who Am I?” by Vann Fenrirs Volchitsa, Author

“Wolves” by Down Like Silver, Lyrics

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cateringisalie · 4 years

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Aerti Week 2020 Day 1

Written for the prompt ‘arcadian: idyllically innocent, simple and untroubled by fear or worry’

The Mythril mines were behind them and the world out in front of them. Amongst them, only Barret seemed comfortable or at least familiar with the scenery. The vast acres of grassland, the huge spaces, the clearer skies and air. But Barret still would marvel at the world, talk about how he would let Marlene experience this soon – once the mess with Sephiroth was resolved. Cloud barely seemed to notice any of it, gaze always on the horizon, towards their destination. Junon based on the words the Turk let slip. It made sense for Aeris to revel in every little detail out here. The garden Cloud described from her church, the flower beds surrounding her home in Sector Five; outside was similar but more. So much more. For Tifa the experience was new and strange. She might well have travelled this same route years before, but remembered nothing of it in the aftermath of her confrontation with Sephiroth. Someone, something, some group possibly ferried her back the other way and to Midgar. Why Midgar? Why had she wound up there of all places? In the belly of the beast. It allowed the opportunity to strike back, and she might have made the decision on the spur of the moment, her rage hot, her hands aching from grasping the sword. Go to Midgar and tear the company down. Potentially not a stance she might have held in the aftermath, in the slow convalescence required if it had occurred somewhere other than the city. Too late to rewrite the aspect of her past. Dwelling on it again; she shot a curious glance to Cloud. His mystery did not lessen. Deepened somewhat. He knew nothing of this terrain; which might imply he got to Midgar via some other means, but he insisted his approach to the city had been on foot. Yet somehow he remembered nothing of this landscape. So much like her oddly. “Tifa!” Aeris was close at hand, beaming. The woman had been gorgeous on Tifa’s first meeting with her; in a stunning dress, hair styled and carefully made up. But her beauty never lessened once those components were removed. The woman had been bewitchingly attractive when back in summer dress and bolero jacket – chunky boots at odds with the implied delicacy of her outfit. She was more attractive too after leaving Kalm; the sun caught the auburn of her hair and lightened it. Her irises caught the sun; the brilliant green so different to the malevolent gaze Sephiroth once directed at her. And her skin- The skin pressing against Tifa’s hand, hands rough and calloused from gardening, from wielding her staff. Almost as rough as Tifa’s over time. But away from her hands, Aeris near glowed in the sunlight and when surrounded by greenery. Impossible not to remember back to the President’s words, to Aeris’s confirmation in the cell. She was an Ancient, a Cetra. In-tune somehow with the Planet. Perhaps enhanced by it- “Tifa?” Aeris frowned, head cocked to one side. Tifa had been staring. Heat rose in her cheeks and she sought out Cloud at the head of the group. “Sorry, day-dreaming. I-” “Oh! About me?” A clench of her stomach and a new flash of heat in Tifa’s face. Tifa dithered; Aeris seemed to take pity. “Or something you don’t want the boys hearing-“ Aeris shot the nearby Barret and Nanaki suspicious looks; Tifa managed a smile. “It’s fine. Sorry. You wanted something?” “I did.” She pointed ahead. “There’s a copse – at least it matches the definition of a copse – ahead. Figured we could stop there for lunch. Assuming we can reign Cloud in?” The group of trees Aeris indicated did seem to offer some shelter from the sun in the otherwise open grassland. “Sounds good. Could do with a rest.” She caught Barret’s gaze. “As long as no one has any objections?” Barret shook his head. “Fine with me. Still don’t quite get his hurrying but-“ Aeris cupped her hands around her mouth. “Cloud! Slow down! We’re going to have some lunch. Cloud?” Cloud reacted at the second call of his name, stumbling to a halt and for a beat seemingly mystified as to where he was. It passed. “Lunch? Yeah. Good plan.” “Over there-“ Aeris pointed; Cloud nodded and made his way to the treeline. But his gaze still wandered, towards their destination. Towards Junon maybe? Aeris, Tifa, Barret and Nanaki changed direction, moving to meet with Cloud right in front of the copse. No sooner did they arrive, when a masked figure wielding an enormous shuriken burst from the trees. Lunch would have to wait.

#aerith gainsborough #tifa lockhart #aerti #aertiweek2020 #final fantasy vii #ffvii #final fantasy #my ffvii fanfic

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Tacenda - Chapter Twenty (f.o)

Summary: you’ll never truly be free from the Capitol.

Word Count; 2.4k

Warnings; swearing, DEATH MENTION

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

“They’re alive.” You whisper, pacing a little bit, “They’re on their way home, and they’re alive. The volunteers got them, and they’re safe.”

“What’s the point of this?” Katniss asks, she sounds annoyed.

Finnick looks up from his fancy knot, “She’s speaking it into existence. She wants a good outcome, and if she believes that it will happen, then it’ll be good.”

“And it’s worked before.” You tell her, pausing before you turn around, “It’s how I won the games.”

Then, you get back to it, whispering it in order not to make her more annoyed than she might already be. You can understand it, you guys were all shoved back here, and basically told to wait for information. And that’s exactly what’s been happening.

You three have been here for the past half hour or so. You’ve only started pacing the floor recently, but you’ve been repeating the same words the entire time. You have to have hope. You can feel it, you can feel that they’re alive.

It sucks that there haven’t been any updates in any of this time. The last thing you guys heard was that they lost connection. They weren’t able to get in contact with the hovercraft or the volunteers.

“Does it actually work?” Katniss asks.

One of the volunteers is her friend, the dark haired one from the cafeteria. You learned this, in your time of being in this small ass room. His name is Gale, they’ve been friends for a very long time now.

And it’s funny, because you can faintly remember something about him. Her relationship with Peeta might have been the most that was broadcasted, but she mentioned him once in her time of being interviewed. Caesar has asked, you think. And she called him, her cousin.

They do look a lot alike, with the dark hair and all. But Katniss also explained that one, that everyone in twelve basically looks like that. She could have said that someone in the richest sector of her district was her cousin and they’d have no choice but to believe it.

It’s the perks of being a coal miner. Just like the perks of being a fisherman's son and daughter is being sun-bleached. Finnick got the blonde hair, and the green eyes. He fits the perfect description of four, right down to the bone.

It’s funny how you all look like you come from your districts. One look at Haymitch, and you would have guessed that he was from twelve. Same with Mags, and Annie being from four. And Johanna being from seven. They just fit the look for it.

Then again, you’ve never seen the other districts that much. It was only the times you were on tour, which was for yourself, and Annie. Otherwise, you don’t really have an idea what everyone in their districts would look like. You’re going off of two representatives every year.

You stop pacing again, looking at Katniss, “I like to believe it does. It’s a weird concept, I’ll admit it. But exactly how I had thought, if you think you’re going to lose the games, then there’s no point in trying, right? You’re putting yourself lightyears behind, since you don’t think you can do it. But think you can, and that confidence could easily do something for you.”

She nods a little bit, looking back down at the ground.

You stretch, popping your knuckles and everything else you can think of. When you’re tired of standing, you go ahead and sit next to Finnick.

“I’m driving myself nuts.” You’re leaned forward with your head in your hands.

“You do that anyway.” Finnick says, he pats your back a little bit, and then places his elbow on it as a resting spot.

You need something to think of again. Something that relates back to this.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Did I ever tell you the story of when Alyssum was born?”

It’s a sad story, really. But it was so beautiful at the same time.

“That’s a new one.” He admits, removing his elbow, “No, I haven’t.”

You sigh, sitting straight up, “I was twelve at the time, which makes Mox sixteen, and Reed seventeen. We were out of the house at the time mom went into labor. I think we were on our way back from a family trip to the square.

“Halfway there, mom begins to complain about a pain in her belly, and eventually my dad has to stop. He passes off all the goods that we had bought, to Reed and Mox. They shoved it all into the cooler, and we waited and waited for mom to feel better, until her water finally broke.

“Reed had gone through this twice before, and so he knew what to do. He passed his side of the cooler off to me, and then went to help dad get mom to the doctors office. Mox and I were instructed to bring the cooler to the house, unload, and then get to the office immediately after.

“Mom kissed us goodbye, but since she thought that she’d be seeing us after labor, it was rushed and not meaningful,” you see Finnick’s face turn a little sad, “and after that, we had split. Mox and I unloaded at the house as fast as possible.

“Got to the doctors office—which was the only medical place nearby—Reed was waiting in the guest area for us. He took us back to mom’s room, and the entire hallway was silent. Reed was confused, and he said that she must be done already.

“We waited outside of the door, as good kids do. And god, it was the worst time of our lives, I’ll tell you. Complete silence, watching sick people and dumbasses go up and down the halls. It had to have been an hour before that door opened.

“Dad stood there, wearing his cap and blue gown and he just stared at us. We were all sitting on the floor, backs against the wall so we were out of the way of patients coming in and out.

“Reed looked up and said ‘Is everything okay?’ And dad stared for a few seconds longer, and then said ‘We need to have a grown-up talk real quick’. He would let us in the room, and he crouched in front of us instead.

“He explained what had happened. He told us that this isn’t normally that common, and it wasn’t anything that the doctors could have done to make it happen. Mom was too far into giving birth that she couldn’t turn back, and ended up bleeding to death on the table.

“He didn’t say it like that, exactly.” You look over to see you have Katniss’ attention, “It was a way more gentle approach to it. But that was the gist of it. He got us up and onto our feet, told us it was okay to cry, and then brought us into the room.

“Mom was covered with a sheet, and we were allowed to see her. But we did get to see Alyssum, and I knew immediately when I had looked at her, that she was a spitting image of mom already. She would be the bane of our existence, but at the same time, a good replacement.

“Mom might have been gone, but we got Alyssum in trade. At first, I had despised her with my whole heart, but the months drew on and I realized that it could have been much worse. We could have lost them both, but we didn’t. We had one at least, and it was all that mattered.”

You laugh a little bit, looking at the ring on your finger, “Of course, we got to say our final goodbyes at her low-budget funeral. Most of our money had been spent in preparation for Alyssum, so there wasn’t much funds left for her funeral. Caspian’s family had pitched in as much as they could afford, though.”

“Didn’t you pay to get her re-graved?” Finnick asks.

Again, you laugh but it’s a little louder, “Yes, I did. It was the first thing I bought with my newly acquired money. She’s now in the most expensive graveyard that four has to offer. Her tombstone is supposed to be upkept, but I don’t know how well they actually keep up with it. The only times I visit is Mother’s Day and her birthday.”

“Can’t believe you hadn’t invited me in our five years of being married.” Finnick tries to be grouchy, “That’s at least ten times!”

You look at him, “Mom would have loved you, I promise. But private time with her, is private time with her.”

It’s quiet for a little bit after that, and you can find yourself calming down. Relating things isn’t so bad, after all. You compare it to another thing to take out the tension. You wonder if it’s a healthy coping mechanism.

The sound of the metal door moving makes all of you look up to see who comes in. It’s Haymitch, and he gets half of his body into the room, “They’re back.”

Katniss jumps to her feet, running out of the door immediately after. You take the moment you have with Finnick, placing your hands on his cheeks as you kiss him, hard.

When you pull away, you’re staring into his eyes, “I love you. I love you so much—“

“Go!” He laughs, “I didn’t do much.”

You kiss him again, “You did more than you had to.”

You grab his wrist, pulling him to his feet as you drag him along. Soon, he’s jogging after you with no guide, so you can finally let go and just run for it. Trying to catch up with Katniss, but also get there faster.

Katniss gets through the door first, and she pauses. You, on the other hand, take a few steps into the room, eyes scanning the people around you.

“Johanna…” Katniss trails.

Johanna is ripping off her blood pressure band. She looks like she hasn’t eaten in months. Her head is shaved, she hasn’t slept in weeks and your only word for it, is the same that you used to describe Peeta, gangly.

Next you see, is Annie. She’s letting the people touch her, and she’s anything but resistant. She doesn’t look like anyone has laid a finger on her. She doesn’t look hungry, or tired or gangly. Annie is the same as you last saw her.

“(Y/n)!” You hear your name called.

You whirl around to where it came from. And there stands all three of your siblings. You’re moving before you realize it.

Alyssum throws herself onto you. You hold her like a baby, with her legs wrapped around your hips and neck. You squeeze her tightly, still heading for your brothers. Mox is already crying, holding onto you two tightly, and Reed comes in last.

“Oh my god,” you practically sob, hugging them tighter, “You’re alive!”

Finnick wanders up to you four, and you have a hand on his jumpsuit before he can move. You yank him in, and without missing a beat, both Reed and Mox adjust to let Finnick in too.

“I missed you,” Alyssum cries, you cradle her head with one of your hands, as you look at Reed.

He looks so much older than he was when you last saw him. The wrinkles on his face seem to be permanently embedded in his skin. You reach over with your free hand, running it over his face.

“What happened?”

Reed shakes his head, “Not much. They practically didn’t pay attention to us. It was mainly...”

You look over at Johanna again, to see that she’s swatting away medical professionals. You haven’t even seen Peeta yet, but you catch a glimpse of Katniss, as she heads off into one of the hallways. Just by going off of what Peeta looked like when you had last seen him on tv, he probably isn’t looking very good either.

“Good.” Finnick says as he moves some of Alyssum’s hair out of her face.

You all kinda back off, no longer holding onto each other, but you’re still next to them. You get Alyssum seated on the bed, allowing the nurses to take care of her. You make Mox and Reed promise that they’ll let the nurses do their job when the time comes.

“I wonder why they didn’t touch you guys,” you rub your face a little bit, “I mean, they did take you and Annie after all, they went through all that trouble just to keep you inside of the building?”

“It wasn’t us they were really after.” Finnick tells you, “It was Katniss and Peeta.”

You look at Johanna, “Then it wouldn’t make sense to do that to Johanna.”

Finnick follows your gaze, and you can see Johanna is telling off a nurse, holding up her finger to set her boundaries. Then, she begins to head in your guys’ direction. You and Finnick both move a little bit to allow her to fit into the group.

“They’re so fucking annoying,” she picks at a spot on her arm, and then crosses them, “As if I want a hundred needles stuck in me.”

“They’ll get to you, one way or another.” you tell her, and she gives you a little smirk.

“They can try.” her eyes dance over your family for a second, “How are you guys doing?”

“Fine, thank you.” Reed says to her, you’re guessing that they’ve interacted before. Seen each other in the hallways, and definitely inside of the training center when they were rescued.

Johanna rolls her neck, “I’ve got bad news for you two.”

Finnick crosses his arms, “Like what?”

She doesn’t seem happy, and you can even see a hint of remorse in her face as she looks down at the white tile floor. She shakes her head a little bit, “I only saw Mags once inside of the training center, when we first got there.”

You shift on your feet a little bit, because you have a feeling of what’s about to come. Mags isn’t in the room with you guys, which could really only mean one thing. She wasn’t rescued from the training center.

“She’s dead.” you say, and Johanna nods.

You look at Finnick to see his face twist, a frown coming over. Him and Mags were exceptionally close. Closer than you and her were, even though you had a four year head start.

You pull Finnick over for a hug.

“I’m sorry,” Johanna says quietly.

“It’s not your fault.” you tell her, squeezing Finnick when his body starts to shake a little bit, “It’s not anything would could have controlled.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finncik odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair tacenda #tacenda chapter twenty

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hailcyeon · 4 years

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hiraeth | 08

When your cousin the Crown Prince calls in on a decade-old debt, you have no choice but to answer. You’re rewarded for your troubles with your nightmares finding new life, danger around every corner, and a fiendishly irritating bodyguard. As each new discovery unearths more secrets, you learn the true costs of your homecoming.

⇾ Pairing: Lee Jaehwan x Reader ⇾ Genre: Sci-Fi, Royal AU, Bodyguard AU ⇾ Word Count: 4.5k ⇾ Warnings: Mild swearing, descriptions of anxiety

He bores into your eyes with his gaze, and you think Hakyeon has more of his father in him than you remember.

The next morning finds you in yet another unfamiliar apartment. Your legs are jelly descending the stairs, and the three-inch heels on your feet aren't helping. There's a railroad spike through your brain in the form of a migraine, all the while you fight the urge to rub your eyes so you don't ruin Sora's hard work. Hakyeon is already downstairs, dressed impeccably as ever in a navy suit. He adjusts his cuffs, looking up with a frown as he takes in your stiff expression.

"Are you feeling okay? I told you to eat breakfast."

The click of your heels on the tiled floor— somehow even shinier than the one in Hakyeon's other apartment — rings out loudly as you walk over. "Hakyeon, I will throw up on this very expensive dress if you make me eat."

He purses his lips and gives you a disapproving look. "Forgive me for thinking you need a little nutrition beyond caffeine and painkillers." He runs his gaze up and down your form, inspecting Sora's work as his eyes look for even a single thread out of place.

"The third-degree is a little creepy, Hakyeon," you say in response, irritated and tired. You were dragged to this decoy apartment at an ungodly time to meet Sora. Two hours of hair, makeup, and wardrobe later, you still don't feel ready to face the public, let alone the King. You rub your temple gently as if to massage out your headache. The coffee and aspirin you'd downed first thing in the morning have not only done little to help, but also seem to have turned your stomach to molten lava.

Hakyeon has the grace to look contrite as he brushes invisible dust off your shoulder. "I hope you don't expect to speak to my father that way." There are no wrinkles or excessive folds to be found, as your new clothes have been tailored just for you, but he straightens out the sleeves anyway. You take this with all the patience of a doll, resigning yourself to only internal screaming.

"She looks fine, I did a great job," Sora says as she hauls the last of the makeup cases down the stairs. “The King isn’t going to be fixated over her outfit anyway.” She'd instructed you to bring a few of the items you bought yesterday, and had arrived this morning with her own personal trove of beauty tools. Armored in a smart blazer and a dress cut just on the edgier side of conservative, your polished attire belies the true discomfort you feel.

"I intend to speak as little as possible, actually." You swallow down the burn in your esophagus and fiddle with your sleeves as Hakyeon steps back for one last look over, making you feel very self-conscious. “I’m not good at your type of political subterfuge, you know that.”

Hakyeon nods and checks his watch. "That's probably for the best. I’ve done what I can to take the situation out of his hands." You wonder what he means by that, but no explanation comes. “Still, you must be rock-solid in your defense. Why are you here, Princess of Asadal?” He bores into your eyes with his gaze, and you think Hakyeon has more of his father in him than you remember.

“To serve the King,” you answer mechanically. Your voice is less steel and more soft than you’d like, but you force your shoulders back and face your cousin, unwavering.

Hakyeon nods again, a quick decline of his chin, and turns to the door. “Then it’s time that we left.”

The elevator ride down is too quick for your liking, and before you know it you’re standing in front of a sleek, black limo adorned with the flag of Asadal. Jaehwan, your ever-present shadow, is leaning up against the idling car, hands in pockets and looking more formal than ever in his own dark suit. Sora turns around, carefully balancing the various makeup boxes she has, and takes your hand in hers. “I have to run to a photoshoot this afternoon, but I’ll be in touch. You’re gonna kill it, don’t worry,” she says with a last squeeze of your hand.

“I’d prefer to get this over with as little violence as possible actually.” Your retort is clipped with a stiff smile.

Sora leaves, and so does your general sense of bravado. If the events of the past few days have felt strange to you so far, this situation feels positively surreal as Jaehwan opens the door to the limousine for you and Hakyeon to slide in. You're sitting sandwiched between your cousin the prince and a man you hardly know, dressed to the nines in clothes so expensive they could pay a year's rent for your apartment back home.

“This is rather ostentatious,” you mutter quietly, moving your gaze around the luxurious interior.

Hakyeon shifts over to the opposite seats to give you some more room. “The aide insisted. Our entrance won’t be subtle, to say the least.”

This is not the most comforting thing to say, as your jaw clenches once more in anticipation. Jaehwan spares you a side glance, cool as the early morning air outside in his dark suit and upswept hair.

“All right, Princess?” Jaehwan’s tone is neutral, the ubiquitous smile playing in one corner of his mouth. It only serves to irritate you further. You compulsively smooth out your dress and aim for a measured response.

“I’m excellent.” The hem of your dress has ridden up to mid-thigh over your dark tights, and though the exquisite tailoring means there’s nary a stray thread, your fingers keep rubbing the stitching. “No sleep, murderous uncle, not a problem. I am a-ok.”

Not quite.

Hakyeon places a hand over your clenched fist. Whether it's meant to be soothing or a warning, you're not sure. Nevertheless, you force yourself to take a deep breath. Your nerves are already frayed, but you can't afford to fall apart just yet. Not yet.

The ride to the king’s tower is spent in terse silence. You have been to the Assembly House over which the new administrative building was built, but so much of the city is unfamiliar to you that it may as well be an unknown route. Hakyeon's apartment is located in what seems to be a luxury residential area of the Capital, you realize, as you pass high-rise after high-rise, gleaming in the morning sun. These neighborhoods are separated from the business and administrative sectors by the Yuseong River.

The trip over the bridge does your nerves no favors. The limousine is insulated to all outside noises, but the rush of the river below sounds through your memories regardless. The western banks of the river are dotted with construction projects, workers already scrambling around the sites. It’s clear to you that these new buildings are meant to serve your uncle’s pet councilmen and others on the higher rungs of society, given how far they are from the cheaper parts of the city. Unable to sleep in your anxiety, you had done a little research on the state of the city nowadays. Street names and neighborhood designations can only tell you so much, but a quick glance at the housing markets clearly delineates the various strata of society in the Capital.

More interesting is the King's official seat as it draws nearer. In the dark of night when you first saw it, the tower looked like a single dark obelisk thrust up into the sky. Upon closer look now you can see it is actually three different towers circling each other and connected at the base, forming an elongated trident. The Assembly House had never been your favorite piece of architecture, with its dusty corners and old-fashioned facade, but you quite miss it in the face of the tower’s imposing presence.

The streets leading up to the building are lined with trees and fountains and more people than you think should be the case for an otherwise innocuous weekday. The gentle trickle of people escalates and promptly explodes into a thronging mass spilling off the sidewalks as the limousine reaches a stone slab etched with a very generic-sounding “Administration Headquarters” in gold. Your eyes widen at the crowds held at bay by metal dividers to create a path for the car. Had the citizens decided to protest after all?

You purse your lips and swallow thickly at the sight of several news vans and a thicket of flashing cameras. The crowd, initially standing around idly, is spurred into action at the arrival of the limousine, pushing against the barriers and craning over others to catch a better look. You don’t know what to make of the clamor, and Hakyeon answers your unasked questions.

“The news of your return broke early this morning.” Hakyeon looks straight ahead, hands folded in his lap and voice betraying nothing. You know your cousin has many years of playing the imperious monarch on you, but in this moment you feel the gulf in experience particularly strongly.

“The paparazzi move quick,” you say tersely, trying to hide how much your breathing has quickened.

“The paparazzi had nothing to do with it,” interjects Jaehwan suddenly with a side glance toward Hakyeon.

You’re struck with a sudden sense of alarm as your eyes snap to your cousin’s. “Did you do something?”

“You were tailed yesterday.” Hakyeon’s face is stone, as impassive and unfeeling as yours is alarmed and shaken. “The King and his administration know of your presence, and it would only be a matter of time before the news spread. At least this way we can control the narrative.”

"Of course," you mutter. The anxiety is taking over your mind, so you default to anger. "Of course we were tailed."

“The King had a man following us around to every location we hit yesterday," Jaehwan adds unhelpfully. "He stopped sometime before we got back to the apartment, but it’s likely the King knows about that location anyway.”

“You were going to tell me this when, bodyguard?”

Jaehwan shrugs. “I’m telling you now.”

"This is nothing we hadn't already anticipated," Hakyeon hastily interjects before the two of you can start arguing.

In any case, you’re halted in your thoughts as the limousine passes through the official gates to the tower grounds, cutting off the bustling crowd from the kingdom’s highest administration. You catch a glimpse of a long set of marble steps before the view outside is swallowed by the walls of the tower. It’s hard to make out much beyond the dark tinted windows, so you settle for staring at the floor and counting your breaths. The ride continues steadily over the next few minutes, during which a stifling sort of silence has fallen over the three of you inside. The darkness of the tunnel you’ve entered is punctuated by the flash of guiding lights every few seconds, ramping up your already racing heartbeat.

“Don’t start hyperventilating now,” comes from your left in Jaehwan’s smooth tenor. You shoot him a glare, but the effect is rather diminished by the lack of light.

Hakyeon's voice is quiet and steady as he says, "We're in the VIP tunnel. Flattering as the name may be, we're really just going through high levels of security. There is no access to the King's office from the public entrance."

"What kind of security?" Somehow, focusing on the details helps you ground yourself to the moment.

You hear Hakyeon shift in his seat slightly. “The usual scans, identification, some biometrics. Only the security team knows the full details, but I’ve gone through the checks several times myself.”

You suck in a deep breath and force yourself to let it out slowly. The car continues on for a minute longer before coming slowly to a stop. The door to your right opens suddenly to a man bent over in a deep bow.

"Good morning, Your Highness. I trust your trip was comfortable?"

Hakyeon steps out smoothly, buttoning his suit jacket as he stands. “Thank you, Ryu. The car was most appreciated.”

The man then extends a gloved hand to help you out of the limousine. Jaehwan hops out the other side without a glance back, and you have no choice but to take the offered hand. Gingerly you step out onto the concrete floor, balanced by the aide’s arm. The light is dim in the underground VIP garage. You make out a fleet of dark limousines very similar to the one you just exited, all adorned with the navy and gold livery of Asadal, waiting in the surrounding spots. Large vents and cold fluorescent lights are built into the ceiling high above, providing a cavernous quality to the garage. Your feet are illuminated by lights built into the concrete platform spelling out “Council Chamber and Main Royal Entrance”, with a small bay of elevators laying just beyond.

“Welcome, Princess. It’s wonderful to have you back in the kingdom.” The aide’s ear-to-ear smile makes you think the sentiment is genuine, but you can only manage a small incline of your head in response. Hakyeon strides ahead to the central elevator, which opens at his approach without prompting. You follow along less confidently with the aide at your side, trailed by Jaehwan to your back.

The elevator is large enough that the three of you can stand without touching elbows, but you still feel suffocated by the gleaming metal walls and the presence of the government official. Bespectacled and clad in a dove gray suit, he’s hardly the most intimidating man, but you are ever wary of strangers. Hakyeon absentmindedly checks his watch again while the aide fills him in on the details of the meeting.

"The King is in with Magistrate Moon currently, but he's scheduled to be done by the time we clear processing. The princess's data shouldn't take long, but it's good to be thorough."

"What do you mean, my data?" you interject.

The aide starts as if he'd forgotten you could speak. "Oh, it's just simple protocol Your Highness—" He's cut off by a ding as the elevator opens to a brightly lit lobby.

Despite being such a high-profile area, the lobby itself is fairly sparse. Hakyeon shuffles you through past a set of cushy armchairs and a table, which honestly feel like a decoy more than anything, into a blank white hallway. At the end are several full-body scanners glowing a neon green. Hakyeon strides through them proudly without pause, and you have no choice but to follow. Despite having nothing on your person to cause suspicion, some irrational part of you blanches as you walk through the scanners. Thankfully, you walk out the other side with no incident.

You let out an unnecessarily-held breath and are immediately shuffled into a side room. There's not a lot to the space save for a few monitors and seemingly medical equipment. The sting of antiseptic tickles your nose and the extreme sterility in fluorescent lighting gives you an uneasy feeling. Confused, you look to Hakyeon for guidance, only to be met with the passively smiling face of Jaehwan. Hakyeon is instead just outside the door talking to a woman in a white lab coat. If he senses your eyes on him, he gives no indication. The woman, however, turns and flashes you a smile, striding into the room with clipboard in hand.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she chirps with a quick bow in your general direction before shuffling off to some equipment on a far counter. You shift your feet nervously, glancing again at Hakyeon. He checks his watch again and joins you inside the room, leaving the aide outside.

“This won’t take very long at all, we have the entire process streamlined,” says the woman from the counter, pulling various equipment out of shelves and inspecting them. “My name is Dr. Yang, and I will be administering your locator chip today.”

“My locator chip?” The words come out shriller than you intend, and you see Hakyeon wince out of the corner of your eye.

"It's just for security purposes," he says quickly in a low voice. "It's necessary for being in the VIP parts of the building."

"It's very small," the doctor reassures. "You won't feel a thing!"

You swallow roughly and take a few steps back. "Hakyeon, could I speak to you for a moment?" You wait for him walk closer before mouthing, "What the fuck?"

He glances at Jaehwan, who has also joined your little enclave, and crosses his arms. "I know you don't like it, but there's no other way to speak with the King."

You snort. "I didn't want to meet with him in the first place if you remember."

Hakyeon purses his lips and exhales an impatient little sigh. "I know, and I know this whole thing is a mess. There are certain concessions that just have to be made. Security is tight around here; we all have a tracker to monitor our movement around the building." To make his point clearer, he extends his thumb. Jaehwan says nothing but absently scratches his left wrist.

"This is some insane surveillance state nonsense, Hakyeon," you hiss. You weren't expecting to just prance into the King's office, but the idea of having his influence literally implanted in you? Your skin is crawling without anything even having happened. It monitors your location at that? Not to mention what else could be in there that isn’t being disclosed to the public.

“Our last royal family died,” Jaehwan chimes in an almost singsong way. You meet his eyes with a glare that does nothing to budge the pleasant look on his face. “Counter measures had to be taken.”

Somehow Jaehwan’s stern look behind his sunny smile rattles you more than Hakyeon’s impatient pushing. You hold their gazes for a beat longer before looking down and swinging back around to the doctor. We’re not done talking about this, Hakyeon.

To her credit, Dr. Yang has maintained the utmost professionalism through your little meltdown. She stands next to a leather stool holding a tablet in one hand, patting the seat gently with the other. You stride over, head held high as you can, and sit down delicately. You can just touch the floor with your toes from this height, and you grip the edges of the seat with your hands, feeling as if on the precipice of something you can’t walk away from.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” starts Dr. Yang, handing you the tablet. “The chip is microscopic and is only inserted into the topmost layer of the epidermis, so you won’t even feel the insertion. The shallow location is so that the chip can be removed through your body’s natural shedding of its skin cells, meaning there’s no hassle to dig back in there when you’re done here.”

Pain is hardly the thing you’re worried about. You swipe down through the extensive legalese on the tablet, which seems to be a permission form of sorts. There is no option not to grant it. “What’s the purpose of this chip, just to monitor my location?” you ask while signing your name with the attached stylus.

The doctor nods. “It follows your presence through the building, and only within the building. There are additional forms to detail your identity and security clearance, but of course you don’t need any sort of verification on that front, Your Highness.” She ends her sentence with a tinkle of a laugh, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

You hand the tablet back, wishing you could examine the system yourself. Undoubtedly it’s a database keyed to the individual chips, but you wonder what tech they’re using to detect the trackers throughout the building. And how much interference they could handle before they fry. Dr. Yang returns, having deposited the tablet on the counter, with gloved hands and a metal pen.

“Now, as I said, the chip is inserted in the first layer of skin, for which we’ll need a particularly dense area so it stays put for the time being.” She tears open a packet of antiseptic and smiles. “If you’ll please extend your index finger?” You've got half a mind to offer her your middle finger instead, but you grit your teeth and uncurl your left index finger. A quick swipe of the alcohol-soaked wipe later, she presses the pen to your finger, cold and solid.

“Wait.” You take your finger back, clenching your hand into a fist. You look up, eyes darting to Hakyeon’s. Impassive as he is, you think you see some hint of guilt in his gaze, and dark circles under his own layers of concealer. Jaehwan, for his part, simply looks on boredly.

“Is something wrong?” Dr. Yang has taken a step back and is looking at you with concern.

You swallow, throat very dry all of a sudden, and shake your head. “No, it’s fine.” You extend your finger again, the nails of your other hand digging into your palm. “Go ahead.”

The doctor clicks her tongue and opens another packet of antiseptic. “You have no idea how many people come through here with a serious fear of needles,” she says, wiping down your finger again, even more gently than the last time. “All these big Councilmen, afraid of a little poke!” She chortles to herself and presses the pen down.

True to her words, you feel nothing.

You hop off the stool as soon as she pulls the pen away. The nausea from this morning has returned with a vengeance, which it tends to do when you indulge your anxiety rather than dissipating it. The doctor bows in goodbye and before you know it, you are ushered out the door by Hakyeon.

From there it’s a short walk to another bank of elevators. “That was very quick, wasn’t it?” starts the aide. “We’re a little ahead of schedule, so I thought perhaps we could show the Princess around the Council chambers and then—”

Hakyeon cuts him off abruptly. “Thank you Ryu, but that won’t be necessary. I think we can take it from here. Please send the alert upstairs to let them know we’re coming.”

The aide blinks. “The King is likely still in his meeting, Your Highness, if you’ll—”

Hakyeon halts his speech again with a swift raise of his hand. “I’m aware of the King’s schedule. Be on your way.”

The ease and confidence with which your cousin addresses the aide is weirdly comforting. Hakyeon is Crown Prince. Hakyeon can handle this. You are just playing a part, but Hakyeon, he's the real deal.

The aide makes a quick bow and disappears down a side hallway. Hakyeon wastes no time in calling down an elevator, and before long you’re ensconced in tense silence again. You feel eyes on you, but resolutely look forward. In the shiny metal of the elevator doors you see Hakyeon’s reflection turn to face you properly. “Doing ok?” You flick your gaze to him for but a second. Your jaw is starting to hurt from grinding your teeth so hard, and you keep compulsively rubbing your thumb against your other fingers. “I’m—” comes out in a rasp, your throat bone-dry. You swallow and try again. “I’m fine.” Hakyeon’s eyes don’t leave your face, and Jaehwan is now looking at you with an expression somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “I’m fine, it’s fine,” you reiterate, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “It just—” you start, then stop. It just terrifies me. It just makes me want to rip off my own skin. “It got too real,” you say quietly. Jaehwan chuckles, a soft gust of air through his nostrils and the crinkling curl of one corner of his mouth.

Your glare at his reflection is cut short when the doors suddenly open to blinding light. This lobby is much busier than the last, with people scurrying to and fro, disappearing off into more elevators and hallways. As Hakyeon leads you into the mess, you notice several people stop right in their tracks and make very low but very quick bows in your general direction. You get a cursory glance out the glass walls to where the rest of the city sprawls before Hakyeon stops before what seems to be the main elevator, all chrome and gold leaf. A press of his palm to a nearby touchpad opens the doors to reveal elegant carpeting and crystal-studded walls. You roll your eyes at the predictable opulence.

Following Hakyeon into the elevator, you turn around only to find that Jaehwan hasn’t joined as usual. You blink. “Where are you going?” “Shh, secret mission,” he says in a hiss. The last thing you see before the doors close is Jaehwan’s grin with a finger pressed to his lips.

What secret mission? You feel the tug of gravity as the elevator glides upward and furrow your brows. “You put Jaehwan on some other task?”

Hakyeon rolls his eyes. “He’s being dramatic. He’s just gone to talk to some old friends at my suggestion.”

You’re well aware of who Jaehwan’s old friends are. “The Swords are loyal only to the King,” you say, on edge again at the remembrance of Jaehwan’s involvement in the special forces.

Hakyeon ignores your statement in favor of some last-minute pep talk. “I know you must be feeling apprehensive, but I have full trust in your ability to sway my father. I’m positive you can assure him you’re not a threat, and it won’t be hard, since you’ve been away for so long. You’re hardly a scheming politician after all, and—”

“I get it, Hakyeon.” You cut off his rambling, nerves raw and screaming. “Play nice, or die.” The elevator opens again to two guards — Swords, speak of the devil — and an otherwise empty hallway. They bow as Hakyeon exits, the barest hint of a frown on his face. You follow, trying your best to match his confident strides. Think simpering sycophant thoughts. Should you pretend to be happy to see your uncle? Grateful to be back in your— no, his kingdom?

The hallway turns a corner and leads to the most nondescript wooden doors you’ve ever seen. The double doors are handleless and flanked by four-foot tall ceramic vases holding each a cascade of orchids. You can’t see any physical indication as to the importance of these doors, but your heart pounds harder with every step forward. As if sensing your hesitation, Hakyeon stops just short and turns to you.

“I’m not going to lie and say this will be easy,” he starts. His gaze is too difficult to hold, so you turn your eyes to a blank spot on the wall just behind his ear. “But this has to be done, for better or worse. Are you ready?”

No, you think to yourself. In what world could you ever be ready to face the instigator of all your nightmares?

“Yes,” you say.

Hakyeon gives you a quick, terse nod and raises his hand. He raps his knuckles against the wood of the door twice, the beats ringing out in the quiet hallway.

#vixx #vixx fanfic #vixx fanfiction #vixx au #ken #vixx ken #lee jaehwan #cha hakyeon #idol x reader #ken x reader #kpop fanfic #vixx n #f: hiraeth #dear god i'm so sorry for the wait #it's been like a year #as always thank you for reading #feedback is appreciated #i swear the next one will be sooner #kpopwritingnet

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