#sigh my heart sank to its deepest

[lvrdrafts]

Rescued by Love Part 3

★ Summary: Your brother Steve always hated you after your mother's death and when he finally gets the family's empire he is ready to sell you off to some toxic marriage but will the knight and shining armor save you or make it worse?

★ Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

★ Warnings: Arranged Marriage

★ Genre: Angst/ Fluff

Masterlist

The transition from your childhood home to Bucky's mansion felt like stepping into a different world. The ornate decor and vast rooms were a far cry from the modest surroundings you were accustomed to. As you unpacked your belongings, the air seemed to carry a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

One evening, as the soft glow of the setting sun cast warm hues across the room, Bucky found you standing by the window. His presence was like a shadow, his steps quiet as he joined you.

"Y/N," he started, his voice a mix of hesitation and sincerity, "I want you to know that I never intended for things to be this way."

You turned to him, uncertainty clouding your gaze. "Then why did you agree to this arrangement, Bucky?"

He sighed, his gaze averted for a moment before meeting yours. "It's complicated. There are things... expectations that I can't ignore."

Your heart sank at his words, the gravity of the situation becoming clearer. "You mean, being a housewife and having children."

Bucky's expression softened, regret evident in his eyes. "It's more than that, Y/N. I'm trying to protect you, in my own messed-up way. But playing the role is.. its on the list"

The weight of his words settled upon you, a reminder that your identity had been reduced to that of a housewife, devoid of agency or aspirations. You felt your voice falter as you spoke. "Is that all I am to you, Bucky? A role to play?"

His eyes seemed to harden, the distance between you growing more tangible. "It's a role that benefits both of us. There's no point in pretending otherwise." Bucky says walking away.

The isolation settled in like an unwelcome guest, the mansion's halls echoing with a silence that seemed to underscore your solitude. Days blurred into one another, marked by routines that grew monotonous. The mansion became a symphony of routines, from managing the household to preparing meals that you hoped Bucky would enjoy. Your attempts to prepare meals went unnoticed, the table often empty as Bucky's absence stretched into hours.

The hours slipped away, the warmth of the meal gradually turning cold. When Bucky finally walked in, his exhaustion was evident, his gaze weary yet conflicted.

When he finally walked in one evening, exhaustion etched into his features, you found yourself facing a moment of truth. The meal you had prepared lay untouched on the table, a visual representation of the growing void between you. The sight of a hickey on his neck was a dagger to your heart, the sting of jealousy and hurt almost overwhelming.

"You're home late," you managed to say, your voice a mixture of accusation and vulnerability.

Bucky's eyes flicked to the untouched meal, his jaw clenching momentarily. "I got caught up in work."

The tension in the room was palpable, unspoken words heavy in the air. Accusations and retorts seemed to dance on the tip of your tongue, but it was the realization that your relationship had deteriorated beyond repair that cut deepest.

As the conversation escalated, your emotions erupted like a tempest. "Is this what we've become, Bucky? Strangers passing each other in the hallway, playing house without any semblance of connection?"

Bucky's gaze remained fixed on the ground, his emotions masked by a veneer of indifference. "You knew the terms of this arrangement from the beginning."

The words echoed in the room, a bitter reminder of your lack of agency in this situation. "Yes, I remember the terms, be a maid and have kids" you replied, your voice carrying a tinge of bitterness. "But it wasn't a choice, Bucky. I didn't agree willingly; I was forced"

Bucky's eyes hardened, his expression unforgiving. "We all make sacrifices. This is the life we've chosen."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met his gaze, a mixture of frustration and pain in your voice. "But I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to be treated as a prisoner in this fucking cage."

He turned to face you fully, his gaze cold and unyielding. "Don't play the victim, Y/N. You knew what you were getting into."

"I can't give you something I don't have. I won't pretend for your sake. This is our arrangement, and you will abide by it, that's final"

The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "Really is it really so much to ask for a bit of care? Or that you pretend your not cheating on me? Or is that too much to expect?"

Bucky's features darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Watch your words, Y/N. You're playing a dangerous game."

The tension between you was palpable, the unspoken resentments and long-buried desires bubbling to the surface. "So, this is our fate? A loveless marriage, a distant husband, and a life that's become a hell?"

Bucky's restraint snapped, his expression twisted with rage. "Enough, Y/N! You can't pretend you didn't know what this was all about! Your brother made damn sure of that!"

Fury ignited within you, burning through the fear that had held you captive for too long. "Fuck you, Bucky," you spat, your voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation. You turned on your heel and walked away, determined not to let him see the tears welling up in your eyes.

But as you moved to leave, Bucky's grip on your wrist was like a vise, his fingers digging into your skin. A gasp escaped your lips as he left behind a painful mark, a physical reminder of the power he held over you. You winced, struggling against his hold, but his grip only tightened.

"Bucky, let go!" you cried out, a mixture of pain and fear coursing through you.

He released you, his jaw clenched, his eyes cold and unrelenting. With a rough push, he shoved you, and you stumbled, unable to maintain your balance. The force of his actions sent you crashing to the floor, pain shooting through your body as you hit the ground.

"Sleep on the damn couch tonight," he bit out, his voice seething with anger as he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, aching both physically and emotionally.

The couch felt like a cold and unforgiving bed as you lay there, tears staining your cheeks as you tried to make sense of the shattered pieces of your life. You needed to find a way out.

★

The morning light spilled into the kitchen, illuminating the room as you moved around, preparing breakfast with a sense of quiet resignation. The clinking of utensils and the sizzle of food filled the air, a routine you had grown accustomed to. As you set the plates on the table, Bucky's presence entered the room, his demeanor more cold and irritated than usual.

"Morning," you greeted softly, the tension between you practically palpable.

Bucky grunted in response, his eyes scanning the table briefly before landing on you. "We need to talk."

You tensed, your heart beating a little faster. His abruptness was unsettling, and you braced yourself for whatever news he was about to deliver.

"I'm leaving on a business trip," he stated curtly, his tone devoid of any warmth.

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden announcement. "A business trip?"

He nodded, his jaw tight. "Yes, for about a month."

"During my absence," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "you are not allowed to leave the house."

The words hung in the air, a heavy decree that seemed to echo with finality. You felt a surge of frustration and helplessness, the walls of the mansion closing in around you.

"But Bucky, I..." you started, your voice tinged with a mix of defiance and desperation.

He cut you off, his irritation was evident in his tone. "I don't want to hear your excuses, Y/N. This is not up for negotiation."

Anger simmered within you, but it was the realization of your powerlessness that hit you the hardest. The isolation, the restrictions – they were a stark reminder of the gilded cage you found yourself in.

"I have my own life, my own dreams," you retorted, the bitterness in your voice impossible to mask.

Bucky's gaze hardened, his jaw clenched. "This is not the time for your idealistic notions, Y/N."

The exchange left an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air, the weight of your conflicting emotions settling heavily upon you. You pushed back your frustration, not wanting to provoke him further, not wanting to feel the repercussions of his anger.

As the minutes ticked by, you realized the futility of arguing. The walls seemed to close in around you, the mansion's rooms feeling more suffocating than ever.

Bucky pushed his chair back, his expression unreadable. "I've said what I needed to say. Make sure you follow the rules while I'm gone."

He stood up, and as he walked over to the counter to pour himself a mug of coffee, you couldn't help but feel his gaze linger on you. You felt a flush of discomfort, your instinct to hide the evidence of last night's altercation kicking in. You had chosen to wear long sleeves in an attempt to cover up the bruise he had unknowingly left on your wrist.

For a moment, his eyes seemed to narrow, his gaze drawn to your attempt at concealment. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the table instead, your heart pounding in your chest. He reached for his coffee, his fingers brushing against the handle of the mug as his voice broke the silence.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow," he said, his tone still cold and distant. "There are some things you need to take care of while I'm gone. I'll leave you a list."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The tension in the room felt suffocating, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You could feel his gaze on you, an unspoken awareness that hung heavy in the air. The weight of your bruises, both physical and emotional, seemed to press down on you as he left the room without another word.

Taglist:

@cjand10 @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @hereticdance @kentokaze @bruher @tupperwarefullofdirt @unaxv @learisa @emerald-writes @aya-fay @stinkerbelle007 @scifinerd1818 @paarthurnax59

[knightyoomyoui]

The 1% Of Chances | TWICE Jeongyeon x M Reader Fanfic : CHAPTER 1

Welcome to my first Jeongyeon x Male Reader book! I hope you guys will like this story that I attempted to make after days of deciding whether I should do it or not. For the reads and votes that this book would get, I gave to all of you already my deepest gratitude for supporting my work. Now, here's the pilot chapter of my 12-chaptered book. Enjoy reading everyone!

"Alright, you can now leave Mr. YN. Rest assured that I will send you an update after I fully review these including our interview today.", the owner of the establishment said to you while compiling all of your papers he seperated each just to take a look at each of its contents. "Understood, sir. Thank you so much.", you bowed in respect to respond on his statement. He gave you a timid smile before you left your gaze at him and stepped outside his office and the building. You came here to pass some copies of your personal documents that were included on their requirements in search for their new worker to take on their vacant position. And as the guy who is currently desperate to look for an available, still continuing and keeping your hopes high despite being rejected by multiple companies now including taking a time to find another one whether around inside or outside of your area in Seoul, South Korea.

Stumbling to this one, you unhesitantly attempted to try this one; not minding what type of job it is. The only thing that matters to you anyways is so that you could use this job to help yourself survive into this word and maintain your personal life average, whilst figuring out also how to improve and reach the best limit you could ever get that can enable you to help others too who are inspiring to do the same thing as you. Here you are who just finished the interview that was set up by the boss to atleast get a glimpse of your personality and hear to you loud and clear on how can you possibly assured that you'll help and contribute to the changes of the business to make you perfectly fitted for the role, you are now standing outside the building; sighing deeply in relief both in relief and nervousness. Relieved because your meeting is done, nervous is because you don't know if the higher one will accept or reject your application. While you were waiting, you decided to just push aside your overthinking to the back of you head and chose to calm yourself a bit knowing that so far you don't have any huge errands to rush for a couple of days. Before you were even about to hop onto your motorcycle, your phone beeped; stealing your attention. You picked it up, seeing the contact profile of your friend named Somin flashed on the screen. You answered the call by swiping to the green call button. "Hey, what's for the call?", you spoke as your placed the phone near to your ear. "Yo, YN. Where you at right now?" "Outside the building I applied for a job, why?" "Oh, the interview was today? How is it?" "It's fine. The stuttering were atleast controlled and somehow the boss looked convinced on some of my answers to his questions. But that doesn't mean I have to complacent you know? Still, these thoughts of failing to get employed is making my nerves tensed." "Well that sounded good still and also you were right. Just look at the positive side, man. Enough or not enough, you showed to him that you can be very useful anyways." "Same point we're sharing then. That's what i'm doing right now, taking some cool off." "By the way, uhh what time are we going tomorrow?" You remembered your plan because of what he said, causing you to frown immediately. "9 in the morning is fine, man." "Alright. Time flies, doesn't it? I don't intend to ruin your mood but... I know you have the similar expression of mine that it still disbeliefs me. Hasn't it been 2 years already?" He was right, and the truth got your heart even sank deeper at the heavy weight of the sorrow you feel. It's been 2 years since you lost the only remaining special one in your life. The only woman who fought till the end just to stay by your side... even if it costs her life due to her unselfishness. And you both love and hate her so much for that. But even if you argue with her over and over again about that, you know she'll win always. She loves you so much and that love is your weakness. Which was her strength but... fate went upside down as it was instead the one who pushed her to the risk of disappearing forever. It was never easy for you every single day when you'd think about it. "Y-yeah. It feels like yesterday when we attended her funeral.", you answered with your voice getting rough a bit due to your force of not wanting to sob already and instead save your tears for another day. But having the observative friend you have, he didn't failed to let it pass as he got aware that the reality still stabs you straight in the feels. "Sorry if I just said it man. I know it stinged you a lot but hey, feel free to let it all out tomorrow. You know I'll be there always to console you, man." "Thanks, Somin." "No biggie." "I gotta go now dude, I still have to buy some flowers and candles to bring for her resting place before I go home." "Sure, have a safe way home okay?" "Got it.", you replied before the call ended. You placed back your phone in your pocket before riding your motorcycle and revved its engine to have you transported onto your next planned destination. Minutes later, you bought some pieces of lilies and carnation flowers to a floral shop along with some pleasant smelled candles to bring with you to the cemetery where you'll be placing it in front of her tombstone to gift on it atleast on the anniversary of her passing. You then crossed the street and entered a fast food chain next to buy some take-over food as your dinner for tonight. Just a combo of coke, two layered burger, two pieced chicken with a rice and lastly a fries were effective immediately to make your starve and crave for it to be eaten. So you went back to your vehicle and drove instantly in the middle of the road ahead to your sweet home. One of the streets made you stop driving as you got to follow the red light to allow the bypassers to cross the road through the pedestrian lane. In the midst of waiting patiently, your music 's volume shrinked on your earbuds when a notification appeared on your phone. Opening it, you learned that it came from the K-Pop girl group you stan the most, which is TWICE. They just released their concept photos for their upcoming 2nd English Single titled "Moonlight Sunrise" which was labeled also as their pre-released English Track.

It made you ooh-ed in fascination and awe as you got to see the individual photos of the unnie line who are slated as the Batch 1 of their scheduled releasing of concept photos for today. You figured that tomorrow would be the middle line's turn next and the day after would be lastly the maknae line's. After you gave a heart react and shared the post of Nayeon's concept photo, it took you a bit long to head quickly to Momo because there was something that had you abruptly halt on your hand movement. You ended up in a stare with the concept photo of your bias and your huge celebrity crush, Yoo Jeongyeon who looks absolutely damn gorgeous and deadly attractive with her short bob-cut black hair which is definitely your favorite and top-tier haircut look of all time from her. It reminisce you of Feel Special where she had that look first before, and successfully caught your attention that led you today on being a die-hard ONCE and her as your bias without further picking. You smiled widely and shrieked in victory that she returned this look again which made you extremely assured that you'll be loyal even more to her because of this era. "Oh myt God, I really have to prepare my heart and soul for their comeback. She's going to snatch it again and make it hers as usual.", you muttered to yourself. After you finished heart reacting Momo's next, the green light was lit to give you and the other drivers an access to continue driving. The next day, you woke up from the irritating sound of your alarm to inform you that you have to start such a big day today. You groaned at the stretching of your body before you stood up from the bed and fix your bedsheet. The morning routine began as you stepped into the kitchen, making your breakfast for this morning. Afterwards, the preparation for yourself is near to be accomplished as you wore both pair of your shoes one last time before checking yourself in the mirror about how you look. Satisfied enough that you atleast look like a civilized and modernized human being, you left your house then locked it and rode your motorcycle to drive away to the location you're suppose to visit. You stepped inside the JYP Entertainment building after parking your ride at their provided lot, greeting the receptionist courteously. "Uhh hello and good morning miss. I'm here for Mr. Jinyoung Park or I guess I could say JYP himself." "Hello and good morning to you too, sir. Are you perhaps the one that Mr. JYP informed me that he had to meet with an intern today?" "I guess you can say it like that." "Just a sec, sir. I'll just have to call Mr. JYP to alert him of your appearance." She then went on to talk on the telephone where she dialed the number of his boss to call him. It didn't lasted longer as she dropped it right away once the short talk ended. "Sir, you may now proceed to meet him." "Ok thanks. Uhm, wait... where is exactly his office miss?" "Go to the elevator to reach the 3rd floor than walk over the hallway. His office is just after the Prince Recording Room, the one with the gray colored door." "Thank you very much, miss." "You're welcome. Welcome once again to JYP Entertainment!" You followed what the lady receptionist said and now, you were standing in front of what it seemed to be the place you are about to enter and meet him personally. Providing some couple of inhale and exhale to compose yourself, you directed to create 3 knocks on the door before speaking up to signal your presence. "Uhm Mr. JYP, it's me. The intern." "Come in!", you heard the muffled sound of his command from the inside of the room. You obliged, opening the door which revealed the owner of this agency, the legendary and the one and only "Asiansoul" of K-Pop himself, Jinyoung Park aka JYP who is signing some papers in his desk. Along with him was a woman wearing all black attire, sporting a short hair with a nicely trimmed bangs, sitting in one of the guest chairs as she makes herself comfortable. All of their pair of eyes connected at you which made you shy and nervous at the same time when you stepped inside the room. "Mr. LN, great to finally see you.", JYP stood up from his seat and offered you his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, sir.", you accepted the handshake and returned back the greeting. "Before we start, I would like to introduce you to another one who's with us right now in my office. Sadness?", JYP glanced at the woman in front of him. "So you're YN? Annyeong, i'm Kim Nayeon or call me Sadness-noona instead as my nickname. I figured that you'll have to use the honorific noona because based from your application, well it does seem that you're younger than me. Nice to meet you, by the way." "Oh... okay, nice to meet you too noona." "Okay now that we're done on the introductions, YN you may now take a seat.", you followed JYP's command, sitting at the spare chair in front of Sadness. "This won't be along but the reason I want to gather us together here for some short meeting is to first.... congratulate you for taking the spot as part of Division 3's managemant team. And I assume that you don't know who's group you'll be assigned for, aren't you?" "Yes, JYP-nim." "You will be under TWICE's staff team. As their head manager who's tasked to keep an eye and manage the whole group while being the leader of the team, that means you'll be sent to duty as a manager for ONE of the members in the group.", Sadness took the cue to speak next. You were shocked to know that you'll get to have working very closely with none other than the group you're hugely stanning since day one. This just feel so surreal of you. You tried to maintain your fanboying as you have to priroitize being professional and dedicated for your job at the moment. "And may I ask who is it, noona?", you asked in curiosity. "Don't worry, YN. You'll meet her later.", JYP assured you. "Now that we're done to the second reason, let's get it on to the last one which is for me.... as the owner of the company who only wants nothing more but for the safety and the best not only of my artists' experience in and out of my company but also for my employees around here working diligently, I want you to promise me one thing that you will be true to your words of what you told me back in the interview to impress me more. Be a dedicated and a trustworthy worker to his job, please." "And also, give us your word that you swear to assist, guide and guard the girls at all costs, especially to that one particular member JYP-nim and I has placed you with. They are the gem of JYPE who's career has never failed to make the company and also the fans who love them so much be proud of them for what they accomplished in the industry", Sadness continued JYP's words. "You have my word, JYP-nim and Sadness-noona. I swear that I will do my best to work hard for them mostly for that specific one like my life depends on it. I have to be honest, I am one of their fans and a part of the ONCE fandom so yeah, I'm just the same as what my fellow ONCEs and you guys also want the most for the girls... and being very lucky to grab the opportunity to work here in JYPE under their team, I'm here to give action to all of it." JYP and Sadness looked at each other, giving each other a nod and a smile as they were very impressed at your motivated spirit. "Well, that's more like it. I consider it already that you'll be very serious and committed then.", JYP chuckled which made you sheepishly smile. "Let's not waste the precious time, you two can go now so that Mr. LN here can finally start his first work today. Congratulations and welcome to JYP Entertainment again, YN.", he offered again his free hand which you quickly caught it for another handshake. "Thank you so much again for this opportunity, I'll do everything not to let you down, sir and you too noona.", you said to them. Sadness understood and agreed also at your words as she also made handshake with you. You and Sadness sent goodbye to JYP and left his office. You followed and walked with her until both made their way out to the building and went to the parking lot where the van you and her would be riding to is now waiting for them to carry on. After opening the slide door, you and Sadness sat alongside together inside the van as the driver operated the wheels and passed the surroundings of Seoul. The ride ended when the driver slowed down the speed and stopped in front of a large expensive looking dormitory building located in Cheongnam-dong. The guards allowed the van to enter the area before finally parking in one of the vacant slots. You and Sadness exit as both made its way up to the 12th floor where the exact location of the room is.

"How are your doing so far? You ready for your first day?", Sadness asked you as she looked at you. "Still nervous and processing that this is actually happening but yeah, I'm ready.", you gave a smile. Sadness went on to elicit a press on the doorbell then opened the intercom to let the device scan her face and even you who are both standing in front of the door. In just a moment, the door swung open by one of the occupants of the dorm. Jsut as when you had a sight of the stupendous figure of a woman in front of you, your senses went temporarily stopped and had your eyes wide open in surprise. Her eyes connected at first on Sadness before it switched next on yours who observed the entire features observingly at the unfamiliar individual standing next on her nice noona. "Hi, Sadness noona..., oh who's this? Is he..." "Yup.", Sadness answered already as she cut the idol's obvious question. She gestured at you next as if she's presenting you who is still in immense disbelief with the reveal you witnessed. "YN, here it is. The answer to your question earlier. You're assigned as the new manager for her, meet Yoo Jeongyeon of TWICE."

[guardians-of-gahoole-fanworld]

Oneshot - Delayed Letter (Metal Beak x Nyra x B)

Summary: Their beloved had to yet send word after two weeks of absence. Nyra was growing more worried by the second, and even Metal Beak was slowly becoming restless. Though luckily, it would not last much longer.

Characters: Lord High Tyto Surtr, Queen Nyra, Unnamed Character

Ships: Surtr/Metal Beak X Nyra X Original Male Character

Warnings: None

Important: This was written on my phone, so there may be more typos than usual. If you see any, feel free to point them out! It is very possible that my phone missed a few.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

During their beloved's absence, both Metal Beak and Nyra felt a deep sense of worry that festered in their minds.

No matter what they were doing, shall it be training, paperwork, eating or sleeping, the legendary leader of the Pure Ones' and his beloved wife's minds were always with him. His health, his safety, and the circumstances he must endure.

All in the name of the Pure Ones.

All in the name for what his mates stood for.

And lately, their concern has grown a massive amount. Why?

Because their beloved had not yet written them. Something he always did. MUST do. And yet, every time they received a delivery, may it only be paper or otherwise, their desks remained empty of the one envelope they desired.

And tonight, it was no different.

Nyra's heart sank as she took the delivered mail from the messenger, dismissing the owl with a flicker of her talons before retreating back into the safety of her private quarters, closing the metallic structure resembling a door behind her as she did so. Once alone, she, just to make sure her eyes didn't deceive her, just to make sure that she had not overlooked it, began to sort through it, her eyes scanning desperately over everything in her grasp. But sadly, no matter how hard she willed it to be there, it was not.

Again.

She could practically hear her hopes shatter into pieces, clattering to the ground beneath her talons. She let out a sigh, putting the delivery onto the counter before turning to walk deeper into the royals' private quarters, aiming for the comfortable pillows in front of the lit fireplace in the other room.

Once there, she collapsed on top of them, curling up with a low hiss of frustration, her beautiful blue and yellow eyes flashing red for a second as she buried her face into the soft cloth. "Glaux be damned!" she groaned, lifting her head a little so she could at least stare into the flames, her orbs slowly returning to their normal color. "This is a nightmare..."

For a few seconds, there was silence, her thoughts racing as she tried to regain her composure. It was difficult, given that her worries were off the charts. She almost failed, her talons digging into the softness beneath her as she felt herself reach her boiling point, but before she could explode, the low, deep voice of her present mate cut through the storm behind her eyes.

"And?"

She lifted her suddenly very heavy skull, turning to stare at his form in the doorway.

He was as tall and regal as ever, his feathers as dark as the deepest night with his dots intimidating the stars. His mask was in its place, concealing his deep scars that disfigured him - though Nyra as well as their beloved still thought of him as beautiful as ever - and his massive talons were resting snugly in the battle claws he wore almost daily. He, obviously, had just returned himself, probably flew in through the balcony.

He did that from time to time, mostly when he was out there and not in the palace itself. It was quicker.

She continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, her gorgeous eyes meeting his single one, both of them silent as Metal Beak patiently waited for her response. It took her about half a minute, but then, finally, she opened her delicate-looking pink beak.

And what she said was not something he had wanted to hear.

"Nothing." she sighed, averting her gaze again to stare into the flames. "No letter from him once again."

She didn't see his expression, at least what was visible of it, change, but she watched him step closer, the blades of his battle claws clicking against the floor. "Are you certain?"

She nodded, slowly lowering her head back into the softness of the pillow. "Yes. I searched through what was delivered. He still has not contacted us."

"Hmm..." the Tenebricosa hummed lowly, and then, he fell silent again, merely moving to her side fully. Eventually, he stopped, leaning down to remove his battle claws to join her onto the pillows. His wife needed comfort, even if she would never admit it out loud, and what kind of mate would he be if he would not provide it.

Once the weapons were removed, he set them onto the ground to put away later, climbing onto the mountains of pillows before lowering himself next to her, spreading his left wing to invite her for some psychical affection. She didn't hesitate, snuggling up to him as soon as she recognized that he was serious. He lowered it back down onto her, holding her against him while she buried her face into his fluffy neck, huffing out yet another sigh as she closed her eyes, the mere scent of her mate already a balm to her anxious state.

"Thank you..." She muttered, her voice almost inaudible, her pride not quite dying down even in a situation like this.

"I am your mate. As such, there is no need to thank me. This is my duty." he replied, leaning down to press his golden beak against her. He was careful not to hurt her, though, as it was razor-sharp, made to tear into flesh.

"Still." she muttered, adjusting her position to lean completely into his powerful presence.

"Hmm..." Again, the Tenebricosa only hummed, falling silent once again as he copied his wife's actions, staring into the fire. Finally, his blind eye regained its color by reflecting the flames warming them. It was almost as if it could still see.

For a moment, there it was quiet once more, neither of them speaking as Nyra bathed in the comfort of her husband. She felt his powerful muscles ripple under his skin and thick feathers as he breathed the air around him, she heard his powerful heartbeat drum in a calm, steady rhythm, reminding her that he was here, that he was alive.

He would protect her. She was safe.

She sighed again, though this time, the anxious sound was mixed with contentment. Her eyes fluttered open - she hadn't even realized that she had closed them - and she looked up, meeting his gaze as he turned his head towards her.

"Do you think he is safe?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she was ashamed to voice her worries.

Metal Beak blinked, his expression shifting beneath his mask, but she could not tell to what.

"He must be." he answered, pulling her even closer. Something she appreciated, her head nuzzling back into his thick feathers. "He is powerful, Nyra. There is little that kill, let alone harm him."

"Why is he not writing us, then?" she questioned. "It has been 14 days, and we have yet to receive word from him. This is unlike him."

"You and I both know that he has traveled far and into a region where the weather is known to be volatile. It is possible that he was not yet able to send word." Metal Beak offered, shrugging his shoulders, which caused the wing on Nyra's back to twitch. "It did happen before that letters were lost in storms."

"But at least one or two arrived." she argued, and he could feel her tense again. She was getting worked up...and he could not blame her. He, too, was worried, but he refused to let her be burdened further by his own fears. Nyra was stressed enough as it is, for it was not easy to bear the burden of an absent mate while also having to tolerate young soldiers who sometimes tested the patience of the adults a little bit too much.

Nyra was leader, an exceptional one, but even her endurance has a limit. With the two-week mark of their beloved's departure, young soldiers that drove her to madness every once in a while, the tasks of leadership as well as the toll of the battles she participated in, it was no surprise that she grew more and more agitated.

She was tired. She needed rest. But her fear for him refused to let her get it.

"Nyra. Two out of twenty have arrived, and the other eighteen have been lost out there. Now, he is in a region with even worse weather conditions than what he had to endure back then, farther away, with a mission to complete, which most likely takes most of his time." he continued, pressing his beak against her head again. He could not preen her, at least not normally, but he could rub it against her, creating a soft pressure that Nyra had grown to find comforting. "I am sure that whatever he had written has just been destroyed by the merciless nature of that wretched place, or maybe he has even forgotten to send them. You know how focused he can be when the stakes are high."

"Well...yes." Nyra muttered, contemplating his words. "He does tend to be forgetful from time to time. Especially if so much is at stake."

Metal Beak nodded, his eyelids low as he looked down upon his wife with a look that was just reserved for their private life. "I am sure that he is just facing obstacles when it comes to contacting us. There is nothing that we have to fear."

Nyra was the one to hum this time, deciding to let herself believe what her present husband spoke.

After all, their beloved was a force of nature. He bends to nothing and no one.

He was fine.

He must be.

And if not, Nyra would ensure that the world would pay.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

By now, it was late. The night, cloudless, was beautiful, and the moon shone softly through their windows. Metal Beak and his wife, Queen Nyra, were still in front of the raging fireplace, now a tray of tea in front of them.

Metal Beak was slowly guiding the cup up to his now maskless face, skillfully guiding the liquid to the back of his throat to be swallowed, careful not to spill a single drop. Nyra was setting her own down, staring at the dark brown/blackish surface of her drink, which, in return, showed her reflection. She, still, was anxious, though her present husband's presence had significantly calmed her down. She was painfully tense no longer, and the red flashing of her eyes had stopped as well, dying down to mere glimmers of crimson every now and then.

She glanced at the Tenebricosa, watching as his tongue flickered out to trace the broken edges of his beak, a habit that he had developed after the severe injury had occurred. His working eye was focused on the flames once more while his blind one stared ahead, unseeing.

He seemed...content, at ease. But she knew that the expression of his face and even the glint of his eye rarely mirrored his actual mood.

He was a master of concealing his emotions, his rage and pain often only felt and seen when it exploded. She had always loved this about him, though now, at this very moment, she wished that she could read him better.

She shifted a little, nudging him gently with her wing. "Are you in the mood for some pastries to share, my love?"

He blinked, lowering his head a little as he turned to stare at her. He disliked speaking to someone and not looking them in the eye. "Normally, I would decline." He hummed, his broken beak twitching upwards as she huffed and rolled her eyes. Metal Beak and his stupid, strict diet. She was about to voice her displeasure, but he stopped her by surprising her with what he said next. "But...I suppose it would not hurt to make an exception." A small smile spread on her beak, realizing the grandness of such a small gesture.

"I'll get them." She said before he could even offer, sliding out of his grasp before rising to her talons, shaking herself a little. She immediately began to trot into the personal kitchen of their private quarters, not even staying around long enough to see her husband fold his wing back against his side.

She grabbed yet another tray, along with two plates, reaching for the freshly baked biscuits that she had left on the counter. A delicacy she had created this morning as she had some spare time before the training with the soldiers, which had been postponed to noon due to the horrendous weather in the early hours. She began to sort them to make them look presentable, making sure to add some delicious berries to the mix just to enhance the taste a little bit.

She did so quickly, eager to return to her husband and to spend some more time with him to further comfort her soul further, but before she could finish them...there was suddenly a knock on the metallic structure, which separated their quarters from the outside world.

Her head snapped up with a soft gasp, her body tensing.

Who would dare to disturb them at such a late hour?

However, before she could rush over to open it, Metal Beak had already risen and put on his mask, slowly making his way there. Nyra relaxed slightly, watching from the kitchen as he opened it, revealing a small, young Masked Owl.

The poor thing was shaking, almost wilfing at the mere sight of her beloved. Despite this, however, the little male still fulfilled his job.

"A-a l-letter has ar-arrived for you, L-Lord High Tyto..." he winced, reaching into his pouch before pulling out an envelope, presenting it to him.

"From whom?" the Tyto Tenebricosa asked, rising an eyebrow at this late, unusual delivery.

The owl swallowed, taking the letter from his beak to be able to speak properly. It was well-known that Metal Beak did not like to be spoken to by muffled voices. "N-no name was s-stated, m-my Lord. O-only one l-letter." He said, turning it around.

And there, he saw it. The letter B.

Swung beautifully, with a talonwriting the tyto would recognize even when facing thousands.

He felt his cold heart soar with utter joy and relief, suddenly feeling the urge to rip it out of his servant's grasp. However, he still had his pride to uphold. As such, he elegantly took it from him, giving him a nod.

"Thank you. You may leave." He rumbled, already retreating back into his quarters. He, of course, did hear the sigh of relief coming from the younger owl, but he decided to ignore it. He had more important things to tend to. He slid the letter into the fold of his right wing and kicked the door closed as he turned around, slowly walking back towards the living room.

And there she was, his beloved Nyra, already back on top of the pillows. The pastry tray was now resting beside the tea tray. She must have sneaked back when her husband's massive form had blocked off the view of the quarters.

"Who was this?" she asked as he approached, yet to notice the letter.

"A messenger." He replied, taking off his mask to put it back onto the free pillows, climbing on top of them before lowering himself beside her.

Nyra's eyes widened at his answer. "A Messenger? At this hour?" she asked, her voice laced with worry once more. This... was never a good sign. "What did he want?"

"He brought us something we have been waiting for." He said, finally reaching into the fold of his wings. "Here..." He held it up, a smile appearing on his face as he watched his love's eyes light up with utter happiness, massive relief, and unfiltered joy.

"He wrote!" she nearly squealed in excitement, ripping it from his grasp and opening it, minding her claws as she did so as not to damage the sheet beyond the envelope.

And there it was...his letter.

She unfolded it, preparing to read it out loud. Meanwhile, Metal Beak reached for his cup of tea, taking a sip as he listened to the words that flowed out of his wife's mouth, dictated by the words written by their beloved.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

My beloved S, my lovely N

First and foremost, I must apologize for my silence. Soon, 14 moons will have passed, and thou - no - you were yet to receive word. By the time this letter arrives, I most likely have already passed this mark.

I am aware that you two must worry about me, and you are most likely vexed as well, especially you - my beloved wife - but you two can rest assured, for I am hale and well, and I dwell now in the palace of the kingdom that now serves our empire loyally, for the bargain we did put forth has been accepted by its king.

The weather here is as tempestuous as it can be. The sun is scarce here, and storms are very common to plague the land. I have ceased counting the number of times I was surprised by one whilst out hunting or simply overlooking the construction of the local flex trap. It is tiring, I tell you, but despite this, we are making excellent progress.

Excellent enough for me to be able to assure thee - no - you that I - shall nothing unforeseen happen - shall return to your sides ere the end of this week. I yearn deeply for your voices, your touch, our evenings, and mornings. How greatly I miss thee - no - you both, and I look forward to the moment I will hold you in my embrace once more. I pray to Glaux and every other god that may be out there that this is soon.

With as much love as my heart can muster, B.

PS: N, my love, please take care of S. I just know that he will overwork himself again in my absence. We cannot let history repeat itself, can we now? Also, make sure that he eats properly.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"He is well..." Nyra breathed, her voice thick with relief. "Thank Glaux, he is alright."

"He is indeed..." Metal Beak purred lowly in his throat, his eyes fluttering closed as if his doubt never existed. However, Nyra knew him too well. She could feel the sudden, immense relaxation of his muscles, saw how his wings dropped slightly, and heard the almost soundless sigh escaping his beak. He, too, had a heavy burden lifted from his heart and soul. "Well enough to worry for us. And to think of his lessons. Not a single thee or thou used without correction."

Nyra chuckled, a little out of breath from the sudden ambush of emotions that came crashing down upon her. She struggled to keep her pride and composure, failing as her shell began to crack. Something that would have been shameful if it had happened anywhere else.

But they were in their private quarters, their luxurious hollow - though it could barely be called such - their home. Here, hidden from the public, the judging eyes of society, it was alright.

Shame was scarce, and they would not be judged.

A few more seconds of silence followed, and Nyra and Metal Beak let the realization and relief sink in. Nyra swallowed heavily, clearing her throat as she tried to regain control over herself while she began to neatly fold the letter, placing it onto the empty space beside them that would normally have been occupied by the third of their wonderful trio. She pressed it down onto the soft fabric, her mind wandering for the split of a second before she spoke once more.

"Do you think he speaks the truth?", she asked, turning to face her husband, who had already returned his attention to the delicious treats they were indulging in, already taking a sip of his tea to was down some of the pastries he had just taken a bite off.

"Hmm? Whatever do you mean?", he asked as he set his cup down, raising an eyebrow at her sudden and, in his mind, unreasonable doubt. "Why should he not be?"

Nyra huffed, clicking her beak as she narrowed her eyes in thought. "I-I don't know...I just...", she broke off with a sigh, closing her eyes as she leaned into him, her shoulders slacking as soon as she felt his warmth seeping through her feathers and into her skin. "I'm still worried."

"Nyra, darling." Metal Beak started, his heavy wing slowly wrapping around her as he pulled her closer into his embrace. She re-lifted her lids, blinking up at him with her gorgeous blue and golden eyes. "We must not doubt our beloved's words. He has assured all is well, that the mission is progressing and that he is healthy and strong. If there were any complications, he would have informed us in this letter."

He leaned down, making sure to be on the same level as she was. Their eyes locked, and the half-hagsfiend found herself staring into the dangerous, predatory eyes of her beast of a husband. Though instead of fear, she felt a sense of contentment, knowing that these orbs, the nightmares of many and the last things countless souls saw before death came to claim them, belonged to a being that would protect her with his life. He had done so before, and she knew he'd do it again. "Mark my words: He will be here as soon as the moon is full once again."

Nyra blinked softly, leaning forward to press her forehead against his, their facial disks and markings meeting. She let out a huff, studying what she could see of his face from this position. "And why should I believe you?", she asked, though now, a little bit of teasing slipped into her words.

Metal Beak huffed, pulled back and straightened his neck to stare down at her as if she had just insulted him. "What reason do you have not to?", he asked, his head tilting left. "Have I ever given you reason to doubt my words?"

Nyra snorted, having expected this reaction from him. He loathed to be accused of lying, even more so by his mates. Nyra knew this and normally, she would refer from doing so. However, every once in a while, she could not help but push his buttons and enjoy the reaction she got out of him. So, she decided to take it a little bit further. Most likely because this was a good distraction for her anxiousness that still lingered.

"Yes, my love. You have. Multiple times.", she hummed, watching as the Lord High Tyto narrowed his eyes in confusion. It lasted for about 30 seconds and then, finally, realization hit him.

He let out a powerful huff, giving her a sharp glare. "Ha. Ha. Very funny.", he growled, his blind eye twitching. "Your humor is excellent. You are a true performer for the people."

"Well, you did lie." Nyra pointed out, shrugging softly as she leaned against him once more. Despite his agitation however, the Tenebricosa did not push her away. "It was a small lie, but a lie nonetheless."

The black and white owl growled, letting out another huff. "This has nothing to do with this situation!" He believed his argument to be strong, but his wife had the perfect retaliation.

And by the looks of the smile she gave him, she knew that. "Oh, but you did ask me if you ever gave me a reason to not believe your words. This would be one of them."

He grumbled, adjusting his wings to get more comfortable. "You are impossible.", he complained, rolling his eye while reaching for his tea.

"It is one of the many reasons you love me.", she teased, her voice growing warmer now. Metal Beak grumbled into the porcelain, but none of his words were denial. It was the exact opposite even.

"Unfortunately, I do.", he admitted after he took the sip from the delicate container, putting it down to refill it with more. "It is damaging my health and sanity, but so does every drug. You are no exception."

Nyra smirked as he compared her to drugs. She had heard these words more often than she could count, and yet she never grew tired of them. She chuckled, snuggling upward and under his chin, gently preening the soft feathers there. "You say that, yet right now, you are only getting half of your usual dose." She nipped against the dark skin under all of this softness, hearing him grunt as she did so. "Surely, you are already suffering withdrawal." She pulled back, licking her beak. "I know I do."

"Even if I did, I would know better than to admit it to you.", he muttered, refusing to meet her gaze.

"No matter.", she hummed, finally pulling away, though not without one last nip at his skin which caused him to hiss and pull away. Nyra only smirked as she reached for her own nearly half-empty cup, taking a sip before continuing. "If his words are true, you, very soon, will have your full dosage again. Whether you like it or not."

Metal Beak snorted, reaching for the pastries once more. "I will say it again: His words are truthful, Nyra. I will soon have to deal with his shenanigans as well."

"You say it like you don't love every second of it.", she sighed, setting her cup down again before settling her head onto his shoulders, half of her facial disk disappearing into the fluffy mane that was his neck.

Metal Beak scoffed, rolling his eyes as he brought the cup to his beak again. "I merely tolerate your both's antics.", he argued. "Barely, I might add."

"Liar.", Nyra muttered, her reply muffled by his feathers. "You would succumb without them."

"Succumb to relaxation, maybe." The Lord High Tyto set his cup down after yet another sip. "I might have a quiet evening for once in my life."

Nyra pulled her head from her husband's warmth to look at him, one of her eyebrows raised with a knowing smirk on her beautiful, pink beak. "You and I both know that you would grow tired of that soon enough. What would you do with us both absent? Clean your mask until you scrub it out of existence?"

"Read the book that I have wanted to read for more than 30 moons now.", he shot back, casting an almost yearning glance at said literature that was laying on a table next to display of daggers, neatly put on top of a bunch of finished paperwork.

"You could have done this ages ago.", Nyra argued half heartily, following his gaze. "There was nothing stopping you from doing so."

"Was there now? Because I could have sworn that there were certain owls demanding my attention and pestering me to put the book down to give it to them. It even went so far with a certain giant putting half of his entire body weight on top of me to keep me stationary.", he reminded her, causing the Alba to look away sheepishly. "Do you also recall this?"

"You could have freed yourself and read it when we fell asleep.", Nyra huffed, sounding not apologetic at all. "We mostly only get to bond with you and enjoy your company without any military obligations in the morning or evening. It is only fair that you give and receive."

Metal Beak scoffed once again, but much to her surprise, he did not argue. Nyra could not help but smirk triumphantly.

"Hah! Seems like I caught you off guard with that one!", she smirked, leaning against him once more.

The male Tenebricosa hummed, refusing to look at her. He hated it when he lost an argument, even one as small as this one. "I am simply in no mood to argue, that is all."

Nyra chuckled, pressing her face into the softness of his plumage. "Of course." She caught a few feathers between her beak, gently smoothing them out. "Of course you can't admit defeat."

He blinked at her wording, finally lowering his head again to look at her properly. "This is no defeat, my dear."

She snorted, though she decided to drop it. This could go on for hours, after all, and it was late. She felt herself grow tired already, the relief and welcomed distraction accompanied by the scent of her husband and the warmth of the tea slowly causing her adrenaline to die down.

"If it helps you sleep at night.", she hummed, nuzzling against his chest again, taking more feathers to clean them of any leftover grime.

Metal Beak opened his beak for a snarky remark, but sensing his wife's rapidly deteriorating energy, he decided against it. This "argument" could be postponed, after all. No need to sour this wonderful evening.

"It does.", he admitted, angling his wing in a way that covered her almost completely now.

"You're an arrogant..."

"Cloaca licker. I am aware."

Nyra chuckled as he finished the sentence or her. Oh, this nickname. She would be forever thankful for her beloved and his creative insults.

He, too cracked a grin at her amusement. "But you love me for it."

"That I do.", the smaller tyto admitted. Without a single regret in her voice. She reached for her tea, drowning the remaining liquid in one motion. Once done, she set the empty cup aside and shoved it to the edge of the tray. A clear sign that she was done. "And so does he."

"And I the both of you.", the male added, pouring the last bit of the teapot into his own cup, lifting it to his beak as his wife shifted to settle her head back onto his broad back." "Tired?"

A stupid question with an obvious answer. Despite that, the Queen still smiled.

"Yes...very.", she muttered into his dark feathers. "I failed to realize how exhausted I truly am."

Metal Beak hummed, rubbing his wing over her back. He felt her soft feathers and powerful muscles while doing so, the latter relaxing under his surprisingly gentle touch. "I'm not surprised. You barely slept lately."

She sighed, her face sinking deeper into his softness. "Neither did you."

"But I am used to it. You need your sleep.", he hummed, drowning the tea in his cup before copying Nyra's action with the entire tea tray. Since the pastry one still had some delicious pieces on it, it stayed where it was. "No need for you to risk another migraine."

"It's been over 30 moons since my last one.", she huffed, but he could hear her already slipping. She was falling asleep rapidly, and the slurring of her words gave it away. The poor Alba sounded almost drunk.

He chuckled, adjusting his body a little before he lowered his own head onto her, feeling the soft rise and fall of her upper body under his chin. "Even more reason not to provoke one now. I would hate to see you suffer under this unbearable condition, especially since you are to train the young soldiers tomorrow."

"Do not remind me.", she muttered with a soft groan, giving a heavy sigh. She was not looking forward to said training. "If anyone could cause my migraines to flare up, it is them. The last session was a disaster, so I doubt this one is any better."

The smirk on his beak returned, and a low chuckle vibrated in his throat. "Your patience is wearing thin, I see."

The Alba yawned, her delicate beak opening wide. "It is. Yet another reason why I yearn for his return. His patience is legendary."

"So is yours. You just have been tested for too long." He hummed, closing his eyes as he began to relax into their shared embrace even more. "But I do agree, it is time for normalcy to return."

"Yeah..." the white owl muttered, taking a deep breath. "... the sooner ... the ... better ..."

Metal Beak chuckled but no longer replied, merely cracking his eyes open to look down upon her form that had finally slipped into a state of rest, her powerful yet lean chest rising and falling with slow, steady and utterly relaxed breaths.

A soft smile - a gesture he finally allowed now that there was truly no one who could witness it - came to his broken beak, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest and escaping through his nostrils in the form of quick puffs. Glaux...she really must have been exhausted to fall asleep mid-sentence.

He simply listened for a little while, enjoying the cracking flames of the lit fireplace and the softest, quietest snores known to owlkind. It was...relaxing, soothing the leftover stress of the day and the fear for his beloved that had plagued his mind for so long now. It lulled him into a state of utter relaxation, pulled him closer and closer to the world of dreams also.

He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the fire, his wife, and his private quarters, the place he could actually call home. He released it through his mouth, letting his eyes fall closed again as he snuggled deeper into the softness of his mate's plumage, letting himself be pulled into the rapidly approaching, welcoming darkness that took him into its warm embrace.

"Rest well, Nyra...", he muttered, his voice low, sluggish. "And you too...my absent beloved. May we be reunited soon so you can join us once more..."

And with that, he surrendered, his mind slipping into the blissful silence of sleep. His loud snores, deep and throaty, much like his voice, and so much more audible ever since his beak had been shattered, echoing through the quiet chambers.

The Lord High Tyto and Queen were resting, their bodies and minds regaining the energy needed to conquer the day to come. But as they slept, both of their slumbers devoid of dreams, far, far away, a dark figure spread his wings and took off, gliding through the night sky.

His glowing eyes were focused on the path ahead, his black feathers ruffled slightly in excitement. He had been absent for far too long...and now...he could finally return.

Back to the palace, the place he called home.

Back to the Pure Ones, whom he had grown to see as some sort of twisted family.

Back to his mates, those who meant more to him than his own life.

[jae-canikeepyou]

| heartstrings | j.jh

genre: angst, pure angst a/n: requested by this anon! this scenario based on taylor swift’s new song; afterglow. i can tell you how relatable the lyrics are. whew, been a while since i wrote an angst! not proof read but anyway, hope you like it anon! please do give urself a nickname so i can recognize you. ~j.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

jaehyun never wanted this to happen. his chest heaved in deep, hiccuped breaths, reacting in regret of his actions. at this very moment, he saw your eyes swell, all puffed up and looked like you hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past few days. the redness of its thin veins just adds the amount of agony he had caused you. the sniffs so frequent meant you had finished crying— or so he thought.

tears began rolling down your cheeks as you saw him right at your apartment door. you wrapped yourself more in the wool cardigan, forming sweaterpaws to hide your slightly bruised hands from hitting anything they encountered. jaehyun wanted to step in to talk but your arm swung, telling him that you’d had enough.

“y/n.. i’m really sorry i hurt you.” he quivered like he wanted to break down. “i never meant to hurt you in a way that it’d lead to.. this.” he pointed at your sleeves, hinting that he saw your hands before you hid them away.

“should’ve seen it coming, what do i expect from a jock?” you bitterly questioned.

it had been months since you’ve hung out with jaehyun. he introduced himself when you both became partners that one time for that damned science project. him being the person who came late for the lesson, he automatically was paired with you by the professor in charge. the universe just loves to irritate you, you thought. however, for a jock, he was actually smart; like he knew his priorities.

jaehyun had always wanted to befriend you, but opportunities doesn’t seem to align with his desires. however at that time, he thanked the heavens for answering that. he knew you were the type who was easy to approach, but most in days he saw you usually, all alone.

and he wanted to change that.

you both bonded over little silly things such as memes on the internet, music genres and heck, even going to a coin karaoke bar to sing your hearts out. after school dates became a thing too, where you and jaehyun would take turns into treating each other junk food or go on a detour when neither of you didn’t want to head home yet. gosh, how nicknames became the norm too. he called you ‘sweets’ because he knew you loved desserts, whereas you called him ‘hoops’, his love for basketball was so obvious. he pulled your heartstrings and soon enough, time passed so much to the point you had, somehow, developed feelings for him.

how you wished your heart had never gave in— fell for him*, that was the accurate phrase.

jaehyun hadn’t replied to your messages for a long time, so you went back to being alone. maybe he needed space? but that one day.. you felt yourself crumbling down when you saw him, arms wrapped around another girl’s waist and they just.. kissed.

“sweets..” he called out your name, his hands wanting to reach you.

“don’t call me that, jaehyun.” you gritted your teeth, your fingers pointing at him with a fierce expression he hadn’t seen before. “go and be with your girlfriend. she might be looking for you and i’d be dead if she knew you were even here.” you attempted to close the door.

“wait y/n! she’s not my girlfriend!” he held the door. “i was being friendly.”

you’ve had enough of that typical defense and your brows scrunched in irritation. “oh and snogging other girls is your way of being friendly?!” you scoffed in disbelief.

“look, i didn’t mean to. it just happened at the spur of the moment.” he tried to reason out but you weren’t having any of it.

“yeah sure and our friendship probably happened at the spur of the moment too.” you attempted to close the door, yet his strength was no match for you. you hated being hung in the air, without explanation.

“no y/n. please-”

“i thought you were different! i thought i’d see the good in you but i guess you change so easily when you find another fish in the tank huh?” you yelled.

“i am different!” his voice echoed the hallway and as he was aware of it, he sighed. “i changed because of you. whenever we hung out we had chemistry. we clicked so much-” he held your shoulders.

“we did! but we had too much of that and it blew up..” you sighed heavily, catching your breath from screaming. jaehyun waited for the next words; and he hoped that he didn’t.

“until there’s no us..” you mumbled. “actually, there was never an ‘us’. you just left me in the dark. leave and go have fun swimming with her.”

jaehyun’s heart sank at your assumption. he knew your feelings for him, yet he wasn’t so sure too. he wanted you to let him explain, that it was in his nature of being friendly, but snogging was definitely not part of it.

“i ask you to stop chasing me. don’t court me anymore. i’m not a girl who you could easily use.” you sniffed as you wiped your nose.

“y/n..” he pleaded. the door slammed right in front of him. “it’s all on me! i blame myself for what i’ve done!”

there was no answer but minutes later, you went off like sirens, and started to cry. jaehyun began to question himself;

why do i have to break what i love so much?

he punched the wall hard enough that his knuckles reddened, soon becoming bruised. as it heals, it will forever remind him of how he hurt you, when he didn’t mean it. he didn’t want to lose you like this. jaehyun leaned back against your door, his hands ruffled his hair in a mess. tears fell as he squinted his clouded eyes.

the closed door meant its meaning. the closure was there, and it was a bitter one.

you covered your mouth to muffle the cries as your back slid by the door. you lowered to ground, and you’ve never felt this weak before. too much pain and agony sucked out of you that you didn’t even care thinking about when you’ll ever stand up again. never in a few months you’d believed for it to happen.. that you had to end this imaginary, hopeful friendship. the worse part?

to cut his heartstrings; the ones you tugged oh so tightly.

[versadies]

hello! congrats on 1k, i saw that you opened an event so i would like to try and join in!

Capricorn + Jean and Beidou + any hcs! + either fluff or angst (you can decide whichever <3)

unexpected (hc scenario, mermaid au and royal au)

penpal: ty for requesting !! hope you don't mind me making this request into an au hc <3

prompt: capricorn the sea-goat, first word soulmate au

pairing/s: jean x gn!reader, beidou x gn!merman/mermaid!reader

sypnosis: hc on how you unexpectedly meet your soulmate.

includes: mermaid!au in beidou's part, royal!au in jean's part, no angst just fluff, grammar error

while the soulmate system exists in teyvat, so do merfolks.

merfolks have been known as a myth among the nations, with no signs of their existence that's known to humans.

however, it's the complete opposite in the sea.

as a merfolk, you've heard numerous tales of those who are above the ocean.

whether it'd be haunting myths, stories of merfolk meeting man, and so on– you grew up to despise them, always hearing the same thing in all the tales everyone had spilled on you: when a human meets a merfolk, unfortune will arrive upon the merfolk.

so when your peers started gushing and dreamily talk about encountering a human after a romance tale between a mermaid and a human arises around the seas, you were astounded. how come people change their minds so quickly after reading some fantasy?

being destined with a human is a terrifying thought for you.

the elders would reassure you that such possibility is rare for everyone in the sea, telling you that the infamous tale is nothing but just fiction.

that eased your mind a bit,

until you came across to her.

while hanging out with your friends, one of them dared to swim towards the nearest land with everyone following much to your dismay. of course, being worried of the consequences they'll face, you decided to follow as well to keep an eye on them minutes after they left you alone.

due to losing sight of them, you had no idea where they went and continue to swim straight ahead, hoping that they're not far ahead.

which led you to where you are now, hiding behind the stones and take a peek of the shore, trying to spot your merfriends by the area.

unnoticed by you, a person is slowly sneaking behind you.

"well isn't this interesting," your eyes widens from the sudden voice of the stranger, causing you to turn around and see a human.

without hesitation, you immediately turn away from the human's eyes and swam back to the ocean, ignoring the calls of the brown-haired woman who was trying to get you to come back to the shore.

as soon as you finally see the familiar silhouette of the city, you slow yourself down and try to calm yourself, your heart pacing faster than the fastest merfolk in the ocean.

not long after, you heard the familiar sounds of your friends' fins and saw them heading towards you with excited looks on their faces.

"you should've went with us, y/n. it was a blast!" one of them exclaims.

"we literally saw a human, a literal human by the shores. they looked more different than how the elders described!"

you couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief. at least they didn't know what you did.

however, your relief was short-lived when one of your friends pointed out something.

"...wait, you've met your soulmate already?"

your breath hitched from your friend's statement, looking down at your wrist with disbelief. you felt your heart sank at the words imprinted on your skin that is now glowing before your own eyes.

"oh dear." you mumbled to yourself.

your deepest fear came true.

among the seven kingdoms, your favorite is mondstadt.

the kingdom of freedom is truly worthy of its name, with their people being welcoming and their palace being welcomed by all, it was something that makes them different from the rest.

not only that, the kingdom has also worship a god whose name is imprinted on your wrist.

the moment you found out about the fact that barbatos is actually a god that mondstadt worships for, you didn’t hesitate to stay in the kingdom longer than you usually do in other nations, hoping to encounter a person in the town who will say the exact words that’s imprinted on your wrist.

although you love to stay in the kingdom of freedom, you still travel from place to place, wanting to continue on your passion while waiting for your soulmate to meet you.

of course, whenever you’re finished in traveling to a few nations, you always find yourself going back to mondstadt with the feeling of a welcoming home.

during your recent visit to the kingdom, mondstadt is currently celebrating the windblume festival.

you aren't exactly unfamiliar with the celebration, especially with how the townsfolk you've encountered have always mentioned the festival with gleam and excitement.

unfortunately for you, you were a bit late to experience the games that were being held around the land but everyone reassured you that you're luckily enough to be just in time for the grand ball.

from what you've heard, the grand ball is the closing ceremony of the festival, whereas the ruler of the kingdom chooses a lucky mondstadtian as the windblume star and formally offer a flower from the nation to barbatos. once the star has offered a flower to barbatos, everyone around the ballroom can give their chosen person a flower that they see fit as a windblume.

so you thought to yourself: why not try out the grand ball?

you’re honestly glad that you’ve decided to come to the celebration.

the ballroom was just as enchanting as what everyone described it to be, with different kinds of flowers being plastered all around the room, the delicious mondstadt cuisines that are displayed by the tables, the exciting music playing in the background– you wanted to applaud mondstadt for such an amazing work.

being a traveler who isn't exactly a mondstadtian, you would be lying if you said you don't feel out of place in the room. although everyone is nice to you and the party is as fun as you imagine it would be, you still feel like you don't belong, the awkwardness seeping through your body as you watch everyone having fun in the ball.

it didn't help that one of the servers accidentally spilled dandelion wine on your outfit, causing you to feel embarrassed around your peers.

as a getaway, you excused yourself and ran outside from the ballroom, your cheeks starting to warm from the embarrassing experience.

to cool yourself down and get some fresh air, you decided to try and find your way to the entrance of the palace, wanting to get outside as soon as possible and get back to the party at ease.

however, as soon as you went out, you realized you weren't by the entrance of the palace at all. instead you're in a garden with a person standing nearby, who's rather busy practicing sword fighting–

while wearing a huge gown?!

before you could watch her in awe, the woman stopped when she notices your presence, eyes widening in surprise from the sudden intrusion.

"o-oh uhm," you immediately look away from the woman's gaze, glancing in other directions in fear of encountering yet another embarrassing moment. "sorry about that. i was supposed to go back to the entrance but i think i got lost so uh..."

as you try to give the lady an excuse, you didn't notice how her eyes widens slowly from your words, looking down at her wrist to see the words imprinted on her skin glowing back at her.

"dear barbatos." she spoke up, looking back at you in disbelief.

you were suddenly taken back by surprise, looking back at the woman. "..wait i'm sorry, what did you say?"

the blonde haired woman’s hand slowly covers her own mouth, hesitantly walk towards you with a relieved look on her face. "it's you.. you're.. you're my soulmate."

from her words alone, you immediately look at your wrist, your heart paced faster when you noticed the glowing words in your skin as well.

"i uh," you let out a light laugh, stumbling a bit from the shocking discovery. "i didn't expect this."

the woman laughs as well. "i have to say the same as well,"

you watched as she kneels slightly in courtesy, her blue gown slowly dropping down to the cold hard ground.

"my name is jean gunnhildr, the acting ruler of the kingdom of freedom. and you are?"

[starlessea]

𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Prologue 0. Closing Time

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 6286

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury

The sky was empty — save for one bird.

Daryl watched it fly above him, so close to the ground that he could make out the beating of its wings and swore he saw individual feathers flutter in the breeze.

His fingers itched over his crossbow, as he contemplated shooting it down from the sky and plucking it clean. He'd have something to eat then, at least. Though, for some reason, Daryl Dixon couldn't bring himself to let loose his arrow, watching as the bird soared overhead — and disappeared beyond the trees.

The man sighed as he kicked up some loose stones with the toe of his boot. What a waste, he thought, before trudging through the field once again.

The sky remained cloudless for the rest of the day, existing as a pale, washed-out grey that made Daryl feel uncomfortable as he hunted. The game must have felt the same, since the deer he'd been tracking made itself scarce, and the string of squirrels hanging from his belt seemed no heavier than it had done when the sun rose that morning.

Still, he trekked onwards over the thick, winding grass and through damp forest overgrowth. He was nearly back at the quarry already, but he hardly had anything to show for it. A few measly rodents and a sprained ankle were barely worth his trip in the first place; they sure as hell wouldn't be enough for all of the mouths he now had to feed.

Daryl cursed at himself for hesitating to shoot that bird straight out of the sky, and clip its wings. It wasn't much, but maybe it would have lasted a day if he was lucky. Still, there was no use wondering now, since it had swooped so close to him that he almost felt the downward draft on his cheek — and then he let it fly away.

He thought that it had been a jaeger; it definitely looked like a seabird that had veered too far from the shore. It was a gull with a white breast and dark, blackish feathers — and a wingspan that made sure you couldn't miss it.

He remembered you pointing one out to him, at 3am, parked up on that deserted beach as the two of you stared out into the rocking ocean.

"Ya thinkin' 'bout 'er again, baby brother?"

Daryl could hear Merle's voice taunt, in the deepest, darkest corners of his thoughts.

"Tha' lil' birdie of yours?"

He quickly shook his head — even though it was the truth.

It had been Daryl's own mind that conjured up those words, after all. Merle wasn't actually here. He was probably back at the campsite, lazing about and leering after women far too good for a beaten-up redneck like him.

Though, funnily enough, Merle had said the exact same thing to Daryl when he noticed his gaze settling over the new bar server, who swiped away the froth spilling over from their draught beers. Merle had given him even more of an earful when he realised that his younger brother was waiting for her shift to end.

Daryl took a deep breath, before rolling his neck to try and relieve the tension that had built up there. Once his mind drifted into thoughts of you — even if only for a split second — it often sank to the point of no return.

You were all consuming; you had been from the first time he laid eyes on you in that old, country auto-repair shop.

He remembered the way your voice chirped like a bird's, despite the curses that often fell from your lips.

You even made those sound sweet.

And he could also recall the way you yelled over the rumble of his bike engine, and competed with the screeching that came from his tyres losing their grip on the worn-out tarmac.

You'd told him that it felt like you were flying — and that was probably the reason why Daryl Dixon couldn't shoot that jaeger.

Then, the man heard something louder than he had done since the world ended — and suddenly, the sky was no longer empty.

There was an explosion, and that dull greyness was set alight with brilliant hues of red and orange. It made fire start to rain down upon Daryl, who could only stand and watch below. Debris fell out of the sky like a meteor shower, landing beyond the trees in the distance — to a place that Daryl couldn't quite make out, no matter how much he squinted.

The air became full with the sounds of scraping metal and flickering flames that caught the leaves and made them burn up like the end of a cigarette. Daryl felt his heart race as the adrenaline pumped its way through his veins, and made him flinch each time something crashed heavily to the ground.

There was often a moment in a person's life where their brain got kick-started into gear — and they awoke from whatever auto-pilot they'd been functioning on until that point.

For most, it was probably a mundane milestone like marriage or parenthood.

For others, it might have been a life or death situation that made them re-evaluate their perspective.

For some, it had only happened when the world actually ended, and the apocalypse began.

And perhaps, if Daryl had been a smarter man, it would have been this instant — as he gazed up at the sky and watched it burn above him. Maybe this was his second life-changing realisation; maybe he was lucky enough to get two.

But, for Daryl, the first had just been a regular Tuesday.

The garage was sticky hot that day. It was the kind of heat that made you sweat no matter how many fans you had blowing — since Old man Dean was too cheap to install air conditioning. His boss was a bit of a stickler for paying his bills, and nit picky with his nickles, but he'd always been kind to Daryl.

That being said, working as a mechanic wasn't exactly where Daryl had pictured himself at his age; but then again, he couldn't really picture himself anywhere at all. He felt like that last piece of the jigsaw puzzle, which didn't quite fit in with the others — the one that you had to bend into shape just to make it work.

Sure, he enjoyed seeing the different bikes roll in and out of the shop — those models he would never be able to afford — and Daryl appreciated having a few extra dollars in his pocket for when Merle raided his savings to score some pot.

Besides, there wasn't much else to do in the boonies. Daryl's old man once told him that the only interesting thing to rear its ugly head out of Georgia's backyard in the last fifty years was Dean's Auto Shop. That's probably why Daryl started working there in the first place, as a summer job when he was teenager — and had never really left since.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, his old man had been right about one thing — despite the bastard never catching on to the role of father. He'd been right about the shop being the only interesting thing around.

Because it was the place where he met her.

And then she became the only thing in that small town even worth being interested in.

Daryl didn't hear a car pull up into the shop, but he heard the mumbling outside from where he sat in the breakroom — chewing on some of Dean's leftover pizza that was bordering on stale.

"Dixon, get your ass out here for a second, would you?" the old man yelled, banging on the thin wall that separated them with his fist.

Daryl cursed below his breath, throwing the rest of his food into the trash and dusting off his hands over his jeans. He stepped out into the shop, and was met by an unfamiliar face — looking over at him curiously.

He suddenly felt unexplainably nervous, and dropped his head down to his feet as though it were a reflex he didn't know he had.

"This is your guy," he heard Dean say, before letting out one of his usual chesty coughs.

The man smoked a pack a day too much — and that was coming from Daryl.

"Owner of that bike you've been eyeing, too," he went on.

That caught Daryl's attention, and he instantly glanced up at the woman in question. She was breath-taking, but she also looked very much out of breath. She seemed as though she had run here, despite the Georgia heat.

"You ride?" he asked, but his gruff voice made it sound like more of a demand.

He grimaced at his own tone, but the woman didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest.

She laughed, and it sounded like nothing he'd ever heard before. "I wish," she said, running her palm along the polished metal and tracing her finger over that shiny logo.

Usually, Daryl would bark at anyone who touched his bike, and Dean seemed as though he expected him to do just that — from the way he raised an eyebrow at the daring woman, too oblivious for her own good.

Except, Daryl stayed quiet.

"Was never allowed within a mile radius of one," she went on, before turning back around to grin at Daryl like it was easy. "My folks were scared I'd take off into the sunset, never to be seen again."

He could relate to that. After all, it was exactly what he and Merle had done as soon as they'd gotten the chance.

"Mhm," he hummed back, before glancing over at the car parked in the middle of the shop. "She's pretty."

It was a steel blue colour — would definitely benefit from a lick of paint, but still pretty nonetheless. The tread looked good on the tyres, and Daryl couldn't see any signs of the rusting those models were prone to. Someone had taken good care of it.

"Excuse me?" the woman asked, and suddenly Daryl was reminded of just how bad he was with words.

He cleared his throat, and ran his hand over the hood.

"Yer car," he explained, "'69 Chevy Camaro?"

Daryl asked, but he already knew the answer.

"Oh yeah, that," she replied, sending him an apologetic look. "It's my grandpa's, so we're going to have to be real discreet about this situation over here."

Daryl raised an eyebrow as she beckoned him to the other side of the car, crouching down near the wheel arch.

"Some bastard left a nail in the road, and I ran straight through the thing like it was a stop sign," she grumbled, pointing out the puncture.

Daryl almost laughed at that — but he was still much too jaded from being caught in the middle of his break.

The woman stood back up and toed the deflated tyre with her boot, scowling at the sight of it.

"I know you're closing soon, but I had to push it half a mile just to get here," she said, and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

Suddenly, her appearance made sense. Since he'd first laid eyes on her, all she'd done was tug at the collar of her vest, and try to stand in front of one of those poor excuses for a fan. But even then, Daryl couldn't quite believe her story.

"Ain't no way ya pushed that thing 'ere by yerself." The words left his mouth before he could consider them twice.

And the look she shot Daryl in return made him want to take them straight back.

But then, she smiled.

"I'm stronger than I look," she protested, leaning against the hot car. "You can ask the dozen assholes who catcalled me on the way but never offered their help."

This time, Daryl did let out a chuckle.

"Damn lucky y'ain't pass out," he quipped back, "heat's no joke."

She grinned again, and Daryl wondered whether she had an endless supply — or if she'd saved them just for him.

"Tell me about it," the woman teased. "Never liked visiting Georgia because of it."

Then, it all made sense to Daryl — the reason why she intrigued him so much.

"Y'ain't from 'round here, are ya?" he asked, surprising himself.

Usually, he couldn't give a 'rat's ass', as Dean called it, about anyone who stumbled into their shop. Never did they get more than a half-hearted greeting from Daryl, or a grunt as he told them to mind their head on that low door frame (she didn't have that problem). Though today, he seemed oddly talkative.

"Haven't seen ya before," he added.

The woman folded her arms over her chest.

"Would you recognise me if you had?" she asked.

"E'erybody knows e'erybody in this place," he answered. "I'd remember if I saw ya cross the street."

It was partially the truth. Daryl knew most people — but he only bothered to remember a select few.

"Moved here last week," she caved, proving him right. "I'm keeping my grandparents company watching daytime cable and doing grocery runs."

Daryl smirked. "An' runnin' over nails with their car, apparently."

"That, too," she confessed.

It was silent for a few seconds, and Daryl realised that he should probably give her a quote for the job. Though, she interrupted him before he could.

"Listen, your new neighbour would be really grateful if you could cut her a break," she said, eyeing the Camaro like she was considering whether it was even worth the hassle. "The old man's going to kill me if I come home on foot tonight."

Daryl knew what she was asking. The notice in the shop window made it clear that they'd be closing in half an hour; Daryl had been all but ready to flip the sign himself. Before she'd arrived, he'd even dared to think that he could shut early — and possibly get to crack open a cold beer and enjoy the breeze of his porch.

He sighed.

"I'll see what I can do," Daryl mumbled, "but I ain't makin' no promises," he warned — as he caught the way her eyes lit up at his words.

But that was a lie. Daryl knew he wouldn't let himself go home until it was finished.

The woman was utterly gleeful. He watched her smile much too widely for her face, and for a moment Daryl thought that she might even jump at him. But she seemed to catch herself at the last second, and abruptly stopped.

She didn't falter long, though. "Thank you, thank you so much!" she said, excitedly, before pausing to tap at her jean pockets. "I don't have any cash on me for a deposit, but I'm heading to work now."

She looked sheepish as she explained herself.

"I'll come straight back and pay in full," she added, trying her best to convince him.

Daryl narrowed his eyes like he didn't quite understand. Then he did, and he laughed properly.

"Deposit?" he asked, shaking his head. "City girl, here we jus' keep yer vehicle if ya can't pay."

The woman's expression was priceless. She looked as though she couldn't figure out whether he was joking or not, and stared at Daryl with her mouth slightly agape as she debated which it was.

He couldn't watch any longer.

"Where ya workin'?" he asked.

Then, he cursed himself for doing so. Time was ticking on, and he already had to stay overtime because of his inability to say no. Well, usually he had no problem with the word; it just seemed like it was stuck in his throat today.

"Joe's bar," she replied. "It's a few blocks over and-"

"I know Joe's bar," Daryl interrupted.

Everybody knew Joe's. It was the only place around that sold a decent draught beer. He'd been going there since he was a teenager — younger than he should have been, but old enough to know better.

"Me an' my brother go there a lot, but I ain't seen you 'round."

She nodded.

"Only started a few days ago. Hopefully they don't fire me for being late."

Daryl glanced at the clock. It was approaching his closing time and her opening one.

"Ya better get runnin', Camaro," he noted, tapping at his watch that didn't even work. "Rush hour soon."

The woman narrowed her eyes at the nickname. Daryl didn't know her real one yet, and felt like it was too late to ask for it. He'd have to catch a glimpse of Dean's log book later to find out.

"Will do," she replied with a smile. "Thanks again, Dixon."

Though Daryl couldn't quite work out how she knew his name, either.

He watched her scurry about collecting her things, and walked her to the entrance. The sun was starting to set — leaving the sky a pinkish orange that only made him squint the more he looked at it. He held the door open for the woman, and heard Dean snort from the back of the shop. But the way she thanked him made it worth the teasing.

"Take care of that sixties Honda," she winked, "she's a real beauty."

Daryl was surprised that she knew the model of his bike, considering she'd never even ridden one.

"If only ya knew," he mumbled back as he saw her off. "Will take ya for a ride one time if yer willin'."

She stopped in place. Daryl didn't know why he said that. It had just slipped from his mouth like oil from a can.

The woman laughed and rolled her eyes like she didn't believe him.

"That's what they all say."

Then, she started to jog down the street — just like she said she would — and Daryl thought her crazy for even attempting it in this midsummer Georgia weather. That woman had entered the shop like a whirlwind, and when she left Daryl couldn't remember what he'd even been doing before.

Dean cleared his throat and threw a rag at him that he barely managed to catch.

"Keep it in your pants, boy."

Daryl scowled at the man; he knew him better than that. So, he didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply, and instead got started on setting the Camaro up on a jack.

"She's a beauty, I get it," Dean went on, despite his silence. "Her type don't belong in a place like this, that's for damn sure."

Daryl had to agree with him there. He'd gotten a glimpse of his reflection in the wing mirror of her car and grimaced. He had grease on his face, and part of him cursed Dean for not telling him before he'd left the breakroom.

"But you know Mike and Doreen?" the old man asked, and Daryl nodded. "That's their granddaughter."

Daryl furrowed his brow — not realising he'd done it until he caught himself in the glass once again. Mike was a hard man, the type to straighten out any kinks in a person with brute force and that baby boomer spite.

"She may be real pretty, kid, but that one's trouble," Dean noted, confirming his suspicions.

He ignored the way he called him 'kid'. The old man still hadn't grown out of the habit — despite Daryl being well beyond his teenage years now.

"Trouble?" he repeated, like he couldn't quite comprehend the word being associated with someone like that.

Dean chuckled — but it turned into one of those coughs that made Daryl wince.

"Maybe more so than you," he said. "Got kicked out of the military, I heard."

Daryl spat at the floor, and Dean laughed again. They both hated those military dogs who often paraded through their town, looking at them as though they were trash beneath their government-issued boots.

But, if she'd been kicked out then maybe they could find some common ground.

Old man Dean wagged his finger at him, recognising Daryl's no-good expression; he'd become familiar with it by now, from all the times he'd worn it throughout the years.

"So don't go losing your head over her, Dixon," he cautioned, pretending not to know how good Daryl was at throwing caution to the wind.

"And remember to close up before you leave."

But it was too late.

Daryl had already lost his head, and his heart — but he wouldn't know that the latter was missing for a very long time.

You ran the cloth along the oak bar surface, wiping away any sticky beer rings that had been left there.

This is why we have coasters, you sighed.

It had been a slow Tuesday night, but you'd somehow still been roped into working the close. You tried to tell your boss that you were having car troubles, and had plans to stop by the garage on your way home — but he seemed to prioritise his own date over yours.

Well, you wouldn't exactly call giving the local mechanic his cheque a date; usually, you didn't have to pay for those. But you couldn't deny how it had made you feel when he smiled that smile your way — so small that you'd almost missed it — before you took off running out the door.

It gave you whiplash.

Perhaps he was just being friendly. But, then again, he didn't seem like the naturally friendly type. You shook your head, throwing the beer-soaked rag into the sink. You didn't trust that man in the slightest.

That wasn't a new development, really; you didn't trust most men. And, you often found that the ones who made your heart race like that were the worst of them all. He was trouble, that one, and you'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.

You untied the double knot of your apron, and folded it up neatly. There were a few whiskey stains on it — you'd caught a whiff of that top-shelf scent a few times now — but you were already too late to even consider putting it in the wash. Instead, you left it at the end of the bar, and swapped it out for the ring of keys lying there.

It was closing time, and you prepared yourself to run three blocks in the dark. You stepped out into the night, feeling the cool breeze on your cheek as opposed to the midday heat that had been there when your shift started. You flipped the latch and turned the key in the lock until you heard it click.

Then, you held them between your knuckles so that the jagged edge poked out.

"Ya done for the night?" a voice came from the shadows, and your heart dropped.

That brief second lasted a lifetime as the blood rushed to your ears like a strong current through running water, and your grip tightened over those keys. But then, you noticed the reflection in the glass panels of the door — and relaxed.

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of me," you scolded the man, "thought you were a dejected patron tryna jump me or something."

Perhaps he was; you still didn't know any better.

Dixon was leaning against that dingy brick wall, opposite the back door of Joe's Bar. You didn't even know what that other building was — but some sketchy figures usually loomed about it, so you tried to stay clear.

Maybe he didn't get the memo, you thought.

"Tha' happen before?" the man asked back, casually.

Though, the dim street lights overhead illuminated his face, and you caught a glimpse of his serious expression before he let it drop. He held a lit cigarette between his fingers — almost smoked down to the butt already — and it made you wonder just how long he'd been waiting for you.

"Maybe once or twice," you laughed, but it didn't sound as natural as you had intended.

You noticed the man's eyes flicker down towards the keys held between your knuckles, and you quickly slipped them into your jean pocket — hoping that he wouldn't pry. Luckily, he didn't seem like the type to unnecessarily butt into other people's business.

The smoke trailed from his lips and caught the stark light of the street lamp. He almost looked cold — bathed in that bluish tint which made those cigarette fumes seem nearly luminescent.

"You here to make sure I don't run off with your paycheck?" you teased, fishing out the wad of bills from your back pocket.

You waved them at him, and considered how precarious the situation may seem to an onlooker if they happened to pass by. The man looked as though he felt the same, since he quickly glanced over his shoulder down the alleyway — checking to make sure you were alone.

"Don't worry, Dixon, I busted my ass tonight just so I could leave you a nice tip," you said with a smile, handing the money to him.

He took it, slowly, as though he had to remind himself what it was even for.

Then, he let that cigarette butt fall to the floor, and stamped it out with his boot — before dragging it along the concrete until it was nothing but embers.

The man shook his head at you. "'M here on behalf of the welcome committee."

You snorted as you processed his words, and followed him out of that narrow alleyway into the main street.

"Bullshit," you called, "as if-"

You rounded the corner after him, and stopped. He was there, leaning against that pristine sixties Honda bike — spare helmet in hand.

It was parked up on the sidewalk, polished metal glinting in all its glory under those neon lamps. Dixon was almost camouflaged against it — his black leather jacket also speckled with white light. He held out that helmet, as if it were an invitation he was waiting for you to accept.

But he seemed shy — as though acutely aware that it was only an invite, and nothing more. So, you took it, and shook your head as you realised that it wasn't his spare helmet he had offered you; it was his only helmet.

"Said I'd take ya," he murmured, fastening the strap gently under your chin.

It was too big, so the man compensated by tying it tighter until you felt like your jaw was wired shut. But, you just smiled.

"An' I ain't no liar," he said when he was done, and kicked his leg over the bike.

Then, you sped off into the night.

You yelled over the sound of the engine for him to go faster, and laughed as you had to spit out the stray hairs that had blown into your mouth. Your clothes whipped in the wind, too, and you clung to the man in front of you as though you were afraid they might catch the draft, and make you fly away. It was electrifying; your whole body felt like pure static as you rode past shop displays and windows that made your reflections look like hazed blurs.

That whole trip felt like a hazed blur, really, because suddenly you were there.

"Where are we?" you asked, unsure of where 'there' even was. "Why'd we stop?"

You pulled the helmet from your head and cocked your leg over the bike. The man let out a chuckle at the sight of your hair, sticking up from the static — as though lightning might strike at any moment.

"Smoke break," Dixon grumbled, before coaxing out the squashed cardboard packet from his jeans. "You want one?" he asked, offering it to you.

You shook your head; you didn't smoke.

He shrugged in response, cupping his hands to his face to get a flame from his lighter. You left him to it, and turned away from the bike to catch the view.

And what a view it was, indeed.

You hadn't even noticed the sounds of the lapping ocean waves before you saw them. The cliff overlooked the beach below, desolate, with a high tide that drew the shore into you. Your grandmother had told you about this place once, on the phone a few months back as she tried to sell rural Georgia to you.

It wasn't like you were given much of a choice, anyway.

But now that you'd been shipped out here — against your will, no doubt — you had to admit that she'd been partly right. It was breath-taking. Back in the city, a place like this would be littered with beer cans and tacky, disposable barbeques within a week of someone posting about it online. Here, however, it looked untouched.

It was as though the two of you were the first to ever set foot here, on this particular crag that overlooked the waves — leaving your footprints alongside tyre treads for the next pioneers to discover.

You glanced back at Dixon over your shoulder — who was busy trying to look as though he wasn't already looking at you — and smiled.

He was one hell of a welcome committee.

Daryl almost choked on the fumes of his cigarette — letting out a cough that reminded him of the way old man Dean spluttered in the mornings. He really needed to kick that habit, he thought, and snubbed out his cigarette on the ground.

Then, you scowled at him, so he picked the butt back up and stuffed it into his pocket, grimacing at the thought of having to clean it up later.

He had been lying about the smoke break, really, but then he needed to carry out his excuse. Initially, he'd only thought about picking you up from the bar and offering you a ride back to the shop. He hadn't the slightest clue of how that plan had become this.

Somewhere along the way, Daryl might have accidentally taken a wrong turn, and ended up in the most scenic place he would think of. Stupid damn street signs, he cursed, as though he hadn't driven those roads a hundred times before.

Camaro seemed to call him out on his bluff, too, since she turned to face him and immediately shook her head.

"You're lying," she said, as though she were certain, "but the view is extraordinary, so I'll forgive you just this once."

Daryl swallowed thickly, tasting the tobacco that had made his throat so dry. For someone who claimed himself not to be a liar, that was all he seemed to be doing today.

Then, he watched you make your way towards the edge of that cliff, like you couldn't even hear him warning you to be careful. It was like you weren't paying him the slightest attention. Daryl was used to that from women — but somehow, this was different.

You didn't look down on him, nor at him with any hint of prejudice for wearing jeans still coated in oil, and boots he'd had to tape the soles of just to keep them together. In fact, you weren't looking at him at all. You seemed far more concerned with the stars that flickered in the night sky above you, but at the same time grateful towards the man for having brought you to them.

"You treat all your customers like this, Dixon?" you asked him.

He watched you turn around and look at him like you'd only just remembered that he was there. But, then you beamed a smile at him so bright that it put the stars to shame — and made all of your other ones look dim in comparison.

"Y'ain't special," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Jus' given' ya a lift home 'cos Dean told me to."

Though, Dean had left the shop hours ago.

Daryl watched you laugh like you'd caught him out one more time.

"There you go again," you said, teasingly. "Do you ever tell the truth?"

No, he didn't. He always tried to, but oftentimes it never did him any good. The people of this town had already made the assumption that he was a natural born liar. You were the first person to ever make the distinction between his white lies and those other types.

All his life, Daryl had been pigeon-holed into the role of good for nothing redneck, and had only recently graduated to the slightly less stereotyped town mechanic. But that night it was as if someone, for the first time, tried to get a peek at whatever was underneath.

Old man Dean was right. You were trouble — but not for the reason he had said. You were trouble because you seemed entirely unaware of your place in the world, and it made Daryl start to question his own. You seemed nice — perhaps even lovely — but Daryl never trusted those types. He knew you were far too good to be wasting away the early hours of the morning with the likes of him — and it left him wondering what exactly you wanted.

You'd already paid for his services, after all.

"Thank you for letting me see the stars again," you breathed, stretching your neck which ached from staring at the sky. "It's been a while."

Back then, Daryl didn't quite understand what that meant. He'd thought perhaps that you'd been talking about city pollution.

On the way back, Daryl felt you cling onto him tightly as he drove through empty roads, and passed the old, flickering street lights that blinked like camera flashes. But, when his fingers accidentally brushed up against yours, as you both reached for the shop door, you pulled your hand away.

It had only been a random Tuesday — that had eventually rolled into a Wednesday by the time he'd gotten you back into your repaired Camaro — but that was the moment in his life where Daryl felt like he had finally woken up.

But even awake, he often found himself lost in daydreams of the woman who crash landed into his life, and disappeared from it just as quickly as she came.

Daryl followed the trail of debris that had fallen from the sky, as though he were tracking some giant, metal bird. He didn't want to stick around too long, given that the noise had probably attracted every damn walker in the area; he just hoped that he was still far enough away from camp that they wouldn't be drawn there.

He stepped over the hunks of hot wreckage, some of it still ablaze, until he eventually came across something soft and not made of metal.

It was that jaeger. It was dead.

It looked as though it had been struck straight out of the sky. Its feathers lay scattered around it — the white breast now red with blood — and its wing was bent at a crooked angle, broken.

Daryl scowled. If he'd known that it was going to have such a meaningless death, then he would have shot it himself. Though, he still didn't add the bird to his string of dead animals; he thought that it had suffered enough.

He continued onwards through the brush until he stumbled across what he'd been looking for. But even as he saw it with his own eyes, Daryl couldn't quite believe it. Before him was the husk of a downed helicopter, burning in the middle of the forest.

Immediately, he ran to it, tripping over the wreckage as it got thicker and harder to navigate.

Though, there was no pilot inside — only radios and machinery parts that Daryl didn't know the names of. They screeched high frequency sounds as they caught on fire, and it made his ears ring the longer he listened.

So, he turned back.

That was when he saw it — them — a few meters away. His stomach dropped. Guess that's the pilot, he thought, looking up at the body tangled in the trees.

He'd never seen a parachute in real life before — only ever in the movies. He'd also never understood how that flimsy material could stop someone from plummeting to their death.

Well, in this case it hadn't.

The pilot was dangling from one of the branches, all caught up in those wire cables like a fish on a line. The limbs were contorted awkwardly, and Daryl swallowed thickly at the sight of their arm which had definitely been broken — reminding him of that miserable jaeger's wing.

He'd been all but ready to turn around and leave. The smell of burning rubber and the white noise from those radios would probably keep him up for the next few nights, but there was nothing he could do about that.

He'd been all but ready to turn around and leave, but then the body spoke to him.

"Dixon?" he heard it gasp.

And Daryl wondered just how many impossible things he might encounter today.

The voice startled him, and he almost stumbled over his own foot in return. Walkers couldn't speak, and they surely wouldn't know his name, either. Then, he caught the slightest movement, and recognised a jacket much too familiar. It had been his, after all, before he'd given it to you.

The pilot groaned, and Daryl recognised that tone of voice, too. He quickly fumbled about for his pocket knife, not even stopping to consider how the hell he'd be able to cut you down.

He couldn't even comprehend how you were alive-

"How's it hanging?" the voice spluttered.

-and how you'd kept that same god awful sense of humour.

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tags!

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A/N I’ve tried so hard to post this, sorry for all the technical difficulties...

[sunlightxing]

Show Me Some Respect

After working for years as a secretary to General Hux aboard the ship, the Finalizer, life could not have been better for you.

That was until Hux informed you that Commander Kylo Ren would be joining you on that ship. Almost immediately, you both resent each other, but after being forced to spend more alone time with him, you begin to wonder, what's so bad about him after all?

Tags on A03 Include:

-Force Choking (Star Wars)

-Fluff and Smut

-Face-Fucking

-Not How the Force is Used

-Armitage Hux Needs a Hug

-Kylo Ren is an asshole

-Y/N Makes Poor Choices

-Praise Kink

-Choking

-Cum-Eating

-Orgasm Delay/Denial

-Sexual Tension

-Sexual Abuse

-Y/N Goes Through A Lot

-Murder

-Possessive Kylo Ren

-Protective Armitage Hux

-Kylo and Hux Get Along Maybe Twice

Chapter 1: Do As He Says

A dread filled morning takes you by suspense when your boss, General Hux, riddles you with nothing but fear for your first encounter with the menacing, Commander Kylo Ren.

A/N: Hello to readers here on tumblr. I’m a little new to posting original work (especially writing) on here so bear with me as I figure it all out! I hope you enjoy my first ever Kylo Ren X Reader story (I dont use y/n cause I don’t like it, my deepest apologies)

Why’d you leave us?

A faint voice called out to you in the distance, so soft and silky, daintily whispering to you. Despite the initial faintness, it slowly began to get closer and closer, its volume ever increasing.

Your eyes fluttered open, but the bright sun blinded them, causing you to seal them shut once more. Eventually, they adjusted to the light, and you opened them to see so many large, and bare trees stretching towards the sky above you. White speckles, snow, were falling all around you, some flakes even landing on your nose.

It felt oddly peaceful, the soft moss around you feeling more comfortable than your own bed. It encased around you, smothering you with warmth and comfort. You kept your eyes shut, and felt yourself seconds from falling asleep on the slightly snow-covered ground. For just a moment, your reopened your eyes, getting one more view of your surrounding before drifting off. But then, to your horror, you saw that the ground next to you was completely covered in blood.

Your eyes widened in fear as you jolted away from your spot on the ground, and pushed yourself up against a nearby tree. The voice in the distance was coming closer towards you, and kept roaring louder and louder. The blood on the ground began to expand, seeping through the moss at an alarming rate. It surrounded the entire area around you, except directly where you were sitting.

As you glanced back up at the sky, the snow, which had now transformed into an icy hail, had begun to take on an even stranger form. In its image, flashes of their faces blew past you, and with it, followed the sound of their screams and cries. Pleading for help, for you to save them. The smell of burning wood wafted into your nostrils, and that voice in the distance was still growing louder. You knew that soon, it would be upon you.

"Wake up, wake up. Please fucking wake up!"

In a jolt of cold sweats, you gasped back to reality, frantically scanning the area around you to make sure it was safe.

"Just a dream, it was just a dream."

Your breath was sporadic, leaving you a panting and anxious mess as you pulled yourself out of bed. Even the smallest movement caused a massive amount of pain surge to through your head.

"I can't take another one of those nightmares." You thought, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand. You looked over at your clock groggily, and your heart sank upon seeing that you had overslept, giving you little to no time to prepare for the day.

The shower water was freezing when you initially turned it on, per usual. It always felt embarrassing to have to stand outside the door, completely nude, occasionally dangling your finger under the water to see if it had heated up yet.

Over 3 years ago you began working as a secretary to General Hux, and though there was a monstrous amount of glitz and glam thought to come with such a job, it couldn't have been more painfully annoying.

Sure, Hux was somewhat kind and caring towards you, but every other person you pitifully encountered treated you like shit. They'd throw their fits when you wouldn't deliver their papers, shine their boots, tasks they very easily could've done themselves, but simply refused. It wasn't the most difficult job in the world, despite the constant hazing. However, their was a shocking increase in secretaries amongst the First Order. It was most definitely due to the jobs incredible bore-ability, and the fact whoever was placed in such a position would be treated like garbage by everyone they encountered.

You rushed through your shower, only using the time to wash your hair and then yourself. The steam from the hot water had fogged your mirror, which made it hard for you to see your hair when putting it up into two long french braids. You pulled a few strands out in the front, trying to look somewhat nice since your uniform sure didn't help. It was a shapeless, olive green suit, with baggy pants, and thick, heavy boots. The hat that came along with it also wasn't very flattering, but it wasn't like anyone saw you other than your crewmates, and General Hux.

You took another swig from your cup of water as you stared out your glass window and into the infinite galaxy. Your brain decided to alert you of how Hux would be ridiculously pissed off if you were late, as today was one of the days you dreaded most of all since you began working on the Finalizer. The ship would be making its way back to Starkiller base, and you were anything but excited for that.

Several technicians raced by you, heading off to fix some malfunction in the interior of the ship. You always looked at them and wondered if they enjoyed their jobs here, or if, just like you, it was a love-hate relationship.

You entered the control room, staring the other programmers and pilots plugging away at their stations. Though they didn't technically fly the Finalizer, their work was incredibly important. You liked to think yours was important as well, but in reality, it was pointless. Technically, you were Huxs' right hand. As a result, he told you practically anything and everything. So it was more like you were a glorified therapist that followed him around like a lost pet.

"Cadet," a voice said behind you. General Hux was standing at the entrance to the control room, looking a lot more frazzled than usual. "Will you walk with me for a moment?"

You nodded, following closely behind him. Unlike usual, you decided to keep your mouth shut, hoping he would start to explain why he looked so disheveled and unnerved, but he didn't say a word. It was becoming harder to not acknowledge how his body trembled intensely with ever step he took.

"General, if I may ask, is everything alright?" You questioned sweetly, trying not to sound disrespectfully intrusive.

Hux let out a heavy sigh, stopping for a moment to rest against a nearby wall. "I am, not alright," he panted, his voice shaking more than his body was. "When we arrive at Starkiller base, you're going to have to meet The Commander, and I already know you two will not get along."

Your face recoiled as you began to dig into the back of your mind. "Did he mean Commander Ren? That stubborn brute?" You laughed to yourself, while Hux was seconds from engaging in a panic attack.

"This is no laughing matter cadet!" He hollered, his voice nearly cracking at every syllable.

You let out a long sigh. "Hux, I can deal with Kylo Ren. He doesn't scare me at all."

"He should scare you," Hux stated plainly. "My last secretary, before you. He made one simple mistake, and Ren saw to it that the poor boy was eradicated."

Your eyes grew wide with fear, darting away from his gaze so he couldn't see the horror on your face. Hux said it plain as day, if you made so much as one, small mistake, Commander Ren would personally see to it that you were eradicated as well.

Hux groaned. "We both work for the same Supreme Leader, which means I have to work with him." His breathing patterns began to grow more heavy and frantic, and his face flushed with a vibrant red.

You tried to calm him down, as you knew the ship couldn't make the entire flight back without his orders. The two of you had gotten rather close, and you had a lot of respect for him. He'd come in some days looking like he'd seen a ghost, and you wouldn't have been shocked if he had. If the Commander managed to make Hux, your boss, that anxious, you knew this couldn't be good.

After what seemed like seconds, you had arrived at your destination. Just the sight of Starkiller base sent shivers down your spine.

Sure, you'd been their plenty of times, but you never had to willingly interact with the Commander before. In fact, you'd never so much as seen the smallest fragment of his figure. Which would make his reveal all the more terrifying.

As you approached the landing bay, the large metal doors began to open to allow your entrance in. Hux came up behind you, his posture had been perfected, and all expression on his face had been wiped. He looked like a whole new man, and you weren't sure that if you wanted to get on the Commander's good side, you'd have to become a whole new woman.

"The Commander would like us both to meet with him in his quarters before he joins us onboard." Hux said, his voice shaking. You nodded as you took one more look at the hull of the control room, not sure if it was your last.

The pair of you made your way from the control room, to the landing bay. A small craft would take you from the Finalizer to the bay on Starkiller, but you wanted nothing more than just to stay put. There were ways where you could completely avoid the Commander for the entire duration he was here, you hoped. You would just have to hide in a waste bucket every time he came near Hux, and that didn't seem so bad. You groaned, glancing over at Hux as the cruiser landed rather dramatically at the center of the bay.

“Hux, he’s going to hate me, isn’t he?”

He sighed, placing an awkward arm on your shoulder, his attempt at comfort. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

As the pair of you walked down the long hallways of the Starkiller base, it felt as if you were walking to your doom. Which, in reality you probably were. Two stormtroopers had been sent to escort you from the ship to Commander Rens' quarters. They didn't say a word the entire trip to said quarters, despite Hux's several attempts.

Eventually, the four of you arrived at what you presumed to be the Commander's meeting room. The two troopers walked up to the door, placing a loud knock on it to signal their arrival, and then stationed themselves on either side of it. Hux took in a deep breath as he began typing into a small keypad attached to the entrance, and then, the door was open.

"Commander, my apologies on us being later than normal." Hux said, walking through the doorway to the meeting room.

"Oh Gods."

Commander Ren looked like nothing you had expected, though you couldn't really see all of him. He was tall, absolutely massive, his muscles practicality protruding from his sleeves. But his face, you couldn't see so much as an outline of that. Covering it was a thick, solid metal mask, breathing canal and all. He was a true Vader knock off.

He slowly turned around, a feeling of pure rage wafting off of him. For a brief moment, you were certain he was seconds from smashing Huxs' head in, but then he stopped dead in his tracks. His head titled from Huxs' body to your own. Though you couldn't see his facial expression underneath that mask, you new it was one of disgust.

"Who are you?" He asked, gesturing in your direction. You arched your eyebrows in confusion, could he not tell just by simply looking at your uniform?

"No answer?" Commander Ren scoffed.

"I'm his secretary, Commander," you stated, gesturing in Huxs' direction, "didn't you request my presence here? "

He shook his head, placing a hand on the front of that intimidating facial shield. The movement made it look as if he was gaining a headache from your small amount of talking. "This is who you had replace the old one?" Commander Ren hissed, "have you no shame, Hux?"

"Ren, she is very talented in her work and a fantastic secretary," Hux responded, glancing over in your direction. "She has made a fantastic replacement." You smiled, happy to know Hux would still show you some form of kindness around the Commander.

"Hux," Commander Ren stated, "I'll trust your judgment here." He approached Hux slowly, giving him ample time to make your poor General tremble in fear. The Commander stopped inches from his face, his mask nearly touching the tip of Huxs' nose.

"If she makes so much as one mistake, she's gone."

Your face recoiled in disgust. "Well, what the fuck?" You thought to yourself. Did he actually doubt your abilities that much? Or was this all some sort of twisted test of your competence?

The Commander darted his head around, glaring at you in rage. Your body went completely stiff as his masked gaze penetrated your mind. A trill of pain surged through your temples, like something was digging around in your brain for any scrap of information. "That language of hers will not be tolerated either." He spat, looking back at Hux.

"My what? The hell is he talking about? I have yet to swear!" Your brain was spiraling out of control, and that trill of energy still surged throughout your brain.

His ego was disgustingly immense, not to mention he was a delusional idiot. The fool was making up down right lies about you, and to wait gain? He was already addressing Hux in such a disrespectful manner, he didn't need to take it out on you as well. But what even gave him the right to talk down to Hux in such a manner? He wasn't in any better of a position to lead than the General was, not to mention the fact that Hux was a lot easier to deal with, and a lot less moronic.

Commander Ren stood in place, his body shaking violently with rage. Huxs' body was also shaking, but his was out of fear. This was the first time you'd ever seen Hux so threatened by anyone. Usually, he presented such a mass amount of authority and dictation. But here, he was nothing more than a coward.

The Commander gave you an over-the-shoulder glance, and in that moment, you felt time stop. The world around you faded into black. Now, only you and him were in that room, and fear and panic began to rapidly set in. Your body had turned chillingly cold, and air escaped you.

A flash of light hit your eyes, his leather glove reflecting off the overhead chandelier. Before you could get a warning out, he slammed his fist into the wall next to Huxs' head. His curled hand punctured the metal frame, sending hundreds of small electrical sparks flying, leaving bare and broken wires in its wake.

"You teach her to show me some respect, or I will" Commander Ren hissed, his clenched fist now inches from Huxs' face.

Hux folded onto the metal floor, panting uncontrollably as the Commander hovered menacingly above him. You stood gazing at the pair of them, completely motionless, gulping down the fear that was now lodged in your throat. Your pupils shook in horror at what you had just seen, how absolutely horrid your new ship companion was.

Commander Ren glared at you, watching as every inch of your body trembled at his presence. He scoffed, storming out of the room with a prompt slam of the door, the sheer force alone causing you to jump. You looked back at Hux, whose forehead was drenched in sweat, and a slight tremor was visible on his hands. Carefully, as not to frighten him more, you reached down for his hand, an effort to help guide him up off of the floor.

"General..." You pleaded, wrapping your hand around his own as you began to lift. Hux shook you away, pulling himself off of the ground, trying not to show weakness. It was obvious that he was embarrassed of your viewing of his encounter with Commander Ren, but he shouldn't have been. All that quarrel showed was the fact Commander Ren was a prissy little bitch, and tyrant.

Hux dusted off his long coat, and smoothed back his red hair to its original, kept manner. He bit his lip, holding himself back from lashing out against anything the Commander had just done. You hoped he would do it anyway, give you some sort of hint that he too hated Commander Rens guts. But instead, he stared intensely at the door, his eyes becoming bloodshot with rage.

"If you want to make it out of here alive," Hux gulped, "you must to do as he says."

You scoffed in disbelief. "Hux you cannot possibly believe that," you cried. "He isn't as high and mighty as he claims to b-"

Hux slammed his hand over your mouth, his bare fingers tracing over the lining of your lips. His eyes stared painfully into your own, showing so much fear and uncertainty. "I told you to do as he says!" He hollered, the veins in his neck protruding from his already rose colored flesh. Hux removed his hand from over your mouth, and with another brush of his cape, he was gone out the doorway too, much less dramatically than the Commander.

You turned around, looking at the meeting room remorsefully. Your life had just flipped completely upside down, and you know now that you had no say in anything that would happen to it. Hux obviously wasn't going to be any help in standing up against Commander Rens' tyranny, so it looked like you were on your own.

And you hated being on your own.

You walked back to the ship with shane covering your entire body. Every person who passed by you, whether it was a technician or a stormtrooper, seemed to be mocking you. While that wasn't at all the case, Commander Rens' doubt of your capabilities made it seem like everyone else doubted them as well.

As you turned a corner, so flustered and furious you didn't even know what planet you were on, another secretary slammed into you, spilling an incredibly hot and sticky liquid all over your uniform. "Oh my Gods, I am so sorry!" The girl whimpered, reaching for a cloth towel at her side to try and help dry you off.

You clenched your jaw tightly, worried all your rage might come flying out at her. She looked to be so incredibly overworked and stressed, just like you were about to be. You wondered if she had ever dealt with Commander Ren, or maybe her own General was just as terrible as he was, though you doubted that was humanly possible. You hated to admit it as much as the next person, but the treatment of secretaries, especially those that were female, could not have been more horrendous. Every one you had encountered had a horror story, or was currently living through one. Thankfully, your first job was with someone like Hux, a lot more patient and caring than any other. Thoughts crossed your mind of how awful your life would've been if your first job was to Commander Ren. Just the idea alone sent shivers down your spine.

The girl finally finished drying off the excess with a little help from you, but your clothes were soaked with whatever fluid she dumped onto you. Her eyes slowly began to swell up with tears as she stared at your ruined uniform.

"Hey," you said, taking her hand in your own. “There’s no need to cry. I'll go clean it myself, and it'll be good as new, don't worry."

She sniffled, reaching her other hand up to wipe the tears off of her face. Never could you have managed to snap at that girl, because you knew exactly what kind of suffering she was going through, as you had just dealt with the worst of it all. The girl hugged you in gratitude before scurrying back to wherever she came from, getting a replacement for the drink she had dropped. You took in a deep breath as you dreadfully looked down at your tarnished gown. Starkiller base was not somewhere you were familiar with, so finding a washroom was going to be far greater task than it should have been.

For what seemed like hours, you scanned each and every room across the vastness of the ship, hoping to finally find an area for you to clean off your soiled uniform. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched a stormtrooper exit a room with a fully washed, black undergarment, and you knew you had finally found your sought for destination. Rushing into the room, you hoped no one else would be inside, so you could quickly rip off your uniform and wash it without anyone seeing you in nothing but a bra and underwear.

Thankfully, no one was inside the washroom, giving you ample time to strip practically nude, and lock the door behind you as to not allow anyone to barge in.

Staring blankly at the machine that scrubbed and cleansed your attire, the chill of the empty room you sat in was beginning to sting your bare skin, your hair sticking up and goosebumps forming across every inch of it.

The process could not have taken any longer, but finally, it was washed, and ready to be moved to the next machine for drying. Minutes passed by as you sat in the cold and ever darkening room, rubbing up against the warm drying machine periodically as to not die of hypothermia.

"For God's sake, can you just hurry up!" You cried, slamming your foot against the machine, hoping that would throw it into a faster gear.

It did no good, the machine kept carrying on at its slow pace, causing nothing but agony and frustration on your part. You groaned, flopping back into the chair you had been sitting in, only for it to crumble into a hundred tiny pieces as you flopped yourself onto it.

"Mother fucker!" You groaned, lifting yourself off of the cold, metal floor. A bruise was clearly about to form upon your ass after that downfall.

"Language, cadet. That mouth will get you nowhere."

You spun around quickly, leaving your bra-covered breasts completely exposed to the eyes of Commander Ren, who now stood perfectly centered at the entrance of the washroom, the door closed behind him. Your eyes jolted to the lock that was now unfastened on the doorway, yet upon making eye contact, it clicked back into a locked position. Looking down, you noticed Commander Rens' finger was out of place from the rest of his clenched fist, and though at first you had no idea how he managed to weasel his way in here, now you did.

"The force?" You questioned in the back of your mind, watching the pointer finger retreat back to its clenched position.

His head tilted down, obviously showing his gaze had shifted from your eyes, to your almost fully naked body. You covered as much of yourself as you could, feeling completely flustered that so much of you was exposed to his eyes.

"What?" You asked. "Planning on insulting me again? Just get out."

"You're hung up on that?" He questioned, letting a small chuckle escape his throat. "I could have said so much worse."

You rolled your eyes at him, now hoping to make him so angry he would storm out like he did before. "Good for you, Commander. I'm sure you could've."

Silence reigned in the room longer than you would've preferred it to. You had hoped he would make some ridiculous, insulting statement so you could fire back at it, but he was silent.

"Do you mind?" You questioned, tilting your head towards the doorway so he could take the hint to leave.

"The ship was supposed to depart exactly 17 seconds ago," he remarked, keeping his gaze on your chest area, "Hux was going to be sent after you, if I didn't choose to."

You curled your lip sarcastically, letting out a small laugh along with it. "Well thank you so much for that, sir," you said sarcastically, again, gesturing towards the door in hopes that he would leave.

There was a long pause, giving you time to reflect on what he had just said. He would've had no knowledge your uniform had been soiled, tarnished by that poor girls dropped beverage.

So how the fuck did he know you were here?

He stood motionless. The only noise he exuded was the almost asthmatic breathing sounds from his mask. "Finish whatever task this is." Commander Ren instructed, finally moving his gaze away from your body.

He turned to the doorway, giving you a final glance before opening the door, and exiting the room. You stared at the metal frame in disbelief, the fact the Commander had just seen you in arguably your most venerable state was horrifying and embarrassing.

A slight movement on the door caught your attention, as the knob shifted back to its locked position. "Jeez, how kind of him," you scolded, turning back to the dryer that had finally finished its job, of course, right after the Commander had left.

After unlocking the door to the washroom, adorning your freshly cleaned uniform, you sprinted down the halls towards the bay. Thankfully, there wasn't a line of people standing outside the washroom waiting to use it themselves. For if they had seen the Commander in there with you, things would have just gotten so much more complicated.

You marched down the halls, now thinking about how ridiculously awkward your next several months of encounters with the Commander would be, now that your second meeting with him was when you were practically naked.

“Gods. This day cannot get any worse."

[ca-8]

Zuko x Reader Scenario: When You First Meet

She could get in so much trouble.

No disciplined, sane child would ever dare to sneak out at night, especially those with parents who act like the most important people to have ever existed. Parents who always expected their children to be well-behaved, respectful, quiet, and incredibly boring for every second of their life. Parents who don't have a clue of what relaxation meant, even if some sort of high-class professor gave them a month-long lecture about it.

Basically the kinds of parents (Y/n) was so sick of.

The nine-year-old bit her bottom lip as she ever so carefully pulled the door to the beach house shut. Once she was sure no one had woken up and was on their way to give her another five-hundred-hour lecture on her ‘ignoble’ actions (whatever that meant), she snuck down the stairs and dashed toward the direction of the beach. 

‘Is it this way? Or was it the other way?’ she questioned. She forgot, and her mind wouldn’t let her remember. Her heart was racing; she had never done something this audacious. If her parents had already woken up and discovered that the pillows under her covers were not her, she’d be better off being alone with a fully grown dragon while covered in the finest jewels. 

And yet, at the first sight of the moon just barely hanging over the ocean as its light painted a shimmering white streak over the water, she instantly abandoned the worry. Here, on the quiet, isolated beach, she was free.

(Y/n) took off her shoes, and her toes instantly sunk into the cool sand. Her eyes scanned the beach, from the giant rocks asserting an aura of dominance, the tranquil ocean reflecting the twinkling stars that partnered the moon, and instantly to the lone turtle crab. 

A wide smile spread across her face, and she quietly approached her favorite animal. It stood at the end of the ocean line, gazing up at the stars. Something tightened inside of her; it looked so...lonely. 

“Hello!” she greeted, perhaps a bit too loudly than she intended, when she bent over it, suddenly covering its view. The turtle crab jumped and shrunk back a little in its shell, though (Y/n) still could see its upside-down face. 

“Why're you by yourself? Where're your friends?” she asked, jumping down beside it and making sand fly all over her pajamas. It stared back at her, then ever so slowly emerged from its shell. (Y/n) gasped. “Do you not have any?”

The turtle crab only blinked in response. “That’s terrible!” she exclaimed. "Buuuut then again, I don’t have any either, so… Hey, why don’t the two of us be friends?” She got on her knees, and the turtle crab’s only view was her giant smile. It blinked again, not saying yes, but also not saying no. 

“Great!” she cheered, embracing her new friend. Though a turtle crab wasn’t really her original ideal friend, every single kid she met proved themselves to be the most stuck-up, boring, rude people in existence, so maybe this was the better option. “So what’s your name?”

She immediately felt stupid when it didn’t, or, rather couldn’t, respond. “Ehehe, right, uh, you can’t talk,” (Y/n) realized. “But don’t worry, I can give you a name! What abooouuuttt….” The young girl scanned the animal for a quick moment before saying, “Misterrr...Snapper?”

It stared right at her, the moonlight reflecting off of its black eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She got up and bowed respectfully to the small creature, just like how her mother taught her whenever they approached someone important. “Nice to m-I mean, my name is (Y/n) (L/n), and I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Snapper.”

She glanced at the turtle crab again and let out a soft laugh, then carefully picked it up and put it on her head. Her stomach flipped, and she couldn’t help but envision how loud her mother would be when she’d tell her to get it off her head. But, for now, she put the thought aside and focused on being glad it didn’t panic and run off. 

“You’re weird,” she giggled, “I like you, Mr. Snapper. Now, what should we play tonight?”

The night always seemed to last forever, so (Y/n) and Mr. Snapper could do whatever they wanted without anyone saying otherwise. When the moon would lose the war over the sky with the sun, it could be the second she’d stop running around the entirety of Ember Island. 

But doing that seemed pointless. And Mr. Snapper didn’t look like the type to enjoy marathons or running in general anyway. 

“I know!” (Y/n) abruptly exclaimed, making Mr. Snapper bounce on her head. She gazed up, expecting to see his curious eyes, but only obtained the sight of the twinkling stars. “What do you think about being the Dark Water Spirit?” 

~

“He...He’s gone,” (Y/n) whispered in the deepest voice she could make, staring dreamily at the ocean line where the moon had almost touched the water. She glanced back at her princess, Mr. Snapper, who stood silently with the white shell on his head. She didn’t know why she expected him to say his lines in a high-pitched, princess-y voice. 

“Yes, this glorious land is finally free from the Dark Water Spirit,” the young noble said, moving Mr. Snapper in a way that made him appear as if he were talking in the high voice she was doing for him. “And now, we can be together, Noren.”

(Y/n)/Noren picked him up and stared into her mortal girlfriend’s eyes as huskily as she could (she also tried not to burst out laughing when she thought about it). “I never thought I’d fall in love with a mortal, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off of you, Yua.” 

Mr. Snapper/Yua blinked, the moonlight reflecting off of his/her eyes. The shell began to fall off his/her head and (Y/n)/Noren fixed it quickly. “Does that mean you’re going to stay mortal? I can’t exactly marry a dragon, you know,” Mr. Snapper/Yua “said”. 

“Hm, let’s just say you’ll be seeing the best of both worlds. Now kiss me, Empress!” Yua and Noren gazed into each other’s eyes for a blissful eternity, and they slowly leaned into the moment of affinity. Their lips were close, even though Yua seemed to be pulling away for some reason, and then-

“Um, what are you doing?” 

(Y/n)’s soul was yanked out of Noren’s body and forcefully transported back onto Ember Island. Inches away from her face was no longer Empress Yua, but Mr. Snapper without his crown. And standing a few feet away from them was none other than Prince Zuko. 

The Prince of the Fire Nation was here. He was standing right there. Staring at the daughter of a lowly noble as she was about to kiss a turtle crab.

Had the air only turned unbearably hot and heavy to her or did something set the moon on fire? 

“Nothing,” she answered immediately in Noren’s voice. (Y/n) cleared her throat, mumbled an “I mean”, quickly held Mr. Snapper by her side, then put on the most innocent smile she could muster. “Nooothing,” she said in a voice much higher than it was supposed to be.

The Prince stared at her like she was standing on water and speaking three different languages all at once. “O...kay…” he said slowly. 

'Who taught you to talk in such an absurd way to the Prince?' her mother's voice suddenly echoed within her mind. 'Fix your posture and throw away that ridiculous smile. And please, dear, speak NORMALLY.'

“S-SO!” she yelled, making him jump and instantly breaking every one of mind mother's rules. “What’re you doing here? On this beach? That my, uh, family bought? I think? Cause you, uh, have your own beach, cause you’re a prince, a-and...um…” Her smile widened despite her infinitely growing urge to bury herself as deep into the ground as possible and hide there forever.

“This is actually my family’s beach,” he said with eyes knowing this was the dumbest girl on the planet. “You’re the one not supposed to be here.”

'Once again, you're acting like an embarrassment to our family,' mind mother muttered.

Everything inside her twisted and tightened and told her to run. Though there were tsunamis of embarrassment hitting her relentlessly, there were also tiny ripples of realization. “Huh, so that’s what that sign meant when it said ‘Prince Ozai’s Beach’,” (Y/n) commented. 

The Prince winced. “What? Are you-?”

Her eyes widened as they caught the animal he held in his arms. “IS THAT A TURTLE CRAB?” she shouted, then ran up to the boy and bent down to get a better look at the other turtle crab. Prince Zuko jumped back and hissed at her to be quiet, and her instincts told her to bring back the courtesy for him she had just thrown out the window. However, she only inched closer because LOOK AT THAT ADORABLE LITTLE FACE HOW DID SHE NOT NOTICE IT EARLIER?

"Awww, so cuuuute!" She reached out to pet it, but it sank back in its shell. Mind mother sighed, creating a tiny hint of guilt inside her. 

"H-Hey!"

(Y/n) looked up at the nine-year-old Prince, glancing back at the turtle crab every few seconds. "Keep your voice down or else you'll wake up the whole island!" Prince Zuko whisper-shouted. 

She stood up, cocking her head, then caught a glimpse of the turtle crab again. "What're you doing with it anyway?" 

"Um…" He glanced down at the turtle crab. "N-None of your business!" he insisted hurriedly with a hint of pink on his face.

She squinted her eyes at him, and the stern look in his onyx pupils faded away to the same confusion from earlier, then discomfort when more quiet seconds had passed. "You're...here because Miss Green broke into your room but you couldn't keep her there so you brought her back to shore because you wanted to make sure she made it back home safely!" (Y/n) took in a large breath, filling her almost-empty lungs.

The Prince stared back at her with widened, bewildered eyes. "...Who?" he said. 

"Your turtle crab's name! I named it that because it reminds me of my first teacher, Mrs. Red, but since it has a green shell, well, you know. Also, totally off-topic, but have you noticed that red and green go so well together? I've been getting into sewing lately, and I was thinking that Ms. Green and Mr. Snapper, that's my turtle crab's name, by the way, could have red and green sweaters! Wouldn't that be adorable?" 

He said nothing. He didn't exactly look angry, but not really pleased too.

Her smile dropped, then she giggled nervously. "Sorry, I'll stop talking. A-And you don't have to call it that if you don't want to! Or name it at all! I-I was just-"

The Prince went against his fear of being caught as he let out the loudest laugh (Y/n) ever heard.

Her entire body felt like it had been engulfed by every firebender's element. Her family might as well have formed a crowd around them with their disapproving gaze. 'Maybe Mr. Snapper can help me start a new life under my bed,' she thought as she gazed at her feet.

"You're weird," the Prince suddenly said, chuckling. 

(Y/n) snapped her gaze up at him and saw his weirdly relieved smile. "Oh, thanks!" she said, feeling her own smile curl upon her lips. She wasn't one hundred percent sure if he really meant that as a compliment, but his face didn't hold any signs of mockery. 

Her stomach did a backflip. Was the Prince, one of the most important people ever, being...kind of nice to her?

Prince Zuko laughed again, then after a quick moment, his face went back to being serious. "Um, please don't tell anyone I'm doing this, okay?" he said.

(Y/n) beamed and nodded. She stood in silence for once while Prince Zuko sighed, walked over to the edge of the water, then placed the turtle crab on the rolling water. 

Mr. Snapper wiggled out of her arms and crawled over to Ms. Green. Zuko stepped back until he was next to (Y/n), and the two animals stood together facing the moon with their claws just barely touching. 

"Ah, that's so adorable!" (Y/n) squealed. "It's like Yua and Noren!"

Zuko turned and raised an eyebrow at her. "You know about Love Amongst The Dragons?"

The girl gasped dramatically, swiftly putting her gaze on him. "Know it? I'll have you know that I've memorized every single line of that play!" she said, holding her head high with pride. "I can perform every character at any time! In fact, I was doing just that before you interrupted my final act." 

'You do realize you're still talking to someone much more important than you, right dear?' mind mother whispered. (Y/n)'s grin was wiped off her face along with most of her pretension. 

Surprisingly, he didn't look offended. "That's my favorite play, too," he said with a hint of enjoyment on his face. "Was that why you were about to make out with your turtle crab?"

She blushed furiously and pouted, averting her eyes. "M-Maybe…and his name's Mr. Snapper..."

Prince Zuko chuckled again and after a moment of weirdly comfortable silence, a frown appeared on his face. "Hey, I need to head back. And you should go in case the guards kick you out."

"...Th-There are guards here?" (Y/n) whispered. She ran over and fiercely hugged Mr. Snapper, then went back over to him, her voice slightly increased. "Why didn't you say so?!" 

He smiled the most carefree grin in the world. "I thought you knew, since you're on my dad's beach."

"Well, it was nice meeting you Prince Zuko, but now I need to figure out how to escape before my parents have to get me out of prison." She quickly bowed, her heart fluttering at the sound of the Fire Lord's grandson enjoying her joke (hopefully it stayed like that). 

"Wait!" he suddenly called.

She was beginning to run back to the beach house when he did. (Y/n) turned around and said, "Yes?"

"Um," he started, hesitating. The young girl cocked her head; someone like him shouldn't be nervous about talking to someone like her. If anything, she should still be the one hesitating and worrying about what to say. "What's your name?" he finally asked. 

She flashed a grin as the moon began to lower into the light pink sky. "(Y/n), Your Majesty." Before he could respond, she ran off the beach as fast as she could, hoping to see her parents still asleep within the beach house.

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from of blood drawn, book three of the revolution of nimath: amberberry jam on brown bread

word count 1497 (long I know but this scene is very near and dear to my heart)

welcome to your first excerpt from the blood series!! book 3 has been getting the most inspiration from me, though now book 1 is close on its heels, which is good for nano purposes. i have been working on this scene for about a week, and finally finished it now that ootp is done. enjoy your first glimpse of tanil (yes his name is tanil not talin yes it's a long story) and leal as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

~

I was taking a walk one afternoon, hands in my pockets on the cool spring day, when I came across the terrace where I had seen the emperor so many times before. I hadn’t seen him for the last four days, so I wasn’t expecting to find him there. I wasn’t seeking anything but some quiet, some respite from the world. I leaned my forearms on the balcony railing and looked out over the mountains.

At the call of, “Hello, Talin,” I turned sharply in shock.

The emperor sat on the edge of the railing to my right, smiling. He had somehow escaped my notice.

I took him in. His color was paler than usual, even as the afternoon sun painted gold onto his face. He sat on the edge of the railing without a problem, like it wasn’t a sheer, bone rattling drop to the bottom of the foggy mountain valley far below us.

He was swathed in his usual bright red coat with the open front, long sleeves hugging his arms and wide coattails flaring around his legs like a skirt. The coat would always trail behind him when he walked, swimming around him like an ocean of blood. Blood. I couldn’t not associate it with him now. Bloodlord.

The coat was the same, but the paleness to his cheeks and his drawn brown eyes were different, as well as his messy hair. It was never perfectly arranged, but now it was apparent that his unkemptness was born out of exhaustion, not purposeful defiance of what an emperor should look like. Despite his usual ruggedness, he always perfectly attained the air of an emperor, at least in my opinion. I always thought he looked perfectly like an emperor. Perhaps not as an emperor should, but there would be no mistaking what he was, even now.

His messiness, however regal, showed his tiredness. Judging by how I hadn’t seen him since the night he came out of some kind of fit covered in blood, immediately falling asleep in his wife’s arms, I could only assume it was because of that fit that he looked so tired. Not just a look—it radiated off every inch of his bones, in the shape of that smile. I wondered how much of it was forced for my sake, if he had been sitting slouched and sighing before I showed up.

“Would you like some?” he asked, holding something to me. I peered at it closer—it was a slab of bread, covered with some kind of dark orange jam. “Amberberry jam. I grew up eating this every day. In times of distress, it brings me comfort.”

I raised my eyebrow. He was offering me a hint about himself and his elusive past, as well as a hint about his mood. I took the nuggets he offered me and stored them greedily in my scholar’s mind, though I tried to find a part of me that wasn’t utterly enraptured with him. I wanted so badly not to give a flying care about anything he did, but the part of me that had served in the Talthean court for three years demanded I keep and store all the data I could about everything I could.

“I think you would like some,” he decided after I failed to answer, taking a fresh slice of the pale brown bread from the table beside the railing and slathering it with jam from a pot on the tip of a knife. He handed it to me like one would an offering of peace, a great boon. I accepted it, still silent.

While I bit into it, exploring the explosion of sharp, bitter tang from the jam and the soft sweetness of the bread, he asked, “Any insults for me today, Talin?”

“No.” I could hardly decide what to think of him. No amount of looking at him, observing that his eyes were very starkly brown instead of blood red could help me determine what exactly I was looking at. So like himself, and so unlike it.

Some parts of me told me this was a shell of the man I was used to, others told me this was his true form, hale and exhausted. I wondered what façade of his he showed me, if any part of him that I had seen was real. The truest example I could think of was the man I had seen three nights ago, bleeding from nowhere in his wife’s arms.

“This is very good,” I said, about the bread he had offered me.

He brightened, the life returning to his face for the first time. “I knew you would. Would you like to try some jam by itself?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t reach for the pot of jam immediately. Instead, he stared into the distance, acting like I wasn’t even there. I wondered what he was thinking. I was always wondering what he was thinking. He didn’t volunteer any information about what I had seen in his room three nights ago. I didn’t ask—not because I respected his privacy, but because I knew he wouldn’t give me an answer. Or so I told myself.

“What would you do, Talin,” he asked quietly, “if you were presiding over an empire of fools who all thought you were the greatest fool in their midst, badly enough that they started a civil war with you over it?”

I blinked. I hadn’t expected him to be so direct with me. My scholar’s mind provided an answer quickly. “That depends on what you’d want to get out of them, Your Majesty.”

“Oh?” He looked at me while he ate like I was the most riveting man in the world.

I also hadn’t expected him to take my answer seriously. I thought he was just asking a rhetorical question, talking to the wind, as they say. I knew he was just placating me by allowing me speak—he couldn’t possibly want my actual input. Of his empire of fools, I was one of his most prominent. I had solidified my fate the day I saved his life.

I swallowed and continued. “If you want them to respect you, that’s a different issue. But if you simply need something out of them, you would use the law against them, or simple diplomacy. But if it didn’t matter what they thought of you, only that you got what you wanted, you wouldn’t have to make them like you. Getting someone to like you is infinitely harder than getting them to give you what you want.

“Of course, that wouldn’t be a permanent solution, because rulers who unite like that always get bitten by their lack of compassion, but for a temporary means it would do.” I took a breath, remembering where I was. But the emperor didn’t seem offended by my presumptuous advice. Nothing ever offended him.

He snorted, running his thumb over the crust of his uneaten bread slice. “I find myself forgetting at times that you served in your own court. You sound like Ahnias.”

This compliment warmed me; I respected Ahnias a great deal. To be compared to them by none other than the emperor himself was greater than my deepest desires.

He tilted his head, looking at me directly again. His eyes were an endless, deep brown. “Actually, no, you don’t.”

My heart sank.

“Ahnias wouldn’t suggest something so merciless,” he said. “Ahnias would search every angle to find the kindest one that worked in the favor of every party, even if that party was your enemy.”

A deep sort of shame washed over me. I existed in this court to defy the emperor, to snap at him, to act as none should. I searched for an insult or an instinctive retort to bite back at him as I always had, but I couldn’t think of anything. And I found, inexplicably, that in that moment I didn’t want to hurt him. He had never looked so delicate and yet so powerful at the same time. I didn’t want to shatter it. To realize this was startling, it shocked me into silence.

He finally handed me a spoon with a glob of jam on the end. I licked it off, then grimaced at the unfathomably bitter taste. I wished I had some drink to wash it away with, but I was stuck licking it out of the corners of my cheeks for minutes after.

He laughed at my expression. “It’s foul by itself, I agree. But with this”—he slathered more on a piece of bread and handed it to me— “it turns into something beautiful and delectable, digestible and pleasant, with just the right amount of tart. A bit like you and me.” He popped another piece into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, scanning the sky with his eyes like it held all the answers he sought.

I was glad my mouth was full, so that I did not have to reply.

[raffinit]

Sylvaina // 8. Regency AU - Person A inheriting Person B’s father’s estate and the only way to keep Person B’s family out of the poor house is for Person B to marry Person A.

I’M SORRY THIS IS SO TERRIBLE IT’S TERRIBLE I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO REGENCY

I’M SORRY IT’S SO SHORT BUT IF I START IT, IT’LL NEVER FINISH

@saudadedreams

------

It was as bleak a day as one would expect for a funeral. Upon the shores, they gathered; the hanging clouds overhead wept as much as her mother, who clung to her arm with pallid fingers and eyes rimmed red. Her own eyes ached viciously with what precious little tears she had shed during the service, for she was a Proudmoore, and Proudmoores carried themselves with the dignity expected of their station.

She was a Proudmoore. One of the last few now.

The priest finished the rites; her mother detached from her side and reached for the torch held in his hand.

The torch flickered and flared as a wild gust of wind came with the tides, but the straw bedding lit. The fire rose into a roaring blanket heat in moments, and her father’s men heaved the boat from the shore. By the time the boat had sailed towards the horizon, it was nothing more than flames.

In the distance somewhere, the church bell tolled.

-----

That evening, a storm swept onto the shore with the tides. The darkened sky split open with a violence that shook the windows on their panes and rattled all that moved. The servants and maids scurried through the halls like the frenzied nest of rats from the larder, armed with candlesticks and oil lamps as they clamoured among themselves to nail down windows and shutters.

She sat with her mother by the hearth of the study, the fire blazing amidst great splits of wood. The smell of the sea crept in through the seams of the windows and the cracks of the doors; earth and brine and embers together. She sat and sipped on a toddy, warm between her cradled hands as she stared into the dancing flames.

She should have known, truly; what the storm would have wrought. As the servants bustled and shouted, and more feet thundered down the hallways to the main doors. She looked up at the doorway, apprehension curled tight like a boulder in her belly as the doors to the study creaked open.

“Deepest apologies, my lady,” their butler said, bowing low. “I do not mean to intrude. But the Lord Greymane, Esquire, has come.”

“Send him in,” her mother said wearily. “Bring him a towel, and perhaps a hot toddy the same. Quickly now; before the storm takes him as well.”

She frowned, and the warmth of liquor loosened her tongue to speak. “Can’t he leave us to grief but for a day? Surely the will can wait.”

“Jaina,” her mother chided. “Such things cannot wait for even the earth to settle on most graves. It cannot wait for your father’s body to turn to ash.” She watched her mother lean back into the chair and drink, watched the grief manifest in shadows. “Your brothers are dead, and now your father. We are all we have left in this world, my darling girl. You and I alone.”

Jaina reached out and clung to her mother’s hand with the same desperation of a child frightened from its bed. “Mother —”

Lord Greymane appeared then, with the chill of the outdoors nipping at his heels. He shook the damp from his hair and brushed it from his coats as a servant girl came to him with a towel. “You must pardon me for such rudeness, Lady Katherine,” he said, with a look of deep contrition. “For my appearance and appearance. I would not have pressed the matter had I been given the choice.”

“Sit, Lord Greymane,” Katherine Proudmoore replied. “Warm yourself. We must speak.”

Lord Greymane warmed himself briskly by the fire, hands outstretched against the flames. “I shan’t dither on the matter; you must already have a notion of why I am here.”

“Yes,” replied her mother quietly. “The will.”

There was a grimness in his face that unsettled Jaina; she set her glass aside lest she tumble it from her hands. “Which brother did he leave it to, then?” she asked, though her mother’s reproach was clear in the look she received. “Let us be frank, Lord Greymane. You have been my father’s lawyer for many years. You are but family now. We are in the privacy of our home. Let’s not stand of propriety where it isn’t needed.”

Sighing, the Lord Greymane turned to her with a saddened look of fondness she often saw in her own father’s eyes. “‘Tis true; I cannot bring myself to keep this from you for longer. My dearest Katherine, my heart aches for you, and my mind rages. But it is as it has been signed — Proudmoore Estate has been sold.”

Katherine gasped, though the sound itself was swallowed by a ravenous thunder from beyond the walls. “S-sold —”

“If it would ease your mind to know that your lord husband has bequeathed a generous sum to support you and your daughter —”

She could not comprehend it. There were words still coming from her father's lawyer's mouth — for she could certainly see it moving still — but there was nought that she took to comprehension.

Jaina shook her head incredulously. “I don't understand. This land has been in our family for years!”

“The laws of perpetuity are as such, my lady. As it is, the new landlord has proof of purchase and surrender of the estate and all its worldly possessions therein —”

“Oh, Daelin,” her mother moaned. “How could you?”

“That can't be right. M-my brothers —”

“God rest their souls —”

“They wouldn't have allowed it!” She rose from her seat and stared at Lord Greymane with a wild, frenzied desire to throttle the man. Were she of perhaps a daughter of lower birth; were she perhaps a daughter of the village grocer, perhaps she might not have a need at all to throttle him.

But she was not. She was a Proudmoore.

Lord Greymane gave her a chastened shrug, peering at her mother. “Unfortunately, Lady Proudmoore, the decision was beyond their control. Proudmoore Estate was signed by perpetuity only to your father's line...from your great-grandfather. In light of which, the Proudmoore line can no longer hold these lands to their family name. Proudmoore Estate has exchanged hands.”

She swayed on her feet and sank down onto the chaise, clinging desperately to anything that would keep her afloat. “Who,” she whispered. “Who is the new master of our home?”

“...The Windrunners.”

------

Amidst the weight of silence and storms, she spoke, no louder than a whisper. “What do we do?”

Katherine Proudmoore turned to look at her daughter, the seafoam of her eyes dim with grief. “What can we do?”

Lord Greymane reached for a stack of parchments tucked within a pocket of his coat. “I’m sure if we discuss this with Lord Windrunner, he would be amenable to having you as tenants —”

“Tenants?” Jaina cried. “In our own home? Preposterous!”

Sharply, Katherine said, “What would you have us do? Beg for our living in the slums? Die penniless with our family name buried at sea with your father?”

“How do I stop this?” she beseeched Greymane. “Surely there must be a way.”

Lord Greymane peered at her, shifting the weight on the balls of his feet with discomfort. “Well, there is, of course, marriage —”

She thrust out her chin defiantly. “Then I shall wed a Windrunner. If he be willing.”

“My lady —”

“I care not to whom I give my hand. Whether he be as old as the very earth this home stands, or whether he be crass and unkind and uncouth —”

“Jaina!” her mother cried.

She continued, no matter the tremble in her hands or the terror building in her spine. “I shall be a second wife — a third. A mistress. I care not. I shall bear him a hundred sons —”

“N-now —” Lord Greymane reached out a hand in the air between them. “That would be unnecessary —”

She met his gaze with a steely one, daring him to speak more. “So long as my family shall always have a place here.”

“It is a woman,” he blurted, and the room went still. “A daughter. Lord Windrunner bequeathed this land to his second daughter. His only heir worth the title now, with two daughters married.”

Her belligerence would not settle, no matter the shock. A woman would be easier to speak reason to, surely; and no doubt a woman of sound mind and logic, if this Windrunner is heir — “I would wed her regardless,” she said boldly. “I am my father’s last living child. I am, in God’s eyes if not the law’s, his only living heir. If she can inherit, then I shall do so the same. Whether it be by blood or by marriage.”

“You must surely understand the weight of your declarations,” Greymane murmured. “If I propose this, and she refuses —”

“She will not,” Jaina proclaimed. “I shall make it so.”

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 6

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Mirror Sex

<- Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 ->

Summary: The night Dr. Chilton asked you to marry him was nothing like either of you expected. (Have a little domestic fluff smut flashback. As a treat.)

For @thatesqcrush​’s Kink Bingo challenge! (Can be read as a oneshot if you’re just here for smut)

2,083 words

“Marry me?”

You inhaled your water and started choking on it, hacking and beating your chest to clear your lungs. “W-what?” you coughed, eyes widening at him where he stood in the bathroom door. You’d been expecting him to propose the entire time you were in Paris—a grand, dramatic, Frederick Chilton gesture, dripping with tasteless opulence. Not in your bedroom as you were unpacking suitcases and getting ready for bed.

“Marry me,” he repeated with more conviction, puffing out his chest, though his voice then wavered and he quickly said, “If you want to. Please?” He kicked himself for the pathetic addition and wondered if he shouldn’t just crawl on his belly and beg.

“Frederick,” you beamed, leaping over the bed to cross the room to him directly. Cupping his cheeks, you felt the stubble of his jaw scratch under your palms, letting your fingertips plunge into his hair as your thumbs caressed over his ears. You drew him into a kiss. Tender but brief. He was still waiting on an answer, hands twitching impatiently as they took up their usual place around your hips. You cocked your head. “You’re not going to get down on one knee or something?”

His cheeks heated beneath your hands. “I… do not have a—a ring to…” he stammered and swallowed.

“Really? How many rings do you own? You couldn’t spare one?”

“That is not the same! An engagement ring is—” His exasperated explanation halted abruptly as he realized you were tormenting him to amuse yourself. The corners of your eyes crinkled mischievously. He grumbled and lightly swatted your behind. “I saw you sipping a glass of water beside the bed, and I suddenly could not imagine my life without you. Is that foolish?”

“Frederick H. Chilton, was this was a spontaneous proposal?”

His ears turned red and he looked aghast. “You are right. This is not how it is done. Forget I said anything, and I shall arrange for something more romantic, and—”

Your lips crashed hot and passionate against his, your heart nearly bursting. He moaned with surprise into your mouth, stumbling back against the door frame as you pressed more of your weight against him. “Shut up. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” you panted inches from his face, breathing in his air.

“It is?” He tipped his head to press his lips to your again. You closed your eyes, humming in the affirmative.

“I’ve rubbed off on you,” you teased.

He made a disgusted face. “Vicious lies.” You were low class. A mess. Utterly hopeless when it came to fashion without his help. And warm, kind, and clever. Appealing to others instantly in a way he could never comprehend. “Do you think so?” he asked, and this time meant it with nothing but admiration.

“Yes,” you said softly, kissing along his jaw. He nuzzled into you, curling his hand around the nape of your neck.

“I suppose I have had an influence on you, as well. You dress better, at least.”

You kissed over his ear—he shuddered, fingers tightening, as you sighed into it and nibbled on the lobe—and down his neck. “I mean yes,” you murmured against his salty skin, sucking lightly at his pulse point. “That’s my answer.”

He drew in a long, unsteady breath, and blew it back out in one reverent huff. You were trailing kisses down to his partially-unbuttoned neckline when he caught your chin and ducked down to capture your lips. “I want to please you tonight,” he whispered low and huskily. An electric jolt shivered down your spine and pulsed between your legs.

He unbuttoned the silky shirt he gave you and kissed down your chest, sucking little marks into your skin, tracing a nipple with his pointed tongue. You gasped and coiled your fingers through his hair.

“Bleh!” he pulled back suddenly, smacking his tongue over the roof of his mouth. “Darling,” he said very seriously. “You taste like travel sweat and airplane. I was about to shower… would you care to join me?”

You took his hand and followed him into the bathroom. “Absolutely, fiancé.”

***

With a twist of the knobs, both luxuriant shower heads started to fill the room with steam. Having your own water streams so no one was ever left shivering waiting their turn made showering together much more enjoyable—another perk of a rich partner.

Chilton stood in front of the vanity taking out his contact lens and prosthetic teeth. A long, raised scar ran up his abdomen all the way to the base of his sternum. As one side of his mouth sagged under a foggy, unseeing eye, he thought about how much less he had become. He had finally found somebody who wanted to spend their life with him, who loved him, and all he had left to offer in return were the grotesque remains of Frederick Chilton.

“Are you being wistful out there?” your voice chided from behind the shower curtain.

“I am not being wistful!” he insisted.

“You better not.” You joined him in front of the mirror, wrapping your arms around his chest and leaning your head over his shoulder. “Look at that beautiful face,” you said, and kissed his cheek, watching him through the glass. He grumbled softly, but his eyes closed and he nuzzled against your lips.

You loved being able to see yourself kissing him. The sight of the two of you together, naked, sent a wave of—not just arousal, joy—washing over you. “What a handsome couple, huh? Look at us.”

He opened his eyes and looked. He didn’t like himself naked. You, he loved to see in any state of undress. You were always perfect. Even when you weren’t.

You drew your hand up and down through his soft chest hair, enjoying the texture. Like a teddy bear. Then you smoothed down over his abdominal scar, following it to its end, just above his hardening cock. You watched the reflection of your fingers close around it. Got a perfect view of his face going slack as you gently pulled back the foreskin and stroked the excited pink head.

Chilton tried to apply his usual sense of superiority to watching his body being used by you in the mirror, but all of his usual pride was in his clothing. In his flawless hair, and status-elevating cuff links. The polished figure he presented to the world. Not this. These were the ugly raw materials he had to work with. He criticized his stomach, too soft thanks to his sweet tooth, too scarred. His face…

But you loved him naked. It was difficult to keep drowning in his own thoughts with your chest vibrating at his back, your hand sweetly and insistently working him into arousal. You loved what was underneath his clothes most of all, and that puzzled him, hurt him, and pulled him to you with the deepest, warmest gravity.

You stroked his cock until he was rigid and thick, his pulse strong under your hand. Your other hand reached between his thighs, two fingers pressing into the skin behind his balls. He inhaled sharply and writhed beneath you as you massaged him, rubbing your fingers in slow spiraling circles.

“Th-that is… very good,” he gasped in approval. His eyes met yours in the mirror, and he watched your lips curl devilishly into a smirk before you sank your teeth into his shoulder, your hips starting to grind against him lustfully.

His heart was pounding in time with your movements, and he whimpered softly at each touch. You were going to send him over the edge too fast rubbing his ass like that. He pulled open a vanity drawer and grabbed a bottle of lube. “Switch,” he said. “I want to come inside you… not make a mess on the counter.”

The marble sink counter top was cold beneath your hands as he bent you over and rubbed his cock over your entrance. He moved quickly into position, missing the stimulating contact of your hands, but he worked you open slowly until he knew you were ready—until you pushed your hips back against his, sliding him deeper inside you, and begged him to fuck you—then set a firm, steady pace. The sound of smacking flesh filled the tiled bathroom.

“I love you,” he choked out, breath catching in his throat.

“F-Frederick—oh god,” you cried, looking up the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with claiming you from behind. “I-I love you, too.” His eyes were clouded with lust as his hips snapped rhythmically into you, drawing a moan with each sinfully deep thrust. The pace hitched as he noticed you watching him through the mirror, his mouth tightening, for a moment, into a crooked, self-conscious smirk. Then you grabbed his hand and tugged it between your legs to your aching sex, and your moans as he worked to get you off took up all of his attention.

He bent low over your back, his hot, ragged breath tickling the shell of your ear. His breathing was louder, almost sobbing with each hard exhale as his pleasure grew too much to bear, and his undisguised arousal drove the throb between your legs into a frenzy. In one sudden wave he broke, an oath of love for you trembling in his throat as he filled you with his hot seed.

He wrapped his arms around you, watching your face in the mirror, smiling back at him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, burying his sweaty face in your back. “I said I wanted to please you.”

“I am pleased.”

“You did not even finish, you terrible liar. Is the bar for my performance that low?”

“Frederick...”

“I see,” he continued, lifting his head, “Not ten minutes ago you agreed to marry me, and already you have resigned yourself to a lifetime of disappointing sex. How dull.”

Laughing, you pulled out so you could swivel around and face him. “Make it up to me in the shower,” you kissed him, sucking his lower lip, raking it between your teeth before it snapped wetly back to him. “We can put that feisty tongue of yours to work.”

He shuddered with pleasure. “Yes, dear.”

***

The tile walls were already dripping with steam from the shower you had wastefully left running. It reminded you of your vacation to a Virgin Islands resort. A destination wedding, maybe, you thought, stepping into the shower. Frederick was already chatting away about the ring he would buy you. You rolled your eyes and groaned.

“How big is the diamond going to be?”

“Enormous,” he growled, smiling against your lips as he joined you under the hot stream of water. He watched you shake your head in wry amusement, and thoughtfully ran his fingers along your temple and down your jaw, gently taking your chin. “That is not what you want… is it?”

“I was thinking something simple. Matching bands.”

He sighed heavily. “That is what wedding bands are for.”

“In a lot of cultures it’s the same ring, and you just switch what finger it’s on after the wedding.” You held up your hand, fingers splayed, to demonstrate. “Which makes sense—I mean, why buy two rings to mean the same thing?”

He snatched your hand from the air and nipped at your knuckles. “Every day, you surprise with how remarkably unsophisticated you are.” His brow was low and chiding, but his eyes were soft, and the curve of his lips turned upward at the corners. “You will never let me spoil you, will you?” He took a nibble of your thumb.

“All I want is you,” you answered, and brushed back the dark hair plastered to his forehead. Then you added with a grin, pumping your eyebrows, “And that clever mouth.”

His chest rumbled with appreciation as you pushed his shoulders. He held your eyes as he sank to his knees, his hands sliding down your wet sides. Your aching sex throbbed in anticipation.

“Maybe I’ll get you a flashy engagement ring. It’s more your style.”

He hummed in consideration. He liked the sound of that, actually. He liked being treated. “But I get to pick it out. Your taste can be… questionable.”

“We’ll go togeth—ah!” you yelped, back arching with an electric fire as Frederick’s mouth closed around your heat and began consuming you like a man starved.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 40

Read on AO3. Part 39 here. Part 41 here.

Summary: Out of curiosity, is it possible to have a party in Gilead that doesn't end in disaster?

Words: 5600

Warnings: emotions

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hello! Welcome back, again, to my weekly updates. Haha. I think the last few chapters may go a couple weeks in between updates, if only because I want to get them exactly right--just as a heads up.

I am hoping this chapter seemed correct in its pacing and length--these are two things I am trying to get a better feel for as I write, hence the extended length of the chapters, but I'm wondering if it feels too draggy?

Anyway, I love y'all very very much, and I love your thoughts and kindness and generosity. I am truly so lucky. <3

The Night Buzzard was hardly the most comfortable sleep you’d had, but it had easily been the deepest in weeks. Between the exhaustion of being fucked within an inch of your existence and the knowledge that a veritable army was only feet away from you, you felt invulnerable enough to slip into what apparently was complete unconsciousness for six hours. Nothing--not the rumbling of the terrain, not the voices of the Knights, nor the wailing of the engine--had roused you. Only a firm pressure on your shoulder was enough to finally drag you from your blissful semi-coma.

Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy with a film of sleep, coming to focus on the morning-kissed face of Kylo Ren.

Light filtered through the black-tint windows, splitting him in shadow, his expression soft and stern. His hair was filthy with sweat, clumped in frizzy locks over his forehead and ears, his chin and upper lip peppered with a hint of stubble. As you met his gaze, you could see nothing but tired, guttered rage in his pupils, an umbra under his eyes. His attention flickered over you, examining you, a warm, gloveless hand cupping your cheek, thumb tracing over the still-tender skin. You winced, and his head tilted, his hand skating down your arm, sparking affection in your chest. Affection you did not want. Frowning, you shrugged him off. 

His lid twitched, his jaw tensed. He glanced to the side. “We’ve arrived home.” Toward the front of the Buzzard, the Knights were shuffling, the door whining as it opened. “Once you shower and dress, we’ll be departing again.”

You blinked, tugging the robe to your chin and propping yourself up on an elbow. “Again?” you asked. “Why?”

“City hall,” he replied. “Tying loose ends.”

“Okay.” You shrugged, rolling over, looking at the wall. “You enjoy that. I won’t be going.”

Pressure on your shoulder again, turning you toward him, and you shook him away. “You’re coming.”

“If you’re concerned about my safety, leave a Knight or two outside.” A tiny smirk on your lips. “They’ve become pretty familiar with me by now, anyway.”

Kylo grumbled, gripping your arm. “You don’t have a choice.”

Spinning on him, you seared him in his spot. “What else is new?” you spat. “Go ahead, then. Make me.” You grit your teeth. “I’d really like to see you try.”

He stared at you, studying your face, lips pinching together. The last Knight stepped off the Buzzard, and the door closed, drenching you both in silence. You held him in your gaze, unyielding, breath stalled in your lungs. Kylo swallowed, and then averted his eyes, his conviction melting in the ferocity of your fury. The hold on your arm loosened--you grabbed two of his fingers, plucked them free, and tossed his hand to the side.

“Right,” you said. “That’s what I thought.”

Huffing, you clambered out of the bunk from the end of the mattress, pulling your robe--his robe, technically--over your body and cinching it tight. You felt Kylo’s gaze linger while you gathered your shoes and underwear into your arms, flouncing barefoot down the steps and into the front yard of his home. The sun was peeking into the sky, spilling newborn light through dawn clouds, the air still woven with the wool of summer heat. Sighing, you paced to the front door, arms folded with your belongings, trained on the floor as you escaped to your room.

When you shut the door to your tiny cell, you burst, hurling your clothes into the air with a howl, throwing yourself on your bed. It didn’t matter if you wanted to cry--you would continue to refuse, content to bask in rage instead, to let yourself simmer in it. You would tolerate no more kindness from Kylo Ren, no more exceptions in his design, no more delicate baths or malted whisky eyes or hope-hollow words. If he was to never let you go, you would never let him hold you again.

It was about a half-hour before the Buzzard peeled from the driveway, and the Audi with it. You allowed yourself a moment of respite in his absence--now was your chance to bathe and catalogue the thoughts flipping through your mind. Another long, soft sigh escaped your lungs, and you rolled out of bed, grabbing a change of clothes and new uniform before heading to your door, only to be met with the sound of footsteps in the hallway. You swallowed, paused, heart flipping. It could only be a Knight--you just hadn’t expected to be met in your room. When the boots stopped outside of the threshold, but went no further, you shook off your nerves and opened it.

One of the Knights--helmeted, as usual, God only knew what they looked like--stood in front of you, silent, as if it was totally normal for him to be waiting outside of your door like a sentry. Warmth rushed your face in memory of the previous night, acknowledging that he’d not only seen you naked, he’d stroked his cock to the sight of you being fucked, and he’d shot hot jets of cum somewhere onto your body. You supposed it’d be awkward to ask which load had been his.

“Um.” You cleared your throat. If only there was a way for you to glimpse his mind, to know what he was recalling--or imagining--in this moment. “Excuse me.”

“Apologies,” he sputtered. The voice was familiar--Ushar, you guessed. “Wasn’t expecting you to be leaving.”

“Oh.” Perhaps getting his semen blown onto your face afforded you the privilege of a conversation. Or he was concerned you’d be afraid, and then mention it to your Commander. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stepped toward him, and he pivoted, back to the wall, allowing you a wide berth as you passed. Fear seemed more likely. 

It wasn’t until you’d made it approximately twenty feet down the hall that he moved to follow, trailing behind while you snuck down the steps and to your bathroom in the annex. You opened the door and slipped inside, tossing your uniform to the side and running your bath. Seconds later, Ushar arrived at the door in silence. 

As alone as you could get inside Kylo Ren’s home, you shrugged off your robe, and scanned your body, seeking evidence of your evening. There was no mirror in your bathroom, just as there was not one in your bedroom--so you improvised, pressing your palms to your cheeks, mapping the topography of your skull with your fingers. Pain tingled at your touch, the lumps and bumps that had burgeoned overnight still thumping and soft, the bruises on your face stinging with latent life. 

They were all trophies, to you, little souvenirs from your holiday at his hands--and you hoped by the time you’d lost them, the feelings packaged with them would be lost, too.

When the bath was halfway full, you sank into the water, shuddering as tension and ache was vacuumed from your limbs. You gazed at your stomach beyond the surface, imagining it as an island in the bath--your skin stretched tight, belly button protruding like a tiny hill--and coasted your hands over it, as if this would manifest your illusion. When it finally did become reality, there was no telling where you’d be, what you’d be bathing in, or who you would have come to trust. But you knew that wherever you landed, it would be by the strength of your own wings, in a nest that, no matter how humble, was crafted by only your design.

After you were clean and the water had cooled, you hoisted yourself from the bath, arms and legs heavy from relief in buoyancy. You stumbled onto the tile and steadied yourself with the sink, taking a few breaths. Balanced, you dressed into your uniform and tucked your hair away before tossing your leftover items into the hamper and exiting the bathroom. 

Ushar was still stationed outside--your cheeks burned again when you walked past him, returning to your room. You’d had plenty of encounters with men--your red dress was proof of that--but in the past three years, the only person whose release you’d handled had been your Commander’s. The sudden fact that seven men had anointed you with cum within the past 24 hours sharpened the post-engagement awkwardness to a knife. Not that you regretted it. 

You shut your door behind you and flopped onto your mattress face-first. The sky was bright, but it was still early. There was nothing else for you to do but continue to sleep.

The sun had passed mid-point when a squealing cheer from somewhere in the home startled you awake, eyes opening into a blank wall. A little hint of dread poked your brain as you recalled what Johana had mentioned the day before. A party to celebrate. You grunted, wanting to bury yourself in your pillow--but cramped, stomach seizing in hunger, informing you that you hadn’t actually eaten in over 24 hours. Between the doctor, the Buzzard trip, and getting your brains fucked out and then jizzed on, your appetite had been whittled to nil. Unfortunately, you were still human.

Sighing for the five-hundredth time that day, you trudged out of bed, adjusting your bonnet before you opened the door to Ushar, steadfast as ever. He sidled against the wall again, and you once more plodded through the hall, down the steps, with him in slow pursuit. 

Another peal of laughter ricocheted off the walls, and your neck prickled. They were in the parlour room, whoever they all were, and it was required you pass the parlour room to reach the kitchen. Turning to Ushar, you cocked your head in a silent plea, to have even a sliver of a chance to be invisible. Perhaps, again, out of fear, he nodded, backing into the hall--and you willed yourself to be a scarlet spectre, unseeable unless you wished to be seen, in the hopes you could escape their eyes.

As you crept to the archway, one of the women clapped her hands.

“Oh, Johana!” she said. “I had one of those too! Perfect for the baby room.”

“Do you think so?” That was Johana, sounding concerned. “No choking hazards?”

“No way!” said another woman. “You just hang it up above the crib and they fall right asleep!”

“Yes, it doesn’t go in the crib!”

Johana laughed. “Oh, give me a break, I’m a new mom.”

The group erupted in giggles again. Your stomach churned--but not from hunger. As their chatter escalated, you stepped forward, visible through the threshold, and every word on their lips died. 

In the center of the room was Johana, perched on the edge of the leather Chesterfield with a mobile in her lap, buried in a mountain of handmade baby clothes, toys, and room decor, a bevy of neatly wrapped boxes still unopened. Surrounding her were at least a dozen Wives, none of whom you recognized apart from Dolpheld Mitaka’s--you supposed the others had become Widows. They scrutinized you in confused disgust for a long, quiet moment.

It was almost shocking, how quickly they’d pulled this amount of material together, but you also knew most Wives stockpiled baby things in anticipation for their day. Perhaps the only truly surprising fact was their willingness to share.

“Ofkylo.” Johana’s cheeks glowed, but you couldn’t tell if it was from joy or embarrassment. “Good afternoon.”

“Um.” You folded your arms over your chest, like you could hide the knowledge that you were pregnant from everyone in the room. “Hello.”

She placed the mobile to the side. “I trust you had an uneventful evening.” There was no edge of malice in her tone--your pregnancy appeared to have at least one tangible benefit.

Pinching your lips between your teeth, you ignored the swarm of blood to your face. “Yeah,” you said, and then corrected, “yes. I, um. I did.”

One of the Wives, plump with dark hair, snorted, rolling her eyes. “You let your Handmaid out during the day?” she asked. “I can’t stand to see them crawling around like that.”

“Oh, I know!” replied a blonde-haired woman. “They’re like rats. Conniving, selfish things.”

“The one I had would always be making eyes at my husband, I swear.”

“Wasn’t she blind in one eye?”

“Well, yes, but she was still looking at him with her good eye--”

The back of your neck bloomed with sweat, your fingers burrowing into your arms. Venom gathered on the tip of your tongue, the most foolish part of you wanting to test out just how absolute your Commander’s protection was. 

“--and all I knew was, she better have been sleeping with that one eye open, or I was going to--”

The dark-haired Wife shushed the rest, leering at you as she spoke. “Be careful what you say,” she said, “you know Jo’s husband has a soft spot for Handmaids.”

The others nodded in agreement, supplying Johana with looks that ranged from pity to complete contempt. 

“That’s right!” This woman, a red-head closest to Johana, patted her knee. “Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if I were you. I don’t think I’d ever put up with everything you do.”

“It’s kind of stupid, isn’t it?” said another. “Benefits for Handmaids? Who cares? They’re literally whores!”

A gaggle of them laughed, and you licked your lips, teeth crushing your tongue into submission. Johana met your eyes, glimpsed your whitening knuckles, and her jaw stiffened.

The red-head patted her knee again, like this was comforting instead of patronizing. “You’re being quiet!” she said. “You don’t share your husband’s… preoccupation with Handmaids, do you?”

Johana blanched, scowling. “What? No.”

“That’s good.” She sighed. “Because I was just thinking the other day, you know, this never would’ve happened if Moden were alive.” A spoiled-fruit sweetness tinged her tone. “Don’t you think?”

For a sharp, clear second, Johana froze, and the last restraint on your mouth snapped.

“I think that’s pretty inappropriate,” you said. “Ms. Johana has no say in what her husband does.”

Silence swallowed the room, every muscle motionless. A low murmur of disbelief vibrated through the Wives as they glanced at each other, and then at Johana. She was looking at you like she’d looked at you at the dinner party--only this time, bathed in familiar light.

“Actually.” Back straight, she cleared her throat. “Ofkylo, why don’t you. Come... sit with us.”

The Wives flipped on her like a dozen switches, their brows drawn back or raised, before gazing at you, waiting for you to make your choice. There was some delight you’d take in staying, in deliberately making them uncomfortable, just as Johana wanted--but God, you were hungry. You shook your head, put up your palms in deference.

“Oh, no,” you said. “That’s, um, that’s fine, Ms. Johana, but I was just going to get something--”

“Nonsense.” She scooted over, patted the seat next to her on the couch. “Sit.”

You rolled your tongue over your teeth, ready to turn and leave, but something in her expression was tight, needled with pain. As if she was pleading. A current of pity rippled through your mind--in this room, surrounded by gifts, supposed friends, and social and legal superiority, she was still left depending on you. With a shrug of agreement, you waded through the crowd until you reached her, sinking onto the sofa, squeezing between her and the building hill of presents.

None of the Wives spoke. Johana clapped her hands on her thighs. “So!” she said. “Next gift?���

They surveyed each other for a moment, and a small hand crept into the air.

“Um.” It was Mitaka’s Wife, her mousey face peeking through the crowd. “You can open my gift next, Johana.” She offered a floppy paper package, eased it toward the couch. “I, um, I made it awhile ago for… someone else. It’s not much.”

Johana took it into her lap with a small grin. “Oh, I’m sure it’s just lovely.” 

You watched, like you were beyond a screen as she opened a gift meant for your child as if it was hers. She looked out at the other women, peeling the wrapping back, exposing a small, knit sweater. The room gasped, shrieking in restrained glee when she held it up, flipping it in display. 

“Adorable!” said the blonde-haired Wife, clapping her hands. “That’s perfect.”

Johana released a nervous chuckle. “But it’s so small.”

“No way!” said another woman. “That baby’s taking after you. He’s going to be tiny!”

“Yes! Precious little man!”

“Oh,” Johana said with a laugh, “we’ve decided it’s a boy, now?”

Another jubilant interruption, the lot of them breaking into smiles while your muscles locked, your focus drifting to your stomach. You hadn’t really considered its gender, or its appearance, or its actuality at all. Something twisted through your heart--a swell of repulsive affection--as you imagined it in your arms, every feature blurred, save for one clear detail: a feathery mop of thick, dark hair. 

“What are you going to name him?” 

The baby in your arms disintegrated, and you snapped to the parlour room. 

“He won’t be a Junior, will he?”

The first thought through your head--Kylo would never want a Junior--before you realized that Kylo would never meet his child, and the question hadn’t been directed toward you at all.  

Johana shrugged, her shoulder brushing yours. “You know, I’ve thought about names, but I can’t decide. My husband doesn’t really have a preference.” 

“He’ll be just as handsome as your husband, I’m sure,” said the dark-haired woman. “But let’s hope he gets your manners.”

“What do you mean?” asked the blonde Wife. “Her husband is polite! He’s so quiet.”

The room dimmed with stifled muttering as the women who had spent more than five seconds around Kylo Ren exchanged sardonic smiles. Johana tensed at your side.

The blonde woman blinked. “What?” she said. “What is it?”

“Polite isn’t the word I’d use,” said the dark-haired woman. 

“I’d use the word ass--”

“Shh! Don’t say that, Jo’s right here.”

“Well, she’s the one enabling all of his--”

“It’s fine!” Johana’s face was pale, fists bunching in her dress. “I--I mean, he’s rough around the edges,” she said. “But I’m sure he’s… I’m sure he’s going to be a great father.” She pursed her lips, looking at you, that same plea in her eyes. “Right?”

Your stomach roared in protest--the thought of remaining in a room, listening to Wives discuss your child and its father’s involvement as if you were exempt from the equation had bubbled nausea to your tongue. Clearing your throat, you stood, dusting off your skirt. Johana grabbed your wrist.

“Hold on. Where are you going?” 

Grimacing, you wagged free of her grip. “I, um, really have to eat.” Your face was on fire. “Excuse me.”

Focus fixed to the floor, you scrambled from the group of Wives, whisking through the hall, wiping your palms on your sides. A great father. Even if you thought that was true--which, given everything you’d come to know about him, you now admitted you’d be delusional to think--Kylo Ren was never going to know if his child was even born. 

When you arrived in the kitchen, you met with Emma and Rose, preparing some sort of hors d'oeuvres. You wondered how many of these they did, given all of the parties Johana seemed hell-bent on forcing on this home. At the sound of your boot on the tile, they spun from the counters, and you offered a small grin, easing past the threshold.

“Hi.” You looked around the kitchen. “I was just. Um. Coming to get something to eat.”

Rose sighed. “Can you come back later? We’re a little busy.”

“Oh.” An angry growl somewhere in your abdomen. “I mean, I was just going to maybe have a sandwich?”

“Just let us finish this up,” Emma said, “then you can make yourself whatever you want.”

On the counter were dozens of cucumber slices, handfuls of cherry tomatoes, and a tub of shiny cream cheese. It couldn’t have been that much more work to do. And you didn’t want to be rude. You chewed your lip, folded your hands behind your back.

“Would you like help?”

They paused, glanced at each other, then back at you. Rose stepped to the side, providing you space in the counter, and you joined them, looking over the spread. 

“Here.” She opened a drawer, pulled out a knife, and placed it in front of you. “Finish up the cucumbers.”

There were only a few more to cut. You nodded, scanned the counter for a cutting board. “Oh, um. Do you have a spare…”

“There should be one in the bottom of the pantry.”

You nodded and crossed to the other side of the kitchen, opening the bottom drawers and searching through them, pushing aside the aluminum sheet pans and sets of kitchen utensils. No cutting board.

“I can’t find it?”

Emma sighed. “It should be under the muffin tins.”

“Oh.” You pried up the set of muffin tins, revealing a small wooden slab. “Got it. Thank you.”

Bending down, you wedged it from underneath the plethora of unused accessories, wiggling it from the drawer. As you pulled it free, the cresting rumble of the Audi’s engine coasted into the driveway. Your grip wavered, and it crashed to the floor. 

“Shit!” you hissed. Emma and Rose looked at you, brows pinched in concern, and you swallowed, heat building in your cheeks. “Um. I mean. Sorry.”

When you picked it up, the door to the Audi closed, followed by the scrape of boots through the front path, and you paused, your grasp on the board so tight you were surprised the wood hadn’t splintered. With you in the corner of the kitchen, your Commander wouldn’t see you as he passed through the hall--but it wasn’t seeing you that had your heart in your throat. It was the impending discovery of the party around the corner, full of women--and his Wife--whom you feared were guaranteeing their casualties under his design.

The front door opened, and you heard Kylo march through, shutting it behind him and striding into the hall. Chest tight, you returned to the counter, cutting board in hand, and placed it down before drawing in a slow breath. You plucked a smaller cucumber and laid it on the slab. His footsteps stopped.

“What is this?” 

Hands quaking, you lifted the knife, the handle heavy in your palm as you recalled how to wield one. 

“Oh! Commander,” Johana said. “It’s a party! For us!”

You lined up the blade with the tip, lips pulled in between your teeth. Sliced.

“Us.”

Fresh cucumber wet your nose. Beside you, Emma and Rose were chopping away, as if they didn’t sense the impending mushroom cloud just meters beyond the walls. 

“Yes. For our baby!” A ripple of laughter through the group. Then silence smothered the air.

Slice.

“I mean, look at everything everyone’s brought for us.” 

Kylo Ren said nothing. The sound of your rocking blade was thunder in your ears as it hit the board.

Slice.

“We’ve, uh, actually been joking that it’s a boy. That he’s going to have my manners.” 

Only a few women forced a laugh.

“But don’t worry!” Rustling of something, like paper. “We said he’ll have your looks.”

Still not a word. This time, not a single mouth managed a noise.

Slice.

“Well?” Johana breathed a mock-sigh. “It’s our baby! Aren’t you excited, Sir?”

No response. 

“Commander?” 

Slice. Slice.

“Sir--”

“This is over.”

Your breath stalled and the knife slipped--you hissed, dropped it in pain. A sliver of blood leaked from your thumb.

“What?” A tentative snort of disbelief. “What’s over?”

“You. Me. All of this.” 

A choked laugh--none of the other Wives made a sound. “Ky--Commander. What?”

Rose and Emma paused, too, staring at you. Face tingling with flames, you were unwilling to meet their eyes--you glanced around the kitchen, seeking out a towel. Red drops speckled the cutting board. 

“I want everyone out of this house. I want you gone by the weekend.”

Your hands trembled, littering the counter with blood. Breath failed to find your lungs. 

“Gone? You can’t… you can’t be seri--”

“Out. Now.”

The Marthas muttered something to you, their voices muffled by the hammering of your heart. Part of you was stuttering in disbelief that your Commander was actually doing this. The other part was busy filing its nails, having predicted this the second the doctor slapped your thigh with the news. Behind you, you heard the Wives filing out, whispering to themselves as they fled through the door. Meanwhile, you flitted around the kitchen, thumb curled into your fist in an attempt to staunch the flow, still unable to find a single goddamn piece of cloth.

“Hey.” Rose grabbed your shoulder, shoved a dish towel into your chest. “I was trying to give you this.” 

Your lids widened, and you nodded in thanks, thumb throbbing as you fumbled to swathe it closed. The last Wife shut the door behind her, your breath shallowed. The parlour room was quiet. A frustrated, feminine sigh.

“I mean. What do you expect me to say? Are you serious?”

A dark crimson daub blossomed through the cloth. You needed to get a fucking bandage. Those were all the way in the washroom. Past the parlour room.

“Yes.”

Johana huffed. “And where exactly do you expect me to go?”

“I don’t care.” 

Another pause. You and the Marthas had ceased moving, ceased talking--only in awe of the crumbling foundation of your home. 

“How do you--”

“You have until the end of the weekend to collect your belongings.”

“Kylo, that’s only four--you asshole, where are you going--”

His steps disappeared into the home, turning the corner toward the staircase. You stood there, for a moment, squeezing your thumb in its makeshift tourniquet, each of you looking to the others.

Emma bared her teeth in a strained grimace. “Is he really kicking out his--”

A piercing screech ripped through the air, followed by a tearing of paper, the toppling noise of boxes, hollow wood, piles of clothes hitting the floor. Second later, a feral growl clawed out of Johana’s chest, her little feet shaking the ground as she stomped through the halls. You looked between the Marthas and your thumb.

“I’m going to, um, take this chance and grab a bandage.”

They said nothing, urging you on, and you tip-toed through the halls, wary of crossing either your Commander or his Wife, neither of whom you wanted to see or speak to in this particular moment, each for their own reasons. You passed the parlour room--Johana’s gifts were terrorized, spewed across the room in busted heaps. The little sweater was entombed by a set of boxes, the mobile fractured on the floor. 

It made sense, of course, that this would be his response--Johana’s presence threatened your own. As long as she laid claim to your child, your life was irrelevant. And while you didn’t feel bad for her shattered delusion, you knew that her only liferaft in Gilead’s storm had now been engulfed and drowned by the tidal wave of Kylo Ren. Barring her life, there was nothing more for her to lose. 

Head spinning, you continued to the washroom, ready to turn the corner, only to be paralyzed by the sound of Johana’s voice, serrated like a predator wail, shredded as you had never, ever heard it before. 

“We’re not finished yet, Kylo!”

You heard him stop, and you whirled around, pressing your back to the wall, holding your breath. She’d caught him at the bottom of the staircase.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Johana.”

“No! What the actual hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?”

“I might ask the same of you.”

“Oh, can it, smart ass. You think you can kick me out and still expect me to treat you like my husband?” A disgusted laugh. “You’re more delusional than I took you for.”

“Delusional.”

Johana deepened her voice in mockery. “Delusional--yes, delusional. This is Gilead, Kylo. The nation you helped found? There are laws. You can’t dispose of your Wife for your--God, I don’t know--little pet!”

“Careful.”

“Or what?” she asked. “What, you’ll, you’ll--humiliate me again? Order me in the middle of a party to leave the only home I’ve known for three years in front of my friends?” She laughed again. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Move--”

“Don’t! Touch me!” she screeched. “How do you see this working out? Huh? Do you see yourself telling the Council your plans to divorce your Wife, something Gilead doesn’t even allow? Do you see them letting you play house with your Handmaid?” 

“Don’t assume my plans.”

“Please! It’s so obvious how obsessed with her you are. You don’t even need eyes to see it.” She grunted. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then move.”

“Moden still has friends in the Council,” she said. “When they hear about what you’re doing, it’ll be over for you! And you know what that means? It’ll be over for her, too.” The sound of shuffling. Coming toward you. “Get back here--”

Adrenaline erupted, and you darted off, skittering like a squirrel down the hall and dipping into the parlour. Throwing yourself against the entry wall, you sucked in a breath to silence yourself in hopes they would pass the archway and miss you entirely. Your pulse throbbed in your thumb, blood pumping into the towel, soaking to your skin.

Kylo’s tromping feet barreled forward, but you heard Johana on his tail--the sound of a squeal, a grumble, the squeak of a spinning heel. 

“Johana--”

“Do you have any idea how long I defended you? How many excuses I made for you? Do you know I used to fucking feel bad for you? And you’re kicking me out?” That squawking laughter escaped her. “You’re demented!”

“I was generous to give you four days. You tempt me to make it four seconds.”

“Go ahead. You’ll be stuck here with her, and she’ll hate you too, just like I do, just like your parents did, just like everyone in the world fucking hates you!”

Something slammed the wall, and you jumped, clapping your hand over your mouth, towel flopping to the floor. 

“Punch all the holes you want!” she snarled. “You think just because you call yourself Kylo Ren that you’re not the same pathetic asshole that Ben Solo was, you’re wrong--you haven’t changed, and you never fucking will. It’s no wonder they fucking sent you away!”

“Get out.”

“Oh, go ahead and try.”

“Get--”

Johana screamed, and a sharp smack, skin on skin. 

“Serves you right, asshole! Fuck you!” She leapt into your line of sight, snatched the mobile from the floor, unaware you were behind her, and cracked the wooden frame in half, brandishing the broken rod like a sword. “I swear to God, if you try to touch me I’ll--” 

Her eyes caught you in the periphery. You froze. 

Chest cycling with rapid breath, she crystallized, gaze flashing between you and her husband beyond the archway. Tawny locks of hair curled out like smoke from her scalp, face flush with fury, her chin trembling as she drew a long breath into her lungs. For a moment, she held it there, and exhaled, shoulders sagging, fingers loosening, the mangled mobile clattering to the floor. Johana trapped you in her stare, inspecting you inch by inch, until her face fell, eyes flooding with fat, wet tears.

She nodded, focusing past the threshold. “Okay. I’ll leave. But not until the weekend.” Chewing her lip, she glanced at her feet, then back to you. “I give up,” she said softly. “You won.”

You wanted to tell her that the only thing you’d won was a fatherless child. But she tore out of the room, a whirlwind of empty apologies shrinking like shucked leaves on your tongue. 

Shaking, you looked to your thumb, pulsing with pain; creeks of blood stained your sleeve. One footstep, and another, and your Commander crossed into the parlour room, dressed in his boots, black slacks, a matching dress shirt. His hair was washed and wavy, his face free of shadow, a pink mark on his cheek. For all of Johana’s mistakes, you couldn’t justify this particular punishment she’d received--and yet, your heart clenched in his presence. You were afraid you would never stop loving him. 

He examined you, his lid twitched when he spotted your still-weeping wound. Frowning, he stepped toward you. “You’re bleeding.”

Jaw tight, you retreated, glaring at him. “I know.”

“Come.” He reached for you. “You need a bandage.” 

“No, I don’t.” You dodged, snagged the towel from the floor and circled around him, his eyes shimmering with shielded grief, following you until you met the archway. “I’ll let it bleed.”

Kylo Ren said your name--but you had escaped to the hallway with the towel around your thumb, unable to stay, unwilling to hear what came next. Your appetite had disappeared. In the dash to your room, you passed Ushar by the annex staircase, but he did not follow you up the steps. Instead, he remained a statue, stoic as you fled, a red wraith of rage, behind your door.   

[kitkatartstuff-moved]

Love Letters and Lighter Fluid(2)

Ok so like,,,, there are going to be a lot of flashbacks. If I’m being honest, the first things I wrote were the beginning and the end, so I hope the middle is ok! Anyways, LLALF part 2!!

--

1

--

Andrew woke up to sunlight streaming directly into his face and surrounded by orange. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

He sat up and gathered the notes, then dropped them on his desk. He’d look at these when he got a bite to eat and when his body didn’t feel like lead. There was a note on the fridge from Nicky, and Aaron was still sleeping.

When he got back to his desk, he sat down and glared at the monstrosity of orange on his desk.

‘Jesus, Neil, you couldn’t have chosen a color that was easy on the eyes?’ Andrew thought. Like blue. Blue was calm, grounding. Blue was safe.

And a nice shade of icy blue was unfortunately not what he was dealing with right now. He skimmed through the pieces of paper, some were the size post-its, some had dozens of creases. All of them had the same loose writing, some in smudged graphite, some in stark ink.

Andrew skimmed through them all, searching for Neil.

---

The new transfer student was already intriguing enough when he got to Palmetto High. Messy ginger hair and weary blue eyes. And the scars. It was hard to miss the scars. 

The teacher introduced him as Neil Josten. The boy, Neil, dipped his head in a half-hearted greeting, then made a beeline for the back of the room, straight towards the empty desk next to Andrew. 

Curious.

-

“Hey junkie, I got your note.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Andrew scoffed as he sank into the seat across from Neil.

 “If you didn’t want me to find it, maybe you should have chosen another color.”

“I never said I didn’t want you to find it.”

Andrew just pinned him with a stare. 

“If you don’t have anything to say, that’s fine, because I do. You’re coming with me, Nicky, Aaron and Kevin tonight.”

“Where?”

“Columbia. We’re all going to have a friendly chat.”

“I can’t. My parents won’t let me.”

“Neil, neil, neil. Didn’t I tell you that I don’t like liars? Kevin says he recognizes you. He says he has seen your face before, and that he has questions. Maybe it’s just him trying to bond with his new rookie striker. I doubt it though.”

Neil’s face tightened. 

“What do you want.”

“I want to know why Kevin looks at you like he’s seen a ghost. I want to know why every time he looks at you, you look like he’s just told the world your deepest secrets. You heard about his little accident at Edgar Allan yes?”

Andrew chuckled, then leaned in with a smile that didn't meet his eyes.

“That wasn’t an accident. It turns out Edgar Allan’s number one has a nasty temper.See I made him a promise. I told him I would protect him. I don’t trust the way you look at him. Do you know that he will not tell me a thing when it comes to you? He says he knows you while you deny any connections to him when asked. Your loose ends aren’t adding up.

“I’m not a math problem.”

“But I’ll still solve you.”

Neil snorted. “You’d have to solve your own first.”

Andrew’s smile widened. 

“Oooh, there he is. Neil Josten, a man of many surprises. And secrets. I wonder what will come next hm? Well I guess we’ll find out tonight. I need an address.”

He watched  Neil’s eyes, and he could practically see gears turning as he assessed the situation.

“Fine.”

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

Andrew sighed, staring at the ceiling. As entertaining as reminiscing was, it was getting him nowhere. It didn’t stop him from remembering Neil’s tired desperation as he argued with Kevin over his past, as he begged him to just let him have this one thing. 

The look on Kevin’s face then had said he expected Neil’s confession, but he still looked taken aback. Kevin had been on the verge of a panic attack, and it took not only Andrew, but also Neil to calm him down. 

He remembered how shaken Neil had been after the whole encounter. How his eyes sparked back to life with adrenaline and fear, how every muscle in his body indicated that he would bolt at any second. 

The next day, surprisingly enough, he’d still been there, but his eyes were still wide and alert. He’d smacked a post-it on his back while mimicking soothing circles.

‘Give your back to me,’ the paper read.

Andrew waited in the library, and then Neil had sunken beside him and said ‘ok.’

Andrew wondered how much of him had known that he would have to go, then shook himself back to the present and continued to thumb through the sea of paper.

-----

“So Kevin lives with you guys?”

“Yes.”

“And you go with him to night practices?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you play?”

“Tsk tsk, so many questions today. Last I checked, curiosity was for cats. And you are a fox.”

“Are you going to answer me?”

Andrew gave a dramatic sigh.

“I played freshman year. Nicky played too, he was a senior back then. He’s the one who made me do it. You’ll meet new people! Make new friends! It’ll be fun.” Andrew smiled, all sarcastic glee. “Those ‘friends’ weren’t too nice to him though. Nicky, I’m sure you’ve noticed, is very open about which way he swings. Those friends of his swung his way too. Just not in the way he’d expected.”

“I’m assuming they have something to do with why you quit?”

“I didn’t quit. I got kicked off. They should have expected it though. I told them what would happen if they laid a hand on him. They got what was coming.”

Neil went quiet.

-----

Neil was on the rooftop. When he heard Andrew, he turned and his eyes sparked with something Andrew couldn’t quite place.

“You’re back.”

“It was only a week.”

“Still. You seem different.”

“New meds. I’m supposed to stay on them for a month, and then they’ll ‘evaluate my progress.’ They have odd side effects.”

“Like what?”

“Like feelings. Like you.”

“I’m not a side effect.”

“You are a pipe dream.”

----

Andrew’s eyes buzzed in and out of focus. The orange flashed behind his eyelids every time he blinked. He glanced at the next piece of paper.

‘Kevin kept me 49 minutes late :(‘

‘Andrew that was exactly 48 hours ago what do you mean you don’t remember.’

‘How old is Wymack again? I think he’s 47. Not that you’d care.’

Andrew's breath caught, and he searched through each page.

‘46’

‘45’

‘44’

‘43’

No. No. How had he not noticed. He should have. He should have seen something like that straight away. Even with all the notes they exchanged on a daily basis. He dug through them all until he got to zero. 

‘I’ll be in the lockers after the game tonight. Are you coming? It’ll be interesting, I pr0mise.

See you there, 

Neil’

-----

“So you did come.” 

Neil didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

“You were right. It was interesting to watch. How can someone so small be so fast?”

“I’m three inches taller than you.”

“And?” Andrew wrapped his fingers around the back of his neck and brought them forehead to forehead. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

------

The lockers. Andrew grabbed the keys off of his desk.

The codes for the doors hadn’t changed. That was a bit of a security risk, considering who Wymack had on his team, but Andrew supposed that was no longer a problem. He walked over to Neil’s locker and tried the combination.

3-10-4.

‘If you’re reading this, I have to admit I’m a little bit surprised. I couldn't explain much in the first one, and besides, I’ll need some time to figure things out.. A lot of these are pretty premature. But if you’re here, thank you for looking. See you at the gym I guess?

Neil’

[marjansmarwani]

i know i already sent in a prompt (and honestly i don’t even remember which # i picked.. so that will be a fun surprise) but since you reblogged the list again, i’m going to send in another request - #4. give me all the angst jillian. so excited to read all your prompts when you get to them 💕

You asked for angst, and you certainly got it. Sorry this took me literally forever, but here it is and I hope you enjoy! 

I don’t ever wanna have to let you go

[Read on Ao3] - 6.5k

4. “holding everything in doesn’t help, you know?”

---

When TK walks out after a fight with Carlos, he doesn’t expect to end up in an accident. When TK calls and Carlos - still hurt and angry - declines the calls, he doesn’t realize they are desperate calls for help. Now Carlos is left with nothing but guilt and desperate hope that maybe they weren’t too late - maybe there is still a chance for a happy ending after all.

This one is angsty, fair warning. But I like it when they are happy, so it is angst with a happy ending. This one was inspired by both the request from @officerrxyes and a prompt I saw on my dash one day from @whumpxng. The prompt essentially said that two characters got into a fight and then when one tried to call for help the other didn’t answer and my brain went...angsty tarlos. 

So here we are, I hope you enjoy! 

-----

Awareness came slowly, but the pain did not. 

 Other sensations trickled through: the acrid smell of smoke, the blurred sight of twisted metal, and dim dashboard lights seen through partially lidded eyes. He was in a car, he had been in an accident - the realization came to him in pieces. Flashes of memory assaulted him: a car pulling out at a red light, a wet street, the stark fear of losing control, and then, darkness. But the pain was at the forefront - undeniable and all-encompassing. 

 TK tried to sit up but fell back into his prone position on the steering wheel with a gasp of pain. He takes a moment to get the breath back, to allow the white-hot pain to fade back to the edge of his senses. He was hurt - that wasn’t the question. The question was how badly. 

 He sits back again - more carefully this time. He manages to pry himself from the steering wheel, able to put a few inches of distance between himself and the mangled steering column before he finds himself pressed against the back of his seat. He blinks the haze of pain from his eyes as he catalogs what he knows: 

 He was in an accident

He is hurt, possibly badly

The street he is on seems to be deserted; there will be no help from a passerby

He needs to call for help but judging by the state of things, finding his phone seemed unlikely

 He curses to himself. Great. This was...just great. 

 But he is a first responder; he spends his life dealing with these types of situations - even if he is usually on the other side. He forces himself to calm, to focus on what he can do instead of what he can’t. 

 What he can do: assess his injuries. 

 He moves through his body, experimentally moving each limb, shifting and cataloging resistance and pains. His left shoulder aches, but everything else is mostly fine until he gets to his chest. He tries to twist his torso experimentally and almost blacks out again from the all-consuming pain that springs up. 

 Okay - his chest was definitely hurt. 

 He continued the self-examination more cautiously; gently probing his chest with his right hand. He felt each inch carefully and cursed. There were definitely some broken ribs, and nothing on the left side of his chest felt good. He went to swear out loud and found that the simple act of forcing air into sounds caused immense pain. 

 He leaned back against the seat again, allowing his heart rate to slow in the wake of the agony. All he had learned from that exercise was that he needed help and he was in no shape to go find it himself. 

 He thought back to the end of his list and glanced around him to confirm: his phone was nowhere to be found. If his brief experiment with movement had taught him anything it was that he wasn’t going to be digging around on the passenger side floor anytime soon. So his phone was officially out. He eyed his steering wheel. It had commands for the bluetooth built-in - maybe they were still functional. He reached out a shaking hand to press the phone button experimentally. The display screen blinked to life and he almost heaved a sigh of relief. 

 He looked at the screen and felt more dread rise up within him. He wouldn’t be able to dial. That left him with only voice activation or redial. Based on everything he had felt since waking up voice activation was out. Which meant he was left with only one option, and it made his heart sink.

 It was always the same name at the top of his recent calls - a thought that usually filled him with warmth and love. 

  Tonight...it might not be such a good thing. 

 Flashbacks of the scene he had walked out of at Carlos’s home assaulted him: echoes of the shouting, of the things they had both said - of the things he hadn’t meant. And then he had just...left. Walked out, gotten in his car. He had planned on just driving for a bit to clear his head before heading to his dad’s. It had almost worked too. He had felt better, more centered - right up to the moment of impact. 

 The universe had a cruel sense of humor sometimes. 

 He was probably the last person Carlos wanted to talk to right now, and he couldn’t blame him. But he had to try. 

 Besides, it was Carlos. Carlos would always pick up the phone, right?

 He groped for the steering wheel with his trembling right hand. Muscle memory led it towards the familiar command button and clicked it through the options. Redial appeared on the display, mercifully the first option. His shaking hand thumbed the center button; initiating the command. 

 It rang. 

 It rang for hours, or so it seemed. In reality, it was not long enough - the voicemail picked up too soon and TK’s heart sank.  

  Carlos had declined his call. Carlos didn’t want to talk to him.

 He had known it was a possibility, had expected it even; but the reality still stung. 

 His vision blurred again, but this time it had nothing to do with the smoke. 

 He took as deep of a breath as his battered chest would allow, and tried again. 

 The ringing seemed to last forever, each trill echoing with his own shame and regrets. Eventually, the voicemail picked up again and TK hit the button again to disconnect the call. There was no way out of this for him, he had to accept that now. He thought he might have been able to too if it hadn’t been for the way he had left things with Carlos. He loved him so much.  He couldn’t believe after everything they had been through, everything they had shared, it would end like this - with his corpse trapped in his mangled car and Carlos with 2 missed calls. He didn’t want him to have to live with that guilt, but there was no way around it. 

 He was fading fast now, there wasn’t much time left. Somehow he found it in him to reach for that button one more time. He owed it to both of them. He needed to hear Carlos’s voice one more time, even if it was just a recording. He needed to tell him he was sorry, that he still loved him - even if he was only saying those words to his voicemail. 

 He hoped they could still give him some solace, help to ease the guilt TK knew he would feel (even though it wasn’t his fault, not really). 

 He hit the button again and listened to the tinny ringing sound reverberating through the speakers. He could feel the darkness edging closer, eager to claim him one final time but he resisted. He just needed a few minutes more - he needed to make this as right as he could. 

 The ringing stopped and TK prepped himself, stilled his breath so that nothing would drown out the sound of Carlos’s voice that he so desperately craved. 

 “TK?” Carlos asked, his voice echoing through the car stereo and washing over TK like a familiar blanket. With a start he realized it wasn’t his voicemail - it was actually Carlos. He tried to respond, but his voice wouldn’t work. There wasn’t enough air left in his lungs. 

 “TK?” Carlos asked again, voice tinged in concern, “are you there?” 

 TK tried again to speak, desperately willing his body to perform one of its most basic functions. If he could just tell him he’s sorry, if he could just remind him how much he loved him, he could die happy. 

 And it was pretty clear he was dying either way.

 He pulled from his deepest reserves and found a little bit more strength. Just enough for one word. 

 “Sorry,” he croaked out, coughing in the wake of the word and setting his chest on fire. The new pain brought the blackness in from the edges and the last thing TK heard before everything faded was Carlos’s terrified voice yelling his name.  

 It wasn’t enough, but it was all he had. He hoped Carlos knew the rest. 

--------- 

 “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

 “Why do you always assume there is something wrong Michelle?” 

 “Because you called me in the middle of a Friday evening and we are now sitting in your living room with beers and you haven’t said two words since I got here.” 

 Carlos sipped his beer in silence and Michelle rolled her eyes before setting her beer down on the coffee table and turning on the couch to face him: “Carlos, just tell me what’s wrong. We both know you’re going to eventually, so why drag it out?” 

 Carlos scowled at her but she simply raised her eyebrows expectantly. He sighed and lowered his beer, resting it on his knee as he thumbed the label anxiously. When he spoke, his eyes remained decidedly on the bottle in his hands, “TK and I had a fight tonight.”

 “Couples fight,” Michelle reminded him, voice gentle. 

 Carlos shook his head, swallowing, “We don’t. Not like this. It’s been almost a year and I think this is the first time we’ve ever fought like that. We were both so angry - we were both yelling. I don’t think either of us has ever raised our voices at all, not to each other. Then he left.”

 Now Michelle furrowed her eyebrows, “Left how?”

 “Just, left. Grabbed his keys, walked out the door, drove away.” 

 “He probably just needed some time to cool off,” Michelle said gently, placing a hand on his knee. 

 “I know he did, we both did. We just…” Carlos trailed off and shook his head before trying again, “we both said a lot of things. Not good things, either.”

 “What did you guys fight about?” 

“I can’t believe you would do something so dangerous, Carlos!”

  Carlos paused, the hand holding his fork poised in mid-air above his plate, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “You knew that guy was armed and you went in anyways - without backup! That was reckless and you know it.”

  “You do realize what a hypocrite you sound like, right?” 

  Now TK froze too, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

  Carlos set down his fork, thoughts of dinner abandoned: “Exactly what I said. You’re being a hypocrite. How many times have you ended up in the hospital from work? How many times have your dad and I had to wait and hope and pray that you would be okay, that you would pull through? And yet here you sit, telling me off for taking a risk!” 

  There was stunned silence before TK spoke again, his voice quivering with barely suppressed rage, “It’s not like I’m doing any of that stuff for fun. I do it to save people. Sometimes it gets dangerous - what am I supposed to do, just leave them?” 

  “You could still save people without jumping off a building without looking! You could still save people without risking your own life!” 

  “I don’t take any unnecessary risks!” 

  “Like hell you don’t,” Carlos scoffed, voice cold and angry, “You haven’t met a risk you didn’t take. I’m still not sure if it’s just plain recklessness, a hero complex, or just residual suicidal tendencies.” 

  “You don’t mean that. You know I’m past that Carlos.” 

  Carlos shrugged helplessly, “I thought you were, I like to think that you are. But then it happens again and I have to wonder why. The only reason it hasn’t worked so far is just pure dumb luck and you know it.”

  TK stared at him, chest heaving, “You’re angry because I get hurt at work sometimes?” 

  “I’m angry because you’re trying to tell me off for something you do all the time! I’m angry because one of these days your luck is going to run out, and that scares the hell out of me! I’m angry because someday you may not get so lucky, and where will we be then?!” 

  There was silence in the wake of his words, the echoes of Carlos’s shouts fading into the air around them. The next sound was the scrape of TK’s chair moving across the floor. When he speaks, his voice is scathing, “Well if that’s what you think of me, then I see no reason to stick around. Clearly, we both have some thinking to do and I think it might be best if we did it alone. I know I have no interest in staying where I’m not wanted.” 

  Then he was up and across the room. He paused only long enough to scoop his keys off the table by the door, and then he was gone. 

Michelle was looking at him expectantly. Carlos shook his head and took another sip of his beer before speaking. “We both had some fears that caused us to react strongly, and we both said some things we regret. Then he left.”

 Just thinking about it made the heat of anger flare up in him again. The fact that TK had so little regard for his own safety or wellbeing was a constant source of stress and fear for Carlos. He spent so much time worrying about the other man, had spent so many hours waiting and hoping for the best (but fearing the worst) that seeing TK shrug it all off infuriated him. 

 His phone, sitting on the couch between himself and Michelle began to vibrate. He glanced down to see TK’s picture light up on the screen. Carlos shook his head and tapped the screen, declining the call. He wasn’t ready to talk to him yet; he wasn’t ready to forgive. 

 Michelle raised an eyebrow at him but he merely shook his head. “I need a little more time,” he said. This hurt still felt too raw - he wasn’t ready to forgive and forget just yet.

 Michelle opened her mouth, but Carlos shook his head again, “I know that I will forgive him. I know that he’ll forgive me. But right now...I’m just so angry. I don’t think I’d be able to talk to him without starting a whole other fight. It’s for the best.” 

 She looked like she had opinions on that and was no doubt about to share them, but whatever she was going to say was cut off by the sound of his phone vibrating again. They both glanced down at it and he declined the call again without even a pause. There was silence between the two friends until Michelle spoke again. 

 “Maybe you should give him a chance to speak before you just assume you know what he is going to say,” she suggested, “isn’t that what you are mad at him for doing in the first place?” 

 Carlos glared at her and was about to ask her whose side she was on when the phone rang again. He was about to reach for it, to repeat his action but something made him pause. Maybe it was Michelle’s words, maybe it was that three calls in such a short amount of time didn’t seem right for TK. He was more the type to try once and then leave the ball in Carlos’s court, too afraid to overstep. Despite everything he would know that Carlos would always call him back. A nagging fear started to eat at his stomach and when he reached for the phone, he swiped to answer instead of declining. “TK?” he said hesitantly, a question as much as a greeting. 

 There was silence on the line for several moments and Carlos glanced up at Michelle to see her brows furrowed in concern as well.

 “TK?” he asked again, the growing concern coloring his voice, “are you there?”  

 He was about to repeat himself when TK’s voice suddenly sounded on the speaker, weak and faint and almost unintelligible - almost. It only uttered one word: “Sorry.” 

 Then there was a cough, then silence. 

 Carlos could feel his heart racing as he looked up at Michelle with frantic eyes. She already had her phone out and was dialing 911. He turned his gaze back to the phone, desperately wishing he could see through the screen, that he could find out what TK was dealing with - that he was going to be okay. 

 “TK!” he said again, voice louder, more frantic. There was no response and he took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked to Michelle, who was relaying the details to a dispatcher. Their eyes met and she gestured for him to keep going, to keep talking. He swallowed and complied: 

 “Hang on TK,” he instructed, voice shaking, “help is on the way. You’re...you’re going to be okay.” 

 Michelle put her hand over the mouthpiece of her phone, “They’ve traced his cell signal and rescue crews are on their way. Keep talking to him, it can't hurt.”

 Carlos nodded and kept talking, “We both know you’re too stubborn to give up, right? Don’t prove me wrong yet Ty. Just hang on a little longer.” 

 There was still silence on the other end. Every second of silence, every word uttered without a response caused the fear in his gut to grow. 

 “I have so much to apologize for, you can’t leave us like this. This is not how we’re meant to end Tyler Kennedy.”

 Michelle reached out and put a comforting hand on his knee again and he blinked away tears. He hoped that no one from TK’s crew was on call. They didn’t deserve to see him like this. 

 “I’m so, so sorry for everything I said tonight sweetheart. I’m just so afraid of losing you.” 

 Distantly he heard the sound of sirens approaching through the phone. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to take a deep breath. Help was there. TK was getting the help he needed. Carlos only hoped it would be enough. He could hear the sounds of doors opening now, shouts of instructions being given. They were on their way to him. 

 He just had one more thing to say. 

 “I love you TK,” he said quietly as the voices and sounds of the first responders grew closer, “don’t leave me yet.” 

----------- 

Someday you may not get so lucky, and where will we be then?!

 It was the last thing he had said to TK. He had spent every agonizing minute of waiting trying to remember what it had been. Now that he knew, he wished he could forget. 

 He sat in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, leg bouncing anxiously. This was a sadly familiar experience, he had been here too many times before. But this time felt different. 

 TK had been in a car accident - a hit and run from what they had been able to determine so far. He had been trapped and in pain, and he had tried to call for help. He had tried to call Carlos for help, and he had ignored him. It went against everything that Carlos had thought he stood for. It went against every promise he had ever made to TK. 

 The sound of frantic footsteps echoed across the surprisingly empty waiting room, but it wasn’t until Michelle stood that Carlos looked up. Owen Strand was standing before them, far more rumpled than usual with a panicked look in his eyes. 

 “What happened?” he asked, voice filled with the panic so evident in every feature. 

 Michelle gently guided him to the chair beside Carlos before settling into one across from them. With a calm and steady voice (bless her), she explained: “TK was in an accident. It looks like it was a hit and run. He called Carlos and I was with him, so I called 911. I haven’t gotten much in the way of specifics yet, but unfortunately it looks like he was hurt pretty badly. A doctor should be out soon though to tell us more.” 

 Owen nodded, running a hand through his hair as he processed. It was such a familiar gesture - something Carlos had seen TK do a hundred times - that it caused him physical pain. He sat quietly, giving Owen time to process, to ask the questions he would inevitably have. 

 It comes sooner than he would have hoped. He could see the moment it clicked in Owen’s head; the moment the pieces didn’t fall into place. He turned to Carlos with a curious expression and it was all Carlos could do not to shy away. He faced all sorts of nefarious characters at work without blinking, but the worry and confusion from his boyfriend’s father was almost enough to cause him to turn tail and run. 

 “Wasn’t TK with you tonight? Where would he have been going?” 

 Owen looked from Carlos to Michelle, hoping that someone could give him answers; that someone could make this make sense. Michelle gave Carlos a questioning look, but he shook his head. He had to own up to this at some point - no reason to delay the inevitable. 

 “We had a fight,” he said, almost startled by the sound of his own voice. “We had a fight, and he left.” 

 Owen nodded, patting Carlos’s knees comfortingly. “This isn’t your fault Carlos,” he said gently. 

 Carlos swallowed. He knew the guilt and shame must be rolling off him in waves for Owen to have picked up on it so quickly, but Carlos doubted he would be as sympathetic if he knew. But this was a sin he couldn’t keep to himself. 

 He took a deep breath and continued, voice shaky, “that’s not all. He...he called me. He called me and I was still angry and I didn’t answer. He was hurt and scared and dying, and I declined his calls. Twice.” 

 Owen took a deep breath and Carlos waited for his recrimination. It never came. Instead, when he turned to face Carlos again his expression was sad, but sympathetic.

 “But you answered, and that’s what matters.” 

 Carlos tried to argue, tried to point out that he had ignored a call for help (twice), but Owen simply shook his head, “You’re only human Carlos. You’re allowed to have emotions. Besides, you had no way of knowing what had happened. You had no way of knowing he was in trouble.”

 Carlos let those words sink into his skin. He didn’t deserve them. “I still should have answered. I’ve always told him I would always be there for him, and then I wasn’t when it mattered.” 

 Owen looked at him sadly and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You answered and that is all that matters. Answering that last call could be the only reason he has even a chance of pulling through this. You were there for him, and he’ll tell you the same thing.” 

 There were a hundred things Carlos wanted to say. He wanted to say Owen couldn’t possibly know that, that they had no way of knowing if pulling through was even an option. He wanted to say that TK was angry enough when he left to never want to speak to him again. He wanted to say that he might have actually screwed this thing up, that there might be no going back. He wanted to say that from the one glimpse he had had of TK as they rushed him from the ambulance to the trauma room it was very likely they would never have that chance. 

 But Owen didn’t need to know any of that, so instead he simply gave him a tight smile and nodded. 

 The hours dragged by and familiar faces filtered in and out of the waiting room. The rest of the 126 arrived one by one as they heard. He accepted Marjan’s offered coffee with a tight, false smile but otherwise only nodded in acknowledgment of anyone’s attempt to speak to him, to comfort him. The fear in their expressions drove through him like a spike, hollowing out room for his own fears and guilt to amplify. Every so often a doctor or nurse would stop by with an update and while the group as a whole held on to every word, most of them did not even process to Carlos. 

  Punctured lung, internal bleeding, damage to the spleen and left kidney, possible tbi, broken clavicle…

 It was all too much. The doctors at least seemed to agree. Each one they spoke to seemed grim and serious. They talked treatment options, they talked worst-case scenarios. Owen simply nodded along, listening closely, and looking to Michelle for her opinion. Most of all he did a terrible job of masking the fear in his eyes.  

 At some point, Grace showed up, straight from dispatch and still in her uniform. She headed straight for Owen and Carlos, giving them each a kiss on the forehead. She lingered at Carlos, meeting his eyes. “He still loves you too, no matter what,” she said softly. 

 With a start, he realized she must have been the dispatcher to take the call, that she had heard his end of the desperate one-sided conversation. He nodded weakly and she smiled at him - a soft and gentle thing - before crossing over to sit next to Judd and take his hands in her own. 

 Eventually the doctor appears again with an expression not so grim as before. Owen stood nervously, hands trembling at his sides. The rest of them watched quietly, waiting to know which had won: their hopes or their fears. 

 The doctor graced them with a tired smile, “He should be fine. There was a lot of damage, but he should pull through. The surgery to repair the internal bleeding and damage to the kidney and spleen was successful and the broken clavicle has been set. He’ll be moved to recovery shortly and it’ll be a while until he wakes up, but you’re welcome to sit with him. It can only help.”

 Owen nodded, stepping forward to grab the doctor’s hand in thanks. “Thank you for saving my son,” he said softly, voice dampened by the emotion running through it. 

 The doctor waved off his thanks, “I feel like I should be thanking him - it’s always a good feeling to be able to give good news. I’ll make sure someone comes to get you once he’s settled.” 

 With a last nod to the rest of the group, the doctor was gone and Owen turned to face them all. His face was covered by a wide grin, he seemed taller now than he had a few minutes ago with all the fears weighing down. “He’s going to be okay,” he repeated as if they all hadn’t been listening to every word the doctor said just as eagerly. 

 There was a flurry of activity as the group seemed to come alive again, all talking at once and smiling again. Carlos leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.  He was going to be okay.  He repeated it over and over again to himself like a mantra.  He was going to be okay. 

  We still have time to fix this, was the other thought that occupied his mind. And he intended too, the first chance he got. 

 Eventually, it was decided that the rest of the crew would leave, go home and sleep in their own beds and come back tomorrow morning to see TK when he would hopefully be awake and more lucid than the aftermath of major surgery would allow. Carlos watched them go, unsure where his place was. He sent a pleading look at Michelle, who gave him a reassuring smile as she gathered her things. Before he could ask, could voice the doubts in his head he felt a hand on his arm. 

 He looked up to find Owen gazing at him, “You and I will stick around and go in as soon as we’re allowed, if you’re up for it.” 

 Carlos released a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding and nodded. Owen gave him a tight smile, “whatever this is, you’ll figure it out.” 

 Carlos smiled at the older man, but secretly he wished he had his confidence. From where he sat, nothing was certain - least of all that. It was okay though, he told himself. TK was alive and as long as that was true, Carlos could manage anything. 

 Still, there was a gnawing feeling of dread in his gut. When he and Owen were alone in the waiting room he finally gave voice to it: “He might not want to see me. It might make him too upset. I don’t want…” 

 “Carlos,” Owen said firmly, cutting him off, “stop. You’re coming with me. If, when he wakes up, TK says he doesn’t want to see you, then you can leave. But I happen to know my son pretty well and I am fairly certain that having you not be there when he wakes up would make him feel even worse.” 

 Carlos nodded, and Owen’s expression softened, “Couples do fight from time to time. I know you two don’t usually, but you’re rather the exception to that I guess. That doesn’t mean you’re perfect, it just means that when it does happen it’s going to feel that much worse and take that much more work to fix things. You’re just going to have to trust in each other. You both know how you feel about each other - hell, we all know how you feel about each other. You love each other and at the end of the day, that is what matters. Trust in that, and everything will be okay.” 

 Owen’s words brought tears to his eyes, but he swiped them away before looking up and giving him a smile, “Thanks,” he said softly and Owen smiled back at him, reaching over to give his leg a comforting squeeze. 

 “No need to thank me, I’d do anything for the two of you. Besides, I’ve got the easy part. You two have the real work to do.” 

 They lapsed into a comfortable silence until a nurse came by to inform them that TK was in recovery. They followed him around the corner to a non-descript door. 

 “It’ll be a while before he wakes up still,” the nurse told them as he pushed open the door, “but I’m sure you’ll both be happier waiting in here.”

 They thanked him and entered the room. Carlos barely made it across the threshold before he stopped, frozen by the sight before them.  

 TK was there in the bed. At least, he assumed it was TK. Almost every inch of the left side of his body was covered in bruises or bandages. His left arm was secured with a sling; he looked so still and unnatural in that bed. He looked so unlike himself. You would think for the number of times he ended up getting himself hurt this would get easier, but it never did. 

 Carlos was startled from his stupor by a strangled sound coming from beside him. He turned to find Owen staring at TK, eyes wide and beginning to fill with tears. He seemed frozen in shock or horror, rooted to the spot by the door. Carlos understood completely. He gently reached out to grab Owen’s arm, guiding him to one of the chairs by the bed. He stepped back and watched as Owen reached out with trembling hands to grasp TK’s, lying limply on the blankets. He quietly sat in the other chair, watching the scene before him. Owen was speaking quietly to his son, running a tender hand through his hair. As much as he longed to join him, as much as he wanted to have proof for himself that TK was really still alive; he knew that Owen needed this. 

 The man loved his son more than anything else in the world and ever since this whole nightmare had begun he had kept up a brave front. He had supported Carlos, he had reassured the team. But now, out of other people to focus on and faced with the reality of tonight’s events, he needed some time. Carlos intended to give it to him. He settled into the chair and took a deep breath before closing his eyes. Hours of fear and panic had worn on him, and now in the relative calm, he allowed the exhaustion to settle into his bones as he drifted off into a restless sleep. 

---------- 

 Carlos was awakened by the sound of soft voices. He blinked several times, trying to figure out why the hell there were people in his bedroom before the feeling of a chair in his back and the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor guided him back to reality. He sat up with a start, eyes roving his surroundings frantically until the sight before him caused his racing heart to still. 

 Owen was sitting on the edge of TK’s hospital bed, talking quietly with him. TK was listening, offering a small smile in response to whatever it was his dad had said. He was awake. 

 It was a miracle unlike anything Carlos had ever seen. He couldn’t stop staring. Eventually, TK felt his gaze and looked past his father to meet Carlos’s eyes. 

 “Hi,” he said softly, voice weak but worlds away from how it had sounded over that fateful call. 

 “Hi,” Carlos responded lamely. 

 Owen looked between the two of them. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the top of TK’s head before pulling himself off the side of the bed. “I’m going to go make some calls and update the rest of the crew. I’ll leave you two alone for a bit; give you some space to talk. Just, try not to get any more traumatic injuries while I’m gone?” 

 TK chuckled, “I’ll do my best Dad,” he promised. Owen smiled at him before clapping Carlos on the shoulder and walking away. There was silence in the wake of his footsteps before Carlos pulled himself out of the chair and stepped closer to the bed. He hovered a few feet away, unwilling to get to close if TK didn’t want him there yet. 

 “How are you feeling?” he asked nervously, taking another look at him. The bruises had darkened while he had slept, ugly splotches of pain decorating his skin in stark contrast. 

 TK went to shrug, but winced when he jostled his shoulder, “Kind of like my entire body is one giant bruise, but I’ll be fine.” 

 Carlos nodded tapping his fingers anxiously on his thigh, “Do you need anything?” he asked, uncertain of where to go from here. 

 “Actually yes,” TK said and Carlos stilled his anxious fidgeting.

 “What is it? I can get...” 

 “I need to tell you how sorry I am,” TK said, interrupting Carlos’s nervous rambling. He stopped talking and returned his gaze to TK, who held it. He closed the distance between them, stopping at the edge of his bed. 

 “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said quietly, unsurprised by the tears he felt forming in his eyes. “God Ty I am so…” 

 But TK shook his head, “You had no way of knowing, none of this is your fault.” 

 Carlos shook his head more adamantly, “No, I shouldn't have done that. I’ve always promised you I would always be there for you, and I wasn’t. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know exactly what trouble you were in, I made you a promise and I should have kept it. I am so, so sorry.” 

 TK smiled at him sadly, reaching out his good arm to wipe away the tears on Carlos’s face. “Which is one of the many reasons why I will always think you are one of the best people I have ever had the pleasure to know. But it doesn’t change the facts Carlos - you’re allowed to make mistakes. Trust me, I’ve made more than my fair share, I know what I am talking about.” 

 Carlos gave a weak, watery laugh as TK moved his hand from Carlos’s face down to grasp Carlos’s hand with his own. 

 “I’m not mad at you Carlos,” he told him gently, “Not for that - never for that.”

 Carlos gripped the hand holding his tighter, “I’m just so glad you’re okay. If you weren’t and I hadn’t answered those calls...I don’t think I would have been able to live with myself.” 

 TK shook his head firmly, “It wasn’t your fault. No matter what happens Carlos, I don’t want you to ever feel that way. Not on account of me, not ever.” 

 He met Carlos’s eyes again, expression serious. They held each other’s gazes for a few moments before TK’s softened, “That’s why I called back the third time. I...wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t blame you, no matter what. I needed you to know how sorry I was, about everything.” 

 Carlos nodded, “I’m sorry too. I should have been more upfront about how I was feeling, about how scared I was of losing you. Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know?” 

 “No,” TK agreed softly, “it doesn’t.” 

 They lapsed into a comfortable silence, tethered together by their clasped hands and soaking in the warmth of each others’ presence. 

 “There was another reason I called you again that third time,” TK said eventually, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

 “What was the other reason?” Carlos asked. 

 “I needed to remind you how much I loved you. I couldn’t leave without being sure you knew that.” 

 Carlos swallowed thickly at that. It was a grim reminder of how close they had been to a permanent end, how lucky they were to be here together at all. He slid onto the edge of the bed, leaning forward and pulling TK into a kiss. It was a desperate kiss; filled with all the fear he had felt, all the love he always felt for this man. He pulled back to breathe, to wipe away fresh tears. But then he felt himself tugged forward and he went without objection, leaning back in and meeting TK for another kiss, this one slower; more patient. This was the kiss they could share every day, for as long as they had. 

 Carlos just hoped that could be a very long time. He intended to do everything he could to ensure it was. 

 As they separated Carlos rested his forehead on TK’s. “I love you too,” he said softly, “more than I have ever loved anyone. You’re it for me TK, I hope you know that. You’re stuck with me.  As long as you want me, I’m yours.”

 As close as they were Carlos could see the corners of TK’s mouth lift as he smiled, “Then I hope you were planning on forever, because that’s the only answer I will accept from you, Carlos Reyes.”

 Carlos chuckled and nodded, pulling away just enough that he could meet TK’s eyes, “Forever sounds like a plan to me.”  

[Read on Ao3 - leave a comment if you’d like!]

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (10)

Chapter 10: A Home Away | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Cal Kestis x Fem! OC

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 | Previous: Part 9 | Next: Part 11 | Masterlist

11 of ?

The maintenance droids only needed an hour to prepare a dorm for Irele within the command ship. Not that she would need a personal room in every ship she boards, but it would help if she did in the near future. The human guards did not need to wait for Irele to come to, they barged into the cell, pulled the poor girl by the arm to stand her up and then drag her out of the prison block while she could barely use her own two feet.

Irele’s eyes have not adjusted to the changing tones and gradients of lights of each part of the ship she passes through. She thought she said the question “Where are we going?” when the guards only heard an incoherent groaning at the throat.

The way from the prison block to her new chambers was a ten-minute walk, if one marched faster it would have been lesser. Upon reaching their destination, only one escorted her into her room and sat her down on the bed—to which she immediately fell limp and ended up lying down instead. While she was out cold, a nanny droid entered her bedroom to tend to whatever it can in the quarters; it took its time, in fact, until the girl came to. The droid’s sensors picked up the spike from Irele’s heart rate from slow to normal, it briskly turned around.

“It is fortunate that you’ve come to, milady. The serum from the probe has completely worn off. Should you feel slight nausea, do not be alarmed for it is normal as well. I can administer some painkillers to you with your choice of pill or syrup.”

The droid is programmed to speak in Basic and had a rather lulling, female voice—perhaps the most appropriate if you are to manufacture and program a droid for nursing.

“Milady? What are you talking about? Who are you? What are you?”

“You are here as a ward under the strict order of Master Vader. I am HY-L33, Nanny Droid,” it brought its head into a bow, “At your service, Milady Irele.”

“Why call me Milady when I’m kept hostage here?” she sits up and examines the room.

“Oh, you are mistaken, Milady. You are Lord Vader’s ward,” HY-L33 corrects. “And I have been tasked to take care of your basic needs and whims, if need be.”

“What I need is to go home! I don’t like being holed up in anywhere!”

The nurse droid lowered its head slowly, it stayed like so for a moment; with a rather sympathetic voice, HY-L33 responds, “I’m sorry, but I am incapable of fulfilling that whim, milady. I would suggest that you make yourself comfortable in this new one.”

Irele sighed, knowing that she’s talking to a wall here. She gave herself time to calm down and breathe. She passed her hands across her face and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be lashing out to you…” Irele inhaled. “What are you called again?”

“HY-L33, madam.”

Irele quietly parroted the name, “That’s a mouthful. How about I call you Haylee, is that alright?”

“If it proves to be more convenient for you, milady. Although personally, I do adore the name you’ve given me.”

Irele hummed as she managed a small smile, she hinted the chirp from the droid’s voice, relieved that she found some company out of the droid in this inorganic, cold room, she walked around to get a better feel of it now that the serum from the interrogation droid has worn off.

“Say, Haylee, do you know where we are?”

“We are aboard the command ship Anathema, the ship is within the Ulgoro system, and we are passing by the orbit of the planet Yelen.”

“How far are we from Tatooine?”

Haylee ran a quick scan from her processors, “We are approximately twenty-five parsecs away from the said Outer Rim planet.”

Irele breathed deeply, her heart sank, “That’s so far away…”

The droid’s photoreceptors picked up Irele’s increased heart rate and temperature. The girl was manifesting signs of anxiety: shivering hands, failing voice, and cold sweat.

“You are suffering from homesickness. Unfortunately, I do not have the appropriate medication for that, milady. Neither can I administer any medication for you. This is absolutely natural as you have been extracted from your real home to your current location.”

Irele took the deepest sigh and made a mantra.

Don’t lash out on the droid, you just screamed at it ten minutes ago.

She told this to herself mentally until she’s calmed herself down.

“Yeah, I am homesick. I left my family behind and…” she trailed off, realizing that the last people she was with were her friends. “My friends. They must be all worried sick about me.”

“You will be well taken care of here, Lady Irele.”

“Heh,” the girl huffed. “No need to be so formal. Just call me Irele.”

“As you wish… Mistress Irele.”

“Droids, gotta love ‘em…” she mumbled very quietly, knowing how acute droids’ hearing could be—depending on the model, that is.

–

Fortunately enough, Irele is indeed being taken care of.

Ever since she was moved to her own chambers in the Star Destroyer Anathema, she was thoroughly pampered—more or less—than anyone else in the ship, aside from Darth Vader. Never has she ever been well-fed in sixteen years! The serving portions were generous and they were quite tasty, but she had her moments where the food somewhat reminded her of home.

A uniformed officer enters Vader’s quarters to report of Irele’s adjustment to the new environment. Most of the officers feared that they’re speaking like a broken record, reporting the same thing to Vader every week—they had probably imagined it vexed him to be hearing the same thing over and over; it did them little comfort when adding their own personal observations of her such as asking for seconds with her food and interacting with the nanny droid, since she’s still shy and cautious from everyone else on board.Additionally, she was not yet allowed to wander off alone beyond her room. So, by all means, she is pretty much a hostage still—a rather pampered one, at the very least.

“Has she stopped her erratic behavior?”

“Fortunately so, Lord Vader, she has. Perhaps about a week and a half since her extraction, she had become somewhat… docile.”

Vader paused. He had presumed it was the effects of the interrogator droid’s syringe, but surely during the time the nanny droid was tending to the girl, the substance has flushed out since. Realizing that he truly knows nothing of what kind of person Irele is—compared from his earliest reference of her—he sighs with a quiet frustration under his mask.

“Very well. We are right on schedule. Carry on, captain.”

“Yes sir,” the captain bowed and dismissed himself militarily. His true posture showed when he rejoined his companion who had been waiting for him by the door. He hissed, “I didn’t conscript myself to the Imperial Fleet to be a babysitter!”

“Be more frustrated when Lord Vader does appoint you the official babysitter of the girl.”

“She’s quite a handful, don’t you think so?”

“Temperamental, to say the least,”

Only Vader and the droid, HY-L33, know what’s in store for Irele. Very soon, the plans for her life under the Empire’s wing—unknowingly under her brother’s care, or the walking shell of him perhaps—will be put into play.

For many weeks, HY-L33 patiently watched over Irele—especially in the medical aspect—and a mandate was programmed into her that once a diagnosis of the teenager would show optimum by the end of three weeks since her extraction from Tatooine, Irele would be considered physically eligible and be subjected to training. Eventually, HY-L33 was the only companion she has ever had in this ship since day one; so in exchange for medical knowledge and advice from HY-L33, Irele repays it with stories from her homeworld of Tatooine, but knowing that the droid is under Imperial property, she was cautious of what she ought to say, and rather told her adventures she had done on her own or with a friend instead of her family life.

“It seems as though your rigorous lifestyle has contributed to your increased stamina throughout your developmental stage.” HYL-33 commented once while listening to Irele recall one job she did where she would deliver goods door-to-door across the town of Mos Espa.

“Yeah well, I had to work. Because if I didn’t work, that just meant, I’ll be sleeping hungry—or if I’m lucky, with a half-full stomach.”

HY-L33, being the medical nanny droid that she is, went on to lecture Irele that it was ill-advised to sleep on an empty stomach for it will cause ulcers. The girl politely listened and heeded the advice, until she calmed down the droid that she had been fine for the rest of the time she was growing up.

She had only been staying for a week and a half. HY-L33’s sensors indicate a lesser trace of homesickness and anxiety within Irele, her body mass index has not changed drastically at all since her food intake was increased rather than imposing an eating strike—a few of HY-L33’s references cite that most human teenagers are more rebellious, especially when it comes to being fed after being thrown into a stressful situation. However, this was not the case with Irele, which made the nurse droid’s circuits cooler.

Eventually, the three weeks were over. Irele noticed HY-L33 seeming to be in full preparation. She did not mind this, but kept a close eye, until she could find the right timing to ask. After lunch, Irele went to the bath by rote, and quickly dressed herself in a dark gray shirt, black pants, and low boots.

Irele could truly sense something different in their routine.

“Haylee?”

“Yes, Miss Irele?”

“Is there something new added into the routine?”

“Yes, Miss Irele, we are about to perform a full health assessment on you. Please follow me and I will escort you to the medical ward.”

This was the first time Irele had been outside of her bedroom. For three weeks, she had been holed up in that metal room with no one and nothing else but HY-L33—to which she had grown fond of anyway—and then she finally comes out for a medical check-up.

Along the way, she could not look into the eyes of the crew, although she perfectly blended in with her gray and black clothes. She was nervous and afraid of what they’re thinking of her—because she felt like she knows what they’re saying about her, it’s a feeling that she can’t explain but it still manifests in her. Eager to avoid the stares and attention, Irele walked directly behind HY-L33 until they got to the said medical ward.

When they got there, the interior of the medical ward was a little bit brighter than most of the rooms in the ship. The walls were still metal, of course, but it was a cooler shade of gray which somewhat eased the people who are admitted and confined here—instead of the intimidating dark grays and blacks on other parts of the ship. At the center of operations was a 2-1B surgical droid stationed by a medical bed; it was approached by HY-L33 and Irele, when the droid’s photoreceptors saw the girl’s face, a deep male tone started speaking in a monotonous, continuous fashion.

“Irele Skywalker, human female, age is sixteen standard years, height stands at five feet and three inches…”

“Okay, okay, I think we got enough of my vitals already!” Irele interrupted.

“Were you briefed of your purpose here?”

Irele made a side-eyed glance at HY-L33, who didn’t move at all, “I was only told I was getting a check-up.”

“Correct.”

The surgical droid cleared out what HY-L33 failed to when they were still in the bedroom. It started with the physical examination—taking down her age, height, and weight, until it pored into analyzing the fluid levels and vitals of her organs to see if they were normal. It was all strange for little Irele, but she held up and did as she was told. She wasn’t getting hurt by the droids anyway, save the one pinprick that they had to do in order to conduct a blood test.

From Vader’s chamber, he was receiving real-time transmissions of the medical ward’s database. Whatever diagnosis the droids encode into the database under Irele’s profile, Vader saw it all firsthand—every revision, every new entry, every number.

Midichlorian count: 20,598.

Seeing this number and then recalling his impression on Irele baffled Darth Vader.

This child has lived sixteen years in a backwater planet, with a high midichlorian count… and yet her sensitivity is dormant.

[lemonietrinket]

Warnings: body insecurities (kept vague, but focusing around chest and stomach), general feelings of upset, tears, swearing (1x f**k) Yuta x Fem!Insecure!reader

~~~ 

“Hey love.”

Yuta’s voice brought you out of your book, quickly drawing your attention towards the opposite end of the sofa where he sat.

“Yeah baby?”

“I’m cold.” You watched as his hands, strong and tender, patted his thighs. “Come and sit here?”

You felt discomfort rise in your heart as you tried to dip yourself away from the request. “But I’m comfy here.”

His beautiful chestnut eyes were unwavering. You knew it was difficult to not collapse under his gaze, but normally you would put up a fight and try to look into them in return. Now, you couldn’t bear the feel of them staring into your soul—you didn’t want to admit to him what was down there. 

“But you’ll be comfier on me,” he counters.

You knew he was right, and deep down you wanted to rest your full weight upon him and let yourself sink into his touch, but something always stopped you. Insecurities were powerful things after all. You knew you’d stayed silent for too long, and by now the time had passed to try and come up with an excuse, and so you opted to try and focus on the good and ignore the weight in the pit of your stomach. 

Taking your time to place the bookmark between the pages, stalling so obviously that even you noticed it, you left your book and slunk across the cushions to where he sat.

Readying yourself to sit with your back to his chest, he stopped you.  “Sit facing me?” He pouted shamelessly. 

You did as he suggested, slightly concerned about how you couldn’t wipe the worry off your face and out of your mind. The pit grew in your stomach, twisting and turning, because it hurt to have your insecurities hold you back, for this to have been the first time you’d sat like this, even though you’d longed to ever since you started your relationship with the man of your dreams.

But that was where the problems were situated. You’d never had any problems with him holding you from behind pressed flush against his chest, or even entwined side to side.  It was just the front. 

“Love, are you ok?” Yuta’s voice was soft and careful as you sat upon his lap, your back rigid and your body leant away from him.

You nodded, pulling a smile as genuinely as you could. “Yeah!”

“But you’re not, are you?” Of course he saw through it all. “Why won’t you lay against me, love?”

You were stunned into silence. You’d spent so long ignoring the issue that you had no idea how to respond when it was finally, and inevitably, brought up. 

Yuta’s hand reached up tentatively, careful to move only where you could see them, before resting against your cheek, his eyes searching for any signs of discomfort there. He caressed the skin he found there, touch delicate as if he was afraid to hurt you, as he continued, “Because even when I hug you, you pull away, a-and I’m worried that I’m going to one day place my hand where you don’t want it and hurt you, and...” he trailed off as he searched for the words.

You’d never seen him this serious, in fact you’d never heard him stutter. His features were hard set but creased, his eyes were darker but glistening. He was no longer playful, he was worried. He was scared something was wrong. 

You meanwhile could not put any words into your own mouth. You sat with your hands clasped at your chest, willing the constriction in your throat to ebb away so you could regain control of yourself.

“Please, love, tell me what’s hurting you so I can help,” he pleaded, thumb drawing the tresses of your hair away from your face, “or if it’s my fault so I can stop, I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have, if I have.”

Your thoughts swarmed. He couldn’t be more wrong. It was you that had pushed him away physically this whole time, it was you that had not let his hands rest anywhere near your torso. You’d been so adamant yet hadn’t thought about the toll on him. 

Tears spilled straight into his finger tips, and he calmly collected them, letting the outpour of your insecurities sink into his skin.  

You took the deepest breath you could manage—you couldn’t blame yourself for it. Insecurities were a part of life, but that didn’t mean you had to let them rule it.

“It’s not your fault, Yuta, it’s not anything you’ve done, I promise you it’s not,” you explained as clearly as you could. Swallowing thickly, you willed yourself on, “It’s just that... I have these insecurities... I don’t like...” your hand vaguely gestured to your chest as you gave him a brave look, “you must know that this is hardly what people want. It’s hardly normal. Or cute. It’s not attractive, I’m not symmetrical—”

“No one is—”

“But I’m not small either, Yuta! Neither am I big! I fall between two stools and I don’t feel worthy of either appreciation and this just reminds me of it,” you sighed, biting the inside of your cheek, “I don’t want to push you away, but I hate the fact that I look the way I do. And there’s nothing I can do about it! I can’t wear my dream clothes because of it, I’m paranoid that people will notice because it’s right there, and I can’t help but just... not let you hold me there.”

You hadn’t noticed your eyes had fallen to look at the arm of the sofa, staring plainly at the black leather as his hand cradled your cheek. As you realised you owed him the courtesy of at least looking at him, you lifted your gaze only to find his eyes wet. He wasn’t crying, but there were signs of tears in the frames of his eyes. His beautiful, deep hazel eyes.

“Y/n, love, why didn’t you tell me sooner,” he said, his voice the quietest you’d ever heard, “I know one person’s words is not going to change years of worry and hurt but please listen to me when I tell you that I think you are beautiful. And that there is nothing wrong with you. And that you can still wear your dream clothes, and not fear that anyone will notice because they won’t—”

“Didn’t you?” 

“Yes, but,” his voice was desperate, his other hand stroking your temple nearly frantically, “not in the way you would imagine, I only spotted the padding one time—the more important part here is that I don’t think any less of you. You’re still my love, you’re still gorgeous and you’re still the hilarious, insanely clever woman I fell in love with, and these things only make you more special to me.

“No one is ever the standard, and I would never expect you to be,” he slowed down, the frown in his features easing, “I just want to hold my girl like she wants to hold me. And if anyone tries to tell you any different then they can literally go and fuck themselves.”

You felt your defences crumple as your face melted, sobs wracking your body. Not out of pain this time, but rather out of his words. They’d what you’d been waiting for, for years, and the small irrational part of you had begun to swell and say they would never come. But there they were. 

You sank into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively whilst you cried openly into his sweatshirt. No more pushing, no more hiding. You had nothing to fear; you could finally make your way along the road to recovery. It wouldn’t be an easy journey, and there would be times where you’d lose your way, but you weren’t alone, and that was a start. 

~~~

AN: Is this entirely self indulgent? Yes. Was it necessary for my own mental health? Yes. Is it a problem many people face? Yes. Therefore it is here.

After seeing many fics on here focus around feeling worried about body insecurities, as someone who also has these insecurities I thought I’d add some emotional support to the mix too. Though this one focuses around something else, not just about being bigger than society’s standards (though kudos to all the fic writers who do offer emotional support around this topic, you’re amazing!) I hope it finds its home somewhere out there, as I can’t be the only one. I know I haven’t been specific to what it is, but, if you know, you know. 

Anyway, everyone who doesn’t fit and conform to society’s standards, and are afraid that people will find you unnattractive and won’t want you, please stay strong!

I know I’m just some weird writer on tumblr but I promise that you are beautiful, you are valid and important and people will adore you for all of your quirks. It’s important to remember that you are more than your body too, and that is what people fall in love with in the end, so even if things seem hard, do not lose hope

There are nearly 8 billion people on this planet, there’s got to be at least one amazing one for you, and you’re going to be one amazing one to so many.

peace, Lemonie

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