#smiles like a normal person holding this unlikely couple out in front of you

[korkietism]

You don’t understand tokotsume like I do.. audhd gf who wants to study you under a microscope and smells like metal + autistic goth partner who has never met a single emotion and calls her the sweet goddess of the moon..

[literaila]

i’m not sick

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: 

“i’m not taking that. you could’ve poisoned it.” 

“or i could be trying to help.” 

“highly unlikely.” 

warnings: the flu, peter, fluff

*

peter slams the door shut every time he comes home. 

it's something that you've talked about in length. 

"why can't you just close it like a normal person?" 

"then how would you know i'm home?" 

and, in all actuality, you've grown fond of it. because he's right, in some strange, annoying way. 

it's nice to know that he's home. nice to live with someone else that you love so dearly. 

today though, you're not in the mood. 

so when peter arrives home, slamming the door as he walks through, whistling a tune you don't recognize, you begin smothering yourself in a pillow. 

you groan and bury yourself even further into the mountain of blankets you've collected on the couch. 

"hey, baby," he calls through the halls. probably because your shoes are right by the door. 

or maybe because peter has memorized your schedule. either way. 

he lets out an exhausted yelp--because this is peter--and you can hear him as he moves through the house, never quiet, never really wanting to be. 

"i've been thinking about the dishwasher," he says, probably throwing his bag on the ground, probably messing up whatever organized house you used to have. "and i don't think you need to call maintenance, i think if i just--" 

and then he's right in front of you. footsteps slowing as he reaches the couch. 

"hey," he whispers to you, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "afternoon nap?" 

you, of course, are still completely invisible under all of the blankets. 

peter carefully peels them away, getting hair in your eyes during the process. 

"hi, bub," he says, sort of cooing. his finger brushes away the hair in front of your eyes, landing on your cheek. "did i wake you up?" 

"no," you answer, scowl a permanent fixture on your face. 

peter raises an eyebrow. 

you stare back, awaiting his verdict. 

because there's definitely something about all of this. definitely not some very obvious reason that you are laying on the couch in a hut of your own misery, or why earlier today you had to leave work early. 

"what's with that?" peter asks, softly. there's a hint of frown on his face like whatever you say next will change the outcome of this situation. 

"what's with what?" you respond, playing dumb even though you can hear the gravel-like notion of your voice. 

even though your nose feels of something like a clogged pipe. 

peter snorts, just a little, and tilts his head. "are you getting sick?" 

his hand moves to your forehead, palm warm. 

"no," you insist, with the willpower of a two-year-old child. 

"sore throat?" 

you shake your head against his hand. 

peter has pity in his eyes. some egregious, very annoying stare as he looks at you. 

"headache?" 

"i'm fine, peter," you say, pushing his hand away. 

"you're warm." 

"i turned the thermostat up," you give him your biggest smile--maybe because you've had many an argument about leaving the heater alone, or maybe because you're a treacherous liar. 

"c'mon, bug," peter says. "your voice is all scratchy and you're wincing from the light." 

"i'm wincing at your sheer beauty," you say, as doing so. 

"flu's goin' around," peter says, sitting up, smiling down at you. "have you taken any medicine?" 

"no, because i'm not sick." 

"i think we've got some tylenol..." peter is not paying attention to you as he walks away. 

you frown at the ceiling, think about leaving for a couple of days until he can no longer hold this against you. and so you can keep this illness away from him. 

an illness which you have no part in, thank you very much. 

you're not sick. just tired. 

"i'm really fine," you tell peter, from a room away. "i didn't sleep very well last night. i think that's it." 

peter walks back into the room with a glass of water and a couple of pills. "take this," he says, because he is high and mighty. 

"i'm not taking that." you push his hand away, glaring. "you could've poisoned it." 

peter laughs. "or i could be trying to help." 

"highly unlikely," you say. 

"bug," peter says, pushing it at you again. "just take it, please. it'll help with the fever." 

"i don't have a fever." 

peter sighs and hangs his head. "are you going to be like this all night?" 

"i'm being an angel." 

"an angel of irritation, maybe," peter says. you begrudgingly take the medicine from him, swallowing it with a wince. 

you would very much like to kick him out. to banish him to the bedroom until further notice, but peter does not listen to. nor will he ever. 

"drink the rest of that," he says. "have you eaten?" 

"i had crackers at lunch." 

"so, no." 

"peter," you say, attempting some sort of sweetness. "i'm okay. i think you should go and change. you just got home. i can take care of myself." 

peter snorts like this is funny. 

you frown. "i'm serious." 

"i know," he says, staring at you adoringly. he kisses your forehead, moving your legs so that he can sit down next to you on the couch. 

"peter," you whine, somewhat maturely. 

"yes?" 

"don't be rude." 

he laughs again. 

"seriously," you say, gesturing towards the door. "go clean up. i'll sit here and do nothing. i promise." 

"i'm not that smelly," he says, pretending to check. 

you frown, giving him a dry look. 

he pushes your leg, mock offended. 

"i'll be fine." 

"i know you will," peter claims. "i just want to spend some time with you." 

"you're coddling me." 

"everyone needs to be taken care of every once in a while. you're sick." 

"i'm not sick." 

he stares at you, lip quirked in amusement. 

you stare back daring him to continue. 

you dare him time and time again to prove this love that he claims to feel for you. to show you with more than just words. 

and this is what he decides to do. 

"c'mon, i haven't seen you all day. can't we just sit here for a little bit?" peter asks, interrupting. 

"no. i don't want to get you sick. and you're sweaty." 

"i thought you weren't sick?" 

you frown, trying to take it all back in an instant. 

but peter interrupts you with a smile. he's leaning in close enough that you don't have time to get a word out. 

"it's okay," he says, lips very close to yours. "i already got my flu shot." 

you push him away, groaning. "peter." 

"just one?" 

"none," you say. "go. i'll be here when you get back." 

peter laughs, sitting up again. he pulls at your blanket with a finger, smiling wider when you frown. he nudges his hand against you, tilting his head. 

begrudgingly you let him grab the blanket, letting the cold air in, and then climbing under with you. 

you let him snuggle close to you, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. 

"this is not recommended by the cdc." 

"neither is banishing your boyfriend to the shower." 

still, you nuzzle your nose into his shirt, breathing in the gross essence of him. you listen to his heartbeat, allowing it to lull your headache away. 

peter is not as warm as you, and still, very welcome. 

you've grown almost fond of this man you're cuddling with. 

"hey," he says after a minute has passed and you've ceased your complaining.

"hmm?" 

"why didn't you call me?" 

you open an eye, staring up at him. "what?" 

"i would've gotten some more meds," he says. "if you'd called. why didn't you tell me you were sick?" 

"you were working." 

peter traces a fingertip down your hairline, creating a trail of goosebumps on your arm. 

"that's okay. i wouldn't have minded." 

"i didn't want to bug you." 

peter laughs, vibration moving both of you. he uses a hand to tilt your chin up. just so that you'll look at him. "bug," he says, stern and soft at the same time. 

you blink innocently at him. 

"i want you to call me," his eyes are wide, and soft and brown. "if there's something wrong." 

"i just had a headache," you answer back, allowing him to play with the skin on your neck. "that's all." 

"i want you to call me. so i know you're alright. and so i can stop at the pharmacy and make a big deal about how my baby is sick and i need nothing but the best--" 

"peter," you giggle, laughing when his nose tickles your skin. 

"you have to promise," he says, "or i'll--" he digs a finger into your side, tickling and torturing you. 

"okay!" you say, trying to pull away from him. "okay i promise--peter!" 

"you promise?" 

"yes, yes. i'll call," you say, just a little bit breathless. 

peter lets go, leaning back again and pulling you with him. "good." 

*

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl​

[thewriterg]

𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

pairing(s): jj maybank x gn!reader, pope heyward x gn!reader

summary: You lived for the moments you spent with your boyfriends the parties and the treasure hunting was nice but nothing beat the warm nostalgia of tangled limbs and sweet kisses in the bed bathing in the obx sun

word count: 500+

request: Hi, so some time ago I read your imagine between Pope, JJ and reader and I just thought it was incredible, because most of the time a poly couple is shown, it's two people giving love to one person, yours already showed the love between the three <3 So in that same JJ x Pope x reader dynamic, imagine where they're just in bed, just woken up from an afternoon nap and are simply cuddling in the warmth of the covers. Thank you, bye- @lovers-rockkk

warning(s): fluff, kisses, sweet short domestic, pet names, polyamory themes, and I think like one swear word

A/n: —GIF;— I can not tell you how happy it makes me when someone notices the few extra steps I to take to make my fics better thank you for the appreciation love it made me feel great <3 Also I have a surprise for you guys at the end of this so read all the way through!!!

You felt yourself begin to stir the feeling of the sun engulfing your figure that wasn’t covered by the duvet of your bed gave you a welcoming invite to blink the sleep from your eyes but you were quickly met with admiring brown eyes staring back at you

“Well good morning” You softly smiled voice soft and raspy from sleep as you stared at the rich skinned boy in front of you immediately throwing an arm over his slim waist you often teased him with your compliments it made his face hot and he was often bashful when you said the things you did especially about his toned stomach

“my pretty baby and his little waist”

“men and their slutty waist”

“we’ll look at you” you said while wrapping your around his torso pressing your face against his back

“Morning dove” Popes voice was almost the same as yours, raspy but it was less than normal letting you know he was probably up for a while before you silently moved not wanting to wake up the blonde next to you to straddle the brunettes lap as he watched you with a small smile as the sun kissed you through the blinds

You leaned down on Popes chest your bottom half still resting on his lap as you prepped small fluttering kisses on his neck traveling to his jaw as his warm hands traveled over your hips and lower back

You both stayed like that for a wild sun and love drunk In each others embrace warm and comfortable no worries of the outside world just yet… no gold, no running for your life, no gunshots, no pogues just them.

“Did you save any for me? You guys are mean” JJ groaned out a whine stretching as you both looked over to the blonde who were barely awake looking and searching for affection and you smirked widely while Pope chuckled quietly under you

“Come on Goldie” You couldn’t conceal the smile from your face while the dark skinned boy under you opened his arm out to take the blonde in and JJs ears perked up at the familiar nickname not wasting a second to crash into Popes side as he playfully groaned before kissing his temple

You sprawled out on top of them both with a over exaggerated sigh as the both chuckled before pressing a kiss to the corners of blondes mouth as he lied there in content letting you continue your acts of assault kisses to his face as you did Pope

“I think we should just stay in, hell we can put John B on hold for a day” The pale spoke up breaking the peaceful silence that fell over you all after you had settled and you hummed in agreement while Pope turned to scoop you both up in his arms a sigh that leaving the bed soon was very unlikely

You would forever persevere the love in these moments

💌💌💌💌

So I’ve started a book on Wattpad! It’s called “don’t go chasing waterfalls”

Its about a girl named Bonnie Sonnet and her group of friends follow the conflict and consequences after leaving Pouglandia in search for El dorado. How will her two certain best friends react when she makes empty promises for when this is all over? They were destined to make her keep said promises.

JJ and Pope are both love interests while also pinning over each other so if you like fics like these you’d definitely like it so you should check it out!

[her-majesty-horiko]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐚 𝐙𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐅!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

➷ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ?

ᴛᴀɢs - school au, jealously, jealous couple, bickering, compliments, flusteration, fluff, neon, gon

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You are really a big help. If you want I can pay you back." Your senior wink in flirtatious way as you simply give him a close eye smile as he waved back at you with a smile from his side too.

You were in same club, yesterday he was due with a club project but unfortunately it was still incomplete. Feeling bad for the guy you offer him your help and here we are now.

As he left you as you feel a dark aura emitting from your behind annnd it was Killua, ofc.

"I am gonna break those shining teeth of his then we will see if he can still smile."

"Seriously Killua?"

"Hey don't forget you almost were ready to kill me because you see a girl laughing while talking to me."

"Well I feel guilty about that!"

"Okay so you got right to be protective but I don't?"

"We both got right but that doesn't mean we should literally stop our partner from having normal human interaction and it's not like we can control intentions of other person."

"Oh? So you atleast know we can't control intentions of other person. Well hopefully next time you will remember that before lashing out on me!"

You both glared at each other so hard a spark was created before Gon calm you guys once again.

"That idiot girl is not being reasonable." Killua retorted as he cross arms against his chest.

"I dare to say that again." You said with your fist rising.

"You guys please stop." Gon said trying to hide his exhaustion with a smile.

"It's a no-no." Neon suddenly appeared as other three back up in suprise.

"Why are you even here?" Killua said with annoyed look.

"Of course to meet (Y/N)-chan." She hugged you, making Killua even more annoyed.

"Stop clinging to her will you?" Killua scoffed,"Well unlike certain someone I am open with my feelings." She said those words with smile but their meaning was sure sour.

"But like I was saying you guys need to improve your communicative skills."

"I think they are already improved enough. We're honest with each other." Killua said not liking to hear criticism from blue hair girl.

"Well if that's called improved then I don't know what's more worst then it." Gon mumbled to himself but Killua caught the words and hold his collar in annoyance.

"So today you're gonna compliment each other." Neon declared, hands on her hip.

"What how can we find something to compliment so easily?" You hold your chin between your fingers.

"Yeah." Despite agreeing with you this wast much hard for Killua because from his view each time you was there he can always find something to compliment about but of course it's easier to think than being done.

"It's a test of your love!" Neon announced, definitely not backing up on her plan.

"Test of l-l-love?" You repeat with flusteration clear in your voice.

"You can't be serious (Y/N)?" Killua question reading your face.

"W-well─"

"(Y/N)-chan agrees. Everything settles." Neon said she pushes you in front,"Let's start with you only Killua." Neon pointed at white hair boy, who stuttered 'me?' to which Neon casually response 'yes'.

Staring at you for sometime, making you self conscious he opened his mouth only to let out long breath.

"Is it too hard to find something on (Y/N)-chan?" Gon comment innocently not knowing it hit ther nerve on you as you immediately held white hair boy's collar and in threatening tone ask him to conform it.

"O-of course not! It's just. . . . little embarrassing to say." He said as he avert his eyes away. Upon hearing his reason you also set him free as an unknown feeling emerge inside you.

"That's a negative point." Neon said from sidelines, making an irk mark appear on Killua.

"It's okay. I know he act like all rough and all but on inside he is much caring and sweet. He probably feeling embarrassed so I-I think I will go first." You said in meek voice as you fiddle with your fingers while other three awed at your words.

Even through you act so mean and arrogant, you always try to understand him better than everyone else.

"You already complete your part." Neon said while Gon agree with her.

"I did?" You said as red lines appear on your cheeks.

"Yes you did, right Killua?" Neon eyed the white hair boy who was still in awed from your words.

"Maybe?"

"Don't maybe! Now just say something on your turn."

". . ."

He look at you once again before his eyes caught yours, looking at him with pure hope. This cause him to have red lines appear on his cheeks before he avert them again.

"I like. . . .your smile." He is burning from inside but atleast he was able to say something good.

"Huh? Not good enough. Say something more." Neon complaint. Killua was about to bark at her back before (Y/N) assured them,"It's fine."

"Even with this much words I am truly happy. Truly happy to hear him say that." Your pure aura of happiness was around you. Your eyes was down due to shyness, but your happy face was everything. And just like that everyone was in aw once again.

"Can I date you instead (Y/N)-chan?"

"WHAT?"

"She really deserves better."

"WHAT!?"

Words from Neon and Gon was sure out of box, confused Killua looked at them both while you feel your cheeks burning with compliment.

"I feel so special." You thought as you look down in embarrassment.

"I think that was good enough." Gon comment as he pat Killua on the back.

Neon nodded in response before she slapped her hands with suprised expression,"Oh I remember the real reason I come here for."

Hearing this Killua gritted his teeth as Gon hold him back.

"What was that it?" You really didn't care if that thing before only happen cause Neon forget her real reason, to add you were most certainly happy she forgot and proposed that plan.

"I am having a welcome party at my house in few days so I wanted (Y/N)-chan to come shopping me, if it's okay with Killua." Neon stated as everyone glances at Killua.

"It's her choice don't make me come in between." He nonchalantly stated.

"Oh~?" Gon and Neon said together making Killua annoyed as ever.

"Well if it's okay with you, can Gon and Killua also join us?" You ask Neon with red lines on your cheeks. Looks like you was trying to be cool about it but your face totally give you away.

"If that's what (Y/N)-chan wants then I am fine with it." Neon said in a tone, totally devoted to you.

"So we all will hang out together? Sounds fun!" Gon said in pure excitement while Killua tch in response.

You looking at other three just smile which Killua capture in his heart.

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Gojo Satoru's significant other.

Imagine having enough patience to be his childhood friend, classmates and let alone his lover for years. Or maybe you don't have the patience, rather you manage to get used to him and his attitude, the way he treats everybody and anybody throughout the years where you've been by his side.

Imagine being on the same year but instead of being put on the same team as him and the others, you were in tasked on a solo mission just like Geto's s/o but was overseas by the time you were at the jujutsu high. Not that you don't mind being away, but unlike Satoru who can do whatever he wants being the most powerful sorcerer alive. You who was the only descendants of a ruined clan have no choice but to obey unless Satoru stepped in, in which he never does, not because he doesn't care but because you never let him know.

"Awwe how come you always accepted missions overseas?" "Well Satoru, other people needed some aid you know." "But why does it has to be you? It's like the elders have been doing this on purpose." "We-" "Should I just kill them all?" "..." "Just kidding babe. Muah!"

Imagine being the dumb and dumber couple. Always making trouble for the principal when you were together. Going on a days when you both have times and making it always fun and memorable. Being with Satoru was like being in the eye of the storm, whenever you were with him everything was calm and bright, like everything was alright.

"Do you really have to go?" He was pouting like a child you're rather finding him silly than cute. "This job is the most suitable for me" You spoke, caressing his cheeks, looking at those mesmerizing blue eyes underneath those black glasses of his. "Don't worry, I'll be back before you knew it like always. Besides don't you have your own mission to do?" You remind him as he pout once again. "Oh come on you big baby. Stop looking at me like that, I'm not going to change my mind"

Imagine your mission being longer than what you've imagine, plus the danger you've faced was far more worse when you face it. As if someone was trying to get rid of you on purpose by not giving the right details about your mission. Nevertheless you manage to survive, thought attaining a few major and minor injuries, there was nothing that can stop you going back home.

Imagine the confused look on your face. The man right in front of you was the man you've loved the most at the same time he wasn't. He looked and sound the same and yet.. There was something different. He wasn't the only one. Everything seems to have changed. You want to asked him, really. But as soon as you went back to jujutsu high, you were put too focus on your recovery.

"You good?" He sat on the empty chair right beside your bed. "Yeah, just a little bit tired but I'm good." You replied not wanting to worry him. "How about you?" You asked, finally looking at him who was wearing his usual glasses. I heard from Geto that you... That was what you wanted to ask but you hold back. "I'm fine, aren’t I the strongest as ever?" He smirked playfully at you. But wasn't it we that it used to be?

Imagine being in the middle of a mission when you have heard the news about his best friend being wanted as a curse user. The look on your face as you hurried off and went to finish the work so that you could go home and head towards your lover.

Imagine as you burst enter his room, there he was sleeping peacefully, making you sit on his bed side as you watch him breath peacefully, only when times like this does it seems like he was a normal person, a beautiful normal person not the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the history of sorcerers. But you knew that was never the case, reaching out to touch the lost strand of his white clocks on his face, your hand was blocked by an invisible barrier. A bitter smile making its way on your lips.

Imagine as you were about to leave him be for the rest of the night and was about to come back the following day, as you were to retract your hand, you found yourself laying on your side, his arms wrapped around your waist, his front pressing on your back as you can feel his breathing upon your neck.

"You're leaving me again, aren't you?" His voice was emotionless. It almost made you stop breathing for a second. "No. I'm not." You said with a sigh. "I'm staying for the night." You heard him chuckle after that. "Just for the night, heh." You felt his hold tighten around you. "No. I'll stay by your side as long as you like." For the first time in your life, you felt the strongest sorcerer tremble upon holding you as he buried his face upon your neck.

Imagine as times goes by, you learn how to love and adjust this new Satoru. In the first place its not like you stopped loving him and vice versa. It's just this Satoru was a little high wild. And also.

"Who's this kid?" You spoke upon seeing the little boy beside him. "Did- did you kidnapped a child?! OH MY GO-!" "Hey!" He spoke putting you on a headlock and eventually messed with your hair. "Babe stop!" You laugh, pushing him away. "But seriously who is this child?" You spoke once again referring to the kid that was looking at you two with emotionless. Just like that Satoru lean close to your ear and whispered. "He's a Zenin." Enough for you to know what he was referring to. "We're going to be his guardian." "What?" You look at your lover with a flabbergasted look on your face.

Imagine as you two spend the rest of your days together, as the two of you continue to love each other, days where just passing by. You slowly grown to love the child that Satoru have picked up. It was peaceful, though can a little bit of a mess sometimes because of your lover, it was wonderful.

Imagine, as at least you thought, as you were both teacher at the jujutsu high, you can agree at Satoru's decision when it comes to the vessel of Sukuna, Yuji Itadori was a bright young man after all. Though everything was a bit of a hellish mess, everything was fine, until the real tragedy came, the Shibuya Incident.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2022°

[slashingdisneypasta]

Wayne Jackson x Sweet!Shy!Reader || Drabble

Plot: The scene with the cop stopping them in the road. You reach a hand between the seats and stop Wayne from doing something stupid. You also kinda reflect on your relationship with him 😅

Warnings: Attempted murder references and maybe a couple sexual ones too.

You're so uncomfortable around cops, these days. Before you met these men (before you met Wayne, particularly), you were very normal! Cops made you a little nervous even if you didn't do anything-- but now it was so much worse. Because you have done things... and you don't always know the everything you've done. You try to trust Lyle that you wont get too mixed up in all of this, but thats a hard thing to do. So you try to trust Norman... but thats hard, too.

So when the cop stopped your car on the side of the highway, you slumped in your seat behind the passenger seat, chewing on your thumbnail. Dale nudges you; Gives you a 'be fucking cool' look, but you s u c k at that. The only reason you're here is because of Wayne- you're not meant for this life!!

But still, you take a deep breath through your nose and flash the Officer a sweet grin when he peers into the back seats past Norman and Wayne. You even give a little, curt waive.

He nods, and keeps talking to Norman.

You can hear the blood pumping in your ears as you score your memory for any reason the Officer could arrest you right now, but your heads so jumbled you can barely think. you're so stuck in your own thoughts you miss out on what Dale said- it sounds to you like you're underwater.

But you do notice when, a few minutes later, the cop starts coming back to the car from his and Wayne (in front of you), pulls out his gun. Eyes widening immediately, your heartbeat speeding up awfully in your chest; hammering against your collar. Norman tells him to put it away, but he doesn't.

Before you can even think, you're reaching carefully past the back of Wayne's seat and taking hold of his arm. Numb fingers squeeze him there comfortingly as the cop strolls over. "Wayne." You whisper, desperate and hopeful. He'll listen to you, you're very well aware of the unlikely effect you have on him. You don't know how, or why, but he listens to you-- when you need him to. When you're scared.

The cop is getting closer, and you watch him with baited breath as you feel Wayne stop, taking in a tense breath, then lower his arm again. Letting out an unbelievably relieved breath, you slide your nervous gaze from the cop to the car's side mirror; in which Wayne's already looking at you.

Thank you, you mouth. You try to take your hand away, but as the Cop's leaning down to talk to Norman again through the drivers side window Wayne lifts his hand to holds yours where it is; giving you a little squeeze as his jaw tenses tighter, holding himself together.

... okay. You think, nervously. Now you're basically holding hands. Its nice. Fuck- you're never going to get over this. How s o f t this terrible man is with you, how you're actually with someone like him. You never in a million years expected that you, the shyest person ever, ended up with a criminal more than/double your age. You've seen how terrible he can really be; you should have run away the first time you did. The time he almost killed someone because that someone hit on you.

You remember the scene vividly. How you didn't really realise what happened, why your butt stung for a few moments- but Wayne had; yanking you behind him and pulling out the gun always tucked in the front of his jeans. How you had to b e g him, not to shoot the guy. Even though you were mortified. Then the blood on the floor when he didn't listen to you. Your frantic 911 call. The cops-

... but you didn't run away, for some reason that you still don't quite understand.

You remember how Wayne was smiling when the cops came; a wicked proud smile that told you he wasn't sorry at all. He grinned like that even with the cuffs on and when he was behind the iron bars, flirting with you through them like this wasn't a big deal.

... or maybe you completely understand it, you do, and you just don't want to admit it. Because admitting you like that part of him- at least when its defending you-- is terrifying.

You especially remember the gentle way he touched you before the cops and the ambulance came, cupping your jaw in one hand and telling it was worth it sweetheart. sorry. we're gonna be apart for a lil while, now, but you'll wait for me wont ya?

As Norman starts up the engine again and peels away from the Officer, Wayne's familiar voice breaks you out of your thoughts; causing your eyes to lift up to his in the side mirror again.

"'T's lucky my little sunflower was here to rein me in there, huh?" He gives you a wink.

"Yeah, lucky." Norman rolls his eyes, focused on the road.

"... Sunflower??" Dale snorts. What? You think, knitting your brows together. You like that! "More like rider. Right??" He chuckles, mortifying you with the dirty innuendo. Your eyes widen in surprise, before you hide your face in your hands, as the teasing for the rest of the ride back to Lyle begins.

[nyxwanderland]

♡ in your arms

pairing → jean kirschtein x reader genre → fluff / angst warnings → contains swearing, blood word count → 1157

I may get very hungry after several hours of brutal training, but I'd trade my soul in exchange for skipping dinner at the mess hall. Don't get me wrong, the food was alright. The real reason was the loud and annoying trainees drenched in sweat and reeking of body odor, making it unbearable for me to eat in peace. I myself felt uncomfortable and self-conscious of my own unpleasant smell.

Commander Keith's orders were to wash up only after we had our meals. So bothersome.

After taking forever to find an empty place for myself to sit and eat, I propped my book in front of me in a way I could read it easily while eating my bread. Although despising them with every inch of my being, I had always found titans fascinating and really wanted to work with Squad Leader Hange Zoe to further research about the giant brutes.

It was getting louder in the mess hall. It was as if a fight broke out because people gathered around a spot and punches and kicks were heard. I could care less, however the crowd was right behind me so it was difficult to concentrate in peace.

I decided to get up and find a new area where it was quieter when I was hit with a splash of water out of the blue. Not only my hair and clothes were all wet, but my food and book were too. The entire room became quiet upon realization.

Abruptly getting up while slamming my hands on the table, I turned around to face the group of people behind me. They already thought I was scary for no reason and left me alone all this time, so they stared at me as if they'd shit their pants.

"Who did it?" I asked. Frustrated when no answer came, I said again, with a raised voice this time, "I said, who the fuck did it?"

"It was me," a brown-haired boy spoke up, raising his hand. "Didn't see you there, sorry."

I would've normally forgiven him, but something about his cocky expression and negligible concern made my eye twitch. "Is that your way of apologizing?"

His eyes glanced down from my eyes to my hand, which was holding the book, water droplets dripping from the pages. "I mean, you got a shower, you should be thanking me for that."

My urge give him a beating won over just as he said that. I went towards his figure. "Also, that book has like a hundreds of copies in the library, so it's not that a big de-" While his mouth was spewing shit, I grabbed a fistful of hair, shoving his face on my knee. A crack was heard as I did so.

"Jean?!" One of the trainees from the crowd yelled along with a couple of gasps from the others in the room.

The guy- Jean grunted as he staggered and lost his balance, falling on the floor with his head on the ground. "Fuck! This bitch broke my nose!"

"Didn't see you there. It's just a broken nose, it'll get fixed on its own anyway, no big deal."

✩

"Hey, you alright?" A voice so gentle asked.

I snapped out of the memory and realized I wasn't a trainee in the mess hall anymore, but in an airship with other soldiers, in a land outside of where it all began.

I quickly looked at the person who spoke. Just as our eyes met, my gaze softened and a smile subconsciously appeared on my face. "Yeah, I'm fine, Jean."

The me four years ago would have never expected to be my worst enemy's fiancée, sitting closely together with my head on his shoulder. From hating to loving each other, it was a whole journey; and we were going to continue it till the end.

"You looked pretty zoned out there," my beloved said, worried unlike our trainee days.

I shook my head. "I was thinking about how we first met."

Jean let out a laugh. "Man, that sure was the most horrible first meeting I've ever had in my life. Worse than Eren's."

"You were being a jerk after all," I shrugged. "You deserved it."

"Oh, shut up," he scoffed. "It was just a book, my love. You could have found more like it or even better in the lib-"

"You're lucky that I love you or there'd be a repeat of what happened last time," I threatened as sweetly as possible.

Jean rolled his eyes and sighed. He wrapped his arm around my body, pulling me even closer to his body. "I just can't wait for this to be over. Then as promised, we'll get married and have a safe life back home."

I smiled, my cheeks slightly turning red at the thought of us living together with no worry in the world. Without being alert all the time and without the fear of getting killed suddenly. "Me too," I said quietly, just enough for Jean to hear amongst the loud celebrating cheers in the ship.

thud

My ears perked up and I looked at Jean, who became alert too. Something just hit the exterior of the airship. We both got up and told the cheering soldiers to calm down.

"Is there someone inside?" I asked, but all of them denied.

I went to check from the door, but someone held my hand to stop me. I turned around to see it was Jean. "It's dangerous, y/n."

"I'll be fine," I said reassuringly.

At that moment, a little girl jumped inside the aircraft and pointed a large rifle at someone. Sasha.

It all happened in seconds, as I pushed Sasha out of the way to save her from getting killed. She looked at me with horror, and I did not realize why so until I felt a sharp pain in my body, near my chest.

It took me a moment to comprehend what was happening as my body dropped to the floor, Jean screaming in agony and the angry soldiers grabbing the culprit and snatching the weapon.

My eyes were glued to the ceiling and I tried to control my breath. Blood oozed out from my wound. My vision was getting blurry and the voices that were once loud were beginning to fade away.

I felt my body being held in someone's arms. I saw Jean, his face plastered with despair and dripping with tears. He was saying something, but it was getting harder for me to make out the words coming out of his mouth.

With the only energy left within, I managed to place my hand on my beloved's cheek, wiping the tears away. I let out a deep breath and muttered, "I guess... my wish of dying in your arms became true... earlier than I wanted to..."

"I'm sorry, J-Jean... for breaking our promise..."

I felt my hand drop as everything went black, breathing my last.

[kaminocasey]

Do You Hear the People Sing Part 6

Summary: You try to figure out an escape while Fox tries to find you. Pairing: Commander Fox x Reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Violence-ish. Force Choking. Kidnapping. WC: 2.3K A/N: I should have had this done and ready to go for Fox Friday but I didn't and I'm sorry!

Last | Next

The morning sun shines slightly on your face as you sleep peacefully, breathing softly. Fox can’t help but be in awe of how beautiful you are. How did he get so lucky in this life?

As he traces lazy lines up and down your bare skin, you start to stir slightly, smiling. He keeps tracing until finally he pulls you to him, kissing you breathless.

“Mm. Good morning, love.” You smile against his lips.

“Good morning.” He rolls over so that he’s hovering above you.

“Do you want breakfast?” You ask him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He leans down and kisses along your collarbone all the way up to your jaw. “Sounds great. Except I had something tastier in mind.”

He travels down your body, peppering soft kisses along your bare skin until he gets to your lower half, smirking up at you.

“Is this okay?” He asks.

“Please.” You murmur, carding your fingers through his messy curls.

“So polite.” He praises you, kissing your hip before diving into your warmth.

He’d never get tired of this. Waking up to you every single morning. Eventually, this war would be over, and he’d be able to be public with you. He’d never have to bail you out of jail again. You’d be able to do everything normal couples do and more.

When Fox wakes up to find you missing, he nearly drops to the ground, his ears still ringing. The last thing he remembers is a red lightsaber and Ventress running into the apartment from the gaping hole in the living room, grabbing you, and jumping back into the speeder, only to fly off to Maker knows where. He had tried to get up, to stop her, but he’d been too weak with dizziness and passed out.

Now that he’s doing somewhat better, he finally gets up off the floor to go check on Stone and Thorn. They’re both finally coming to and they seem to be about in the same shape as Fox. Which is not great, but functioning. He just got you back… and now, you’d been ripped right from his arms again.

This time… if he had to, he’d tear apart the entire galaxy to find you. He knows he’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.

“Let’s go.” Fox tells them, helping them up.

“Where’s-” Thorn starts but Fox cuts him off.

“They took her.”

When you come to, you’re sore all over your body. You try to feel your surroundings before opening your eyes. Your wrists are bound together but you’re laying on some sort of cot. The air is cool and you hear people talking far away. Or at least you think they’re far away. Your ears are still ringing a bit.

“Ooh, she’s waking up.” You hear a sultry female voice.

You turn your head toward the voices, trying to open your eyes.

“You can do it. Open your eyes.” You hear Nell’s voice.

Immediately, your eyes open. Everything is still rather blurry, but by the time things start to become clear, you see Nell in front of you, holding out a cup of water.

“What have you done?” You ask her, angrily, and then look at the person behind her.

You try to get up to confront her but the woman behind her blazes her red lightsaber. So that’s who that was. Asajj Ventress. You immediately recognize her from when she would give the Corries and the Jedi a hard time. You realize right then that you’re actually in deep shit and you’re going to have to figure out how to get out of it.

“I’m making a difference for Clone Rights. Unlike you.” Nell spits, getting in your face. “I am the one who is willing to do whatever it takes. You aren’t.”

“So, what then? You wanna take over? Go for it.” You shrug. “But don’t act like what you’re doing is for clone rights. You’re doing it for power.”

“Oh sweetie… a thing can be two things.” Ventress purrs, turning off her lightsaber and clipping it to her side.

You give them both a disgusted look and then pull your knees up to your chest and lean against the wall. You’re not going to give them the satisfaction of showing your fear. If they wanted you dead, surely they would have just left you for dead in your apartment, right?

You just hope that Fox survived that blast too. If he’s not…

Nope. You can’t think about that right now. You have to figure out how to save yourself. There’s no use in waiting around for help that you aren’t even sure is coming. Although, knowing Fox, if he is alive, will stop at nothing to get you back safely.

“Do you want this water or not?” Nell asks.

You take the water from her and sip cautiously from it.

“It’s not poisoned.” Nell rolls her eyes and walks away.

“Can never be too sure… you know since you kidnapped me and all.” You shrug.

Nell chuckles as she leaves the room. You know that this time, it’d be harder to trick Nell so that you could get away. She’d be counting on you lying to her.

If you ever find yourself in trouble, don’t panic. Breathe and then find your exit, Fox’s voice fills your head.

Closing your eyes to breathe, you allow yourself a moment of peace. Only one, though. Then, you open your eyes. Looking around, you see a vent up at the top of the room. It’s about an eight or nine foot reach. There’s no way that you’d be able to get up there today since you’re still sore. You’re definitely going to need your energy to get out of wherever the hell you are.

“Respectfully, General... There’s no way she’s on Coruscant.” Fox tells General Skywalker. “I know the lower levels, I have all my informants on the lookout and yet I have heard nothing.”

The desperation was clear as day in his voice. You’d been gone a day and each passing hour had him feeling like he was going out of his mind.

Where are you? Are you okay? Have they hurt you? Why did they take you? Do you know he’s alive? Are you holding on for him to come and get you?

Each question keeps reeling through his mind, replaying and replaying and replaying again. He’s not slept in over 24 hours and he doesn’t think he can until you’re found and brought home.

“Respectfully, Commander… I need you to trust me.” Anakin tells him.

Fox didn’t have time to trust General Skywalker. He didn’t have time for anything except finding you.

“We need to expand our searches to known Separatist planets. Where was Ventress last seen?” Fox asks.

Someone had to know where she was.

“I don’t know, Fox. But we’re going to find out.” Anakin promises Fox.

Of all the times that you’d sat in a jail cell, you’d think you’d be better prepared for situations like this. Except you never feared for your life in a Coruscant jail cell. You knew the Corries would never let anything happen to you. You knew they’d at least treat you with dignity.

Here… is new territory. You don’t know what’s going to happen. You don’t know their plans. You don’t know if you’re safe.

On top of all of that, you can’t stop thinking about whether or not Fox, Thorn, and Stone are alright. Surely if you were, they would be too, right? Except Fox was a bit closer to the blast. Tears springing to your eyes, you try to push those thoughts to the back of your head so you can focus on getting out of here.

One thing at a time, you tell yourself, like figuring what time it was.

You have had to have been here for a day or two now, at least… You’ve lost the concept of time since you don’t know how long you were out. You’ve been given bread and water five times now since you woke up. Does that mean you’ve been here about a day and a half? Two days?

You stand up to finally measure your height compared to how far up the vent is. Now that you’ve slept and feel a bit better, it looks a little higher up than you’d expected. Looking around for ideas, your eyes settle on the cot. Checking the doorway and trying to glance down the hallway past the blazing red electron wall that guards your doorway, you don’t see anyone coming. Quickly lifting up the small thin mattress pad, you see that the cot has bars that line it, which will be perfect for climbing.

Trying to keep calm, you start to get to work.

“No sign of Ventress, I’m afraid.” Obi-Wan’s holoform stands in the pad of Anakin’s hand and Fox’s heart sinks. “Until she pops back up again, I’m afraid we don’t have any other leads.”

Fox excuses himself, walking out of the briefing room and down to an unused room that he knows goes empty most days. He just needs a moment to himself, he’s so tired. When the door slides shut behind him, he leans over the table, bracing himself on it. The urge to throw something is strong right now, so it’s important he keeps his calm.

“Fox.” Thorn enters the room.

Fox looks back at him. “What is it?”

“No offense, vod… but you look like shit. You need to go and sleep for a few hours.” Thorn places a hand on Fox’s shoulder.

Fox ignores him. “You know, I really thought I was good at my job… I thought I could find her. What if I’m not… and what if I can’t?”

Fox finally turns to Thorn, crossing his arms and leaning against the table.

“We will find her.” Thorn promises him. “I know we will.”

Fox nods, scolding himself mentally for starting to doubt himself. He is good at his job. He’s a great investigator. He’s solved lots of crimes. He can solve this one.

“Go get some sleep.” Thorn insists.

With a sigh, Fox leaves the room. If only to close his eyes for an hour. He needs to come up with a plan. Perhaps one that didn’t include his Jedi superiors…

Nope. There’s no way that you’re fitting in there, you realize as you stand on the last bar of the cot staring into the too small vent, not without getting stuck.

Angrily, you climb back down and pull the cot back into its spot against the wall, sitting down on it in momentary defeat. Resting your head against the wall, you hear voices nearing the room and you look up in time to see Ventress approach the electron wall with some tall, old man who eerily resembles a vampire.

“This is her, master.” Ventress smiles up at him before walking away.

The red blazing wall drops and you glance past him, thinking you could easily outrun an old man. He doesn’t really look quick.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you.” He warns you in a monotonous tone, noticing your glance past him.

You let out a huff and stand up. “What do you want?”

“I want to extend a hand to your cause.” He tells you.

Wait, what?

“The Clone Rights movement?” You ask, confused.

Folding his hands behind his back, he nods as he starts to pace the room. “I can make a large donation, help you get rights for the clones, and put you in a position of power. Senator even.”

You cross your arms, confused. Why would the Sith want to help? What’s in it for them?

“What makes you think I would want anything from a Sith?” You glare up at him.

He lets out a small chuckle. “Did you not just hear my offer?”

“What’s in it for you?” You ask, still confused.

He stops to look down at you. “That’s not of importance right now. I’m offering you my help.”

“No.” You shake your head, not even considering it.

You know what the Sith are capable of. It’d be like making a deal with a demon. It would only come back to bite you in the ass later and you know it. After everything you’ve heard Fox say about the Sith, you know better.

“No?” He asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“No, thank you.” You glare.

“Foolish girl.” He shakes his head at you.

You shrug. “You can go now.”

“It must sting to know that you can’t fit through that vent.” Ventress’ voice is back in the doorway.

You look up at her, wide eyed and she chuckles.

“This would be your way to freedom.” The man tells you.

“Do you plan on killing me?” You ask him.

“There are worse things than death.” Ventress purrs.

Glaring at her, you’re tempted to ask what, except suddenly, you start to find it increasingly hard to breathe. Like all the air was sucked from your lungs and there’s an imaginary hand around your throat. Trying to scrape at the imaginary hand, you start to gasp for breath, feeling tears start to slip out of the corner of your eyes. You realize that it's Ventress doing it. It’s some sort of Sith trick. You’ve never encountered such a thing.

“That’s enough of that, Ventress.” The man murmurs, holding up a hand.

“Yes, Master Dooku.” She releases and you drop to the ground, sputtering and gasping for air.

Refusing to look at them, you listen to them leave, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of watching you cry. Now that you know what they’re capable of, you’re not sure how you’re going to get out of this.

Slowly, pulling yourself over to your cot, you lay down, still trying to get your breathing right. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you start to think of another way out, because no matter what, you refuse to just stay here and accept your fate.

TAGS: @grievouus @brynhildrmimi @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @misogirl828 @rexandechosandwich @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @twistedstitcher27 @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @ttzamara @erishimoon @brieblade @grizzersmamma @urfavwifeyy @tazmbc1 @stardust9905 @justanothersadperson93 @sleepingsun501 @nekotaetae

[thescribeoflostmemories]

Star-Crossed lovers

Guest: Pierro

Service:

Talk

Drinks

Add-ons:

Giselle’s Flower

Kodoku

“Everything happens for a reason, to which I say: 'moriturus es, sic pulchre in arma saltas.’ Indulge wisely, my dear Bubbles.”- Scribe

"You have my deepest condolences, dear guest." - Falaila

Warning: ANGST, major character death, Kodoku, yearning, fluff, age-gap(because it's pierro), dark themes. Slow-burn(ish). Constant teasing. No dessert this time folks! Violence, blood.

‘I’m such a failure!’

You’re not sure how it all began, fading vision going in and out, holding your head with your hand. Ominous words rang in your ear, one that would make someone shiver. “Are you alright?” Mada Wong displayed a brief concern towards you as you tried to serve their fermented drink.

“I am fine, Mada Wong. Thank you for concerning me.” You bowed deeply, feeling the not so subtle judgemental stares from both of a select few Maikos and Geishas.

“Who is this?” asked a short, long eared bifocal wearing gentleman.

“This is Hú dié, Lord Harbinger Rooster. One of our soon be a Geisha once her training completes in the next couple of weeks.” Madam Wong fans herself, seeing the words written on it, eases your mind.

The first Harbinger’s eye moved from his drink to you. No matter how little it’s shown, the odd star-shaped pupil is surrounded by blue iris. “Wow.” awe-struck by it.

“Mmm?” You heard his mellow voice make a hum-like sound, raising his eyebrow.

“Your eye, it's so beautiful.” That made him move his eye off the ‘weird’ Maiko, looking away. You realized your mistake, bowing profusely to apologize once more

Meanwhile the fifth Harbinger who was across from them had a devious smile on his face. The monocle glints in glee.

¶~~~~¶

It was supposed to be another day for you, disobeying Madam Wong in favor of visiting the patch of flowers that you tended ever so lovingly.

But tending to wounds is not what you had in mind at the time. On the same person you ‘humiliated’ in front of his co-workers. Though being the dumb person you are, thought he wouldn’t recognize you without your make-up or your other accessories that made you, Hú dié. "Wake up, you silly… There are better places to sleep on than on the ground.”

“Mm? Where am I?” He groaned, hand placed on his face still facing up at the blue sky.

“My friends just saved you by the time I arrived.” placing a slightly damp cloth on his head. “If you get off of them, please don’t step on them. Even though they’re tougher than they look.”

Sitting beside him as you picked up a few extra flowers into a basket for Kazuo. A friend whom you've gotten close to, yet so far away. You couldn’t help but yearn for him. Suave is more accurate to describe him, short chocolate hair that curls in place. Young fresh face are evident, especially with the precarious job of a merchant.

“But you’re allowed to sleep some more if you want.”

“Thank you.”

“Silly, don’t thank me. Thank my friends instead. Though if you wanted to thank them, maybe get them something they would enjoy."

He stood up and gave back the cold and slightly damped cloth. "Goodbye."

“You might get lost sir. " You looked back at him only to find him gone now, you sighed and thought you'll have someone to talk to at least.

You didn't see him after that. Got reprimanded for visiting the flowers again and have to do your assignment to be updated with the current events. It was tiresome just listening to the latest gossip, trend and news

Soon you heard about a young merchant named Kazuo Yashiki on the news bulletin board saying that his business boomed. One step closer to confessing to him and quitting the occupation all together…

‘What a two-faced.’

¶~~~~¶

“Greetings, dear sir.” You bowed, it is highly unlikely of you to be requested since you were only a Maiko. Normally, you’d be accompanied by another Geisha or Madam Wong herself if it were a party. But no, then it means someone wealthy and or important enough to bribe the establishment to have sent you to this specific location. Because no one was supposed to request you until you turned into a Geisha.

Looking up from the floor, it was the same older gentleman from the meadow.

He looked at you with a stoic look, you had assumed you’re not supposed to be here.

“Did you not call for our services, dear sir?” You placed your seat next to him, sweet tolls of the tiny bells rang from your tall wooden geta. The little accessories on your hair glint softly under the sun. Mature, eloquent, cold, that is Hu die.

“No.” He firmly said, “Why are you here?” Asking, he was sure someone had called him here. Yet, you are in his company instead.

“I was called here by a client, Lord Harbinger Jester. I am assuming you didn’t mean my service.”

It was quite awkward if it was just the two of you in a room, and with no definite purpose. Out of the blue you just decided to break a rule and take the initiative. “Why don’t you take off your mask, dear sir? I’m not wearing a mask.” At the same time, curious to why hide those wondrous eyes behind a cold and somber vizard.

“I wear no mask, except for the butterfly with crinkled wings.” He returned it, the reply is cold as he is indifferent to the many things around him.

“No mask.” You pondered deeply, baffled even. “If I were to lose all formalities, it would be improper of me as a Maiko.” You tried to humor him with his odd request.

A frown carved onto his face. “One does not bat an eye at those who hide behind the pretense of a smile, yet starry eyes tell another. I have met one much like yours, brighter and clearer like the moon itself amongst the throng of faceless flora.” Taking a sip of the beverage he had before you had entered.

You wanted to smack your face with the welcome gift you’ve made once he confirmed he knows you as the unsophisticated girl of the garden.

“I, I see. My apologies, I didn’t think you would pay any of my friends a thought, dear sir.” You told him honestly, and here you thought this would be a fresh start.

He nodded, taking another sip of his beverage. “And I was wondering what was the catch.” mumbling to himself, looking up at him, head tilted to one side.

Curiosity got the best of you, asking; “What is?”

“A discussion was to commence within these hushed walls of solemn secrecy. Yet one dared to turn tail and sent a butterfly in their stead.” He only says that, thinking it’s sufficient enough for you to connect the dots.

“And I’ll assume he appointed me to meet you here…” You only have one person in mind who could set this all up, though you dismissed the possibility. “Oh and Lord Harbinger Jester.” calling out to him, digging your frail looking hands into the sleeves of your colorful and elaborated designed kimono.

You had given him a tiny pouch. “My madam told me it would make our patrons happy if we were to give them a small token of our appreciation. Even though you are not my client.” Actually, it is not in your training to give something as it is improper in their eyes, so you kept quiet about it.

A word to describe what had you offered him would be quaint, as it is a clothed good luck charm, though instead of the typical words on the surface; it reads ‘To the stars.’ A favored phrase of yours.

The director of the Fatui merely stared at the delicate charm that was presented before him. “Lord Harbinger Jester, you don’t have to thank me. Thank Madam Wong, she’s the one who suggested it.” You immediately added. He merely furrowed his brow at the notion of thanking, but you made the charm, not Madam Wong. Still he kept his eye forward, then glancing down at the drink.

“Did you really mean it?” No, he wasn’t some gullible fool in drunken stupor. There’s no way-

“If you mean complimenting a person? I was only telling the truth, dear sir.” With such sudden confidence it honestly made him look at you.

Your appearance given the guise of an entertainer, skin caked in white makeup, pursed ruby tinted lips, highlighted starry eyes at his own just like their first meeting.

Snapping out of your thoughts as you realize you’ve been staring at him too long. “My apologies, Lord Harbinger Jester. I stepped out of line.” You bow your head, until your forehead touches the floor, remaining like that until he forgives you.

A huff can be heard. “Forgiveness is to be obtained through struggle, not given freely like a dove. Raise your head with pride and not dwell in self-abasement, tell me. What would your friends like?” It doesn’t sound like a question. But you didn’t raise a query for him and just humor him just as he humored your notion of thanking the flowers.

Sitting back up straight, though this time with your head facing away or eyes closed. “Well, they like company, make people happy, they also like to be used in medicines or even in culinary…” You tried to list off what the flowers are for, even though you couldn’t hear them.

“ But, they really like to enjoy the sunset with me.” A rather small smile placed on your lips, remembering the golden hues blending with the orange and purple as the sun dipped down.

“Must be a wonderful time…” That’s all he could say, not much of a hint could be seen on his features. If Madam Wong were to introduce him as the epitome of stoic-ness, from how he walks the talk to how minimal emotions on his face to portray, the air of dignity and intellect is maintained. Shame would be an understatement of how you felt when your whole life is to build and learn to give people the cold shoulder so flawlessly done by him.

“Indeed it is, dear sir.” Honestly, it felt like you were the customer instead.

“Do you want to see them? You don’t have to worry about the pay, I’ll tell my Mada to not charge you as an apology.”

“No need, a woman is no mother who wouldn’t be worried about her own children.” He stood up and walked out of the room.

Now, this isn’t the first time, nor would this be the last you’d be escorted back by him. It was silent mostly because of shame. But you like to think you've gotten a bit better of talking to guest this way.

In a few days tops, you’ll be completing your training as a Maiko and promoted to a geisha. With that in mind, the matron had given a short free time as a reward for making it this far. The day would go so well if it weren’t for these ruffians blocking your way to your secret haven.

“Excuse me, I’m in a hurry. Will you please move?” The straw basket hooked onto your arm seemed to be full of everything you need for the garden.

“Where to girl? Big brother could help you out” one got uncomfortably closer with a stache on his face.

You stood your ground, “Please stand aside.” said firmly.

“See told you it’s the stache, better shave it off, you’re scaring her off” They made a chuckle out of that.

“Are these two dolts bothering you?” You heard a voice from the side, most certainly you are familiar with.

“Ehhh, no need gramps. This lil’ cutie is a tad lost, in fact me and her will be going now.” The man with a mustache was about to wrap his arm around your shoulders. Decisive steps lead you to the Harbinger’s side instead, he got in front of you.

“What gives old man?!” “Yeah! We were about to show her somewhere great!” “What square would know-”

“Disrespectful.” He hissed. ”How infantile, just listening to a dolt like you proves to be a trial.” Huffing before he could try to lead you away from them.

A group member charged at the both of you, “You crusty old man-!” But was decked on the face using the bottom of Pierro’s shoe. The sound of his jaw crunch from the impact made you flinch and hide behind him even more.

The white-haired older gentleman said. “Anyone want to try their ire against the fire?”

Not one word as they got their brethren up and booked it. “We’ll be back with a vengeance!” One shouted

“Are you alright?” He asked, letting go of your hand.

“Yes, thanks to you.” There was only this nervous smile on your face, trying to forget the scent of blood.

“A butterfly like you shouldn’t flitter around and about with the predators on the prowl.” You merely nod at him.

“Where were you going? Shouldn’t you be at the tea house?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that.” Your mind trails off, “My friends might miss me. Could you please escort me there? It would only take a few moments to get there and you could just leave me there.”

Pierro let out a sigh, he was in a hurry too. Yet something tells him this starry-eyed Maiko would get into more trouble once he left you for too long. “Time marches on even without mortals noticing, we should continue with haste.” Nodding again at him.

“It won’t. You remember my tiny home right? You fell on it of course!” You tried to joke about your meeting with him outside of the stuffy working hours. It didn’t work, only a huff from him as he and you started to walk there

“What was your work like?” Another fruitless question.

“Dangerous, one that a flower wouldn’t be able to withstand in a minute.” the austere man replied.

“I’m sure it is, but it must be nice being able to travel around and see all the wonders of what mystery could offer.” He seems discontent with your answer.

“With a fragile bubble that surrounds the Alma, even the sweetest of dreams couldn't shield a child's eyes.”

“That is true, though. But isn’t that what living is?”

“We all had been given a promise; an everlasting blink and everything we see in it.”

“Is that what all grown people think nowadays? It’s a wonder a child hasn’t cried in front of you yet.” pursing your lips as you ponder about what he had said.

“It is only the truth in its truest form.” Just as you expected it, cold and calculating like a blizzard.

“Still. Even with all the grim things in the world, I want to witness it.”

He didn’t respond to that. As you both stray away from any form of civilization. Soon, their eyes were greeted by a patch of flowers that perched proudly facing the waters and sand.

“I’m back, I brought back a friend.” You smiled widely, waving the handmade woven basket.

“I brought some snacks, fertilizer, a book and some papers. “ Perhaps he was too hardened to see the world through the eyes of a young person so full of life. With the loss of his nation through humanity’s ego, the ultimate enemy other than godly beings.

“Hmm? About him?” You looked at the pondering grownup. “He’s a friend, don’t worry about him. He even helped me out earlier.” Companionship is what you seek in life. Maybe perhaps this is why you clung so desperately to him…

“Sir, you must be tired, sit here.” Since you aren’t violating any rules under Madam Wong’s establishment as Hu die, it must be fine, right? And besides, he’s not your customer! Tired eye looked down at the dark hued picnic blanket that laid beside the flowers.

“Don’t worry, I have enough snacks for everyone.” Everyone you said, when it’s just the two of you here. “Surely even you have a few minutes to spare, right?” You sat down preparing a few dishes to one side, Tempura sakura, Maiko- sushi and skewers. Certainly a lot for one person to consume.

“Don't worry, I didn’t make the tempura and skewers so it’s safe.” You laughed. “You aren’t that much in a hurry right?” You got up and got him to sit down at the blanket.

“No one’s going to harm you here, not in my home.” Sitting next to him gave him some of the skewers and tempura. Baffled as he looked at the food then at you who ate the tempura and skewers happily.

“Mm? What, need help eating?” you teased. “No, The abundance of food is naught without sufficient company.” And he doubts that the plants were the reason for you eating this much every time you come here.

“Well, this place is just that special. Where I met my first love. He isn’t too smart, nor is he strong.” The sharp end of the stick was still in your mouth as you looked up at the sky.

“He doesn’t come here anymore since he’s busy after I taught him how to merchandise and to look out for trends. I wonder how he is.” Sadness tainted your eyes as you recalled how he’ll repay you with a date once you retire once the training is complete.

“And of this foolish man’s name?” He asked, wanting to know. “His name is Kazuo, Kazuo Yashiki, a pyro vision holder. He’s very passionate about his work, last I heard.” You faced him with a kind smile.

“An idiot could tell…” After hearing all of that, he wanted to say it but that look upon your hopeful face just couldn’t let him.

“What a meanie.” You pouted, thinking he’s calling you a moron.

“That is not what I… Nevermind.” He gave up, it is often best to not question if something is too overwhelming.

You just giggled, “I know, I was just japing with you.” noticing he hasn’t touched his own snack. “Not to your liking?” frowning a bit. He didn’t say a word as he ate the one on his plate.

“Tasty? Sorry I wasn’t the one for a cook. I just make Maiko-sushi.” A nod at your question.

“That’s good, everyone I know just seems so passionate about what they do. Here I am, stuck in this job.” Mumbling to yourself.

“Maybe I am just destined to crumble.” You don’t even know why you are just suddenly pouring your heart out to some stranger who more or less doesn’t care about you.

“It is not shameful to admit defeat in the face of adversity. A bamboo is guided to stand firm and proudly. A caterpillar is only but the beginning of death anew.”

“Thank you, you silly man.” Is the only thing he heard from you before you just laugh at the ‘silly-ness’ of his words.

“Truly, I’ll keep that in mind. Keep moving forward, huh…” He observed that you were biting and scratching your mouth, drinking water more frequently and your growing discomfort.

“This makes one wonder who is truly the fool in a play like this, or have a butterfly like you grown accustomed to the spotlight that einself could not see the glaring flaws of your performance?” He pointed out that you had allergies to the food you just consumed.

“Oh hush, can’t a girl eat what she wants?” you try to take the topic to ask where he was going, you knew the place he mentioned so you decided to help him get there. After a while of silence between you two, you had noticed the time once the sun had started to set.

“It’s so beautiful… isn’t it?” You looked at Pierro who hesitantly nodded then at the flowers.

“Ah, you must be in a hurry. Where is your meeting place? I might help you get there.” You started to pack your things to help him get to his meeting.

“I’ll be back soon, guys. Good work” You bid farewell to the flowers. “A young butterfly shouldn’t be left wandering around, lest she would be lost.”

“Oh hush, I’m not some princess that needs to be coddled all the time!” You pouted. “And besides, I still have to make it up to you for that one time.” Reminding him of the time you tried to apologize to him. Stepping up on a log next to him to try to be at eye level to him. Stretching your arms out with a basket hanging from your arm, walking on the fallen tree.

“I’m a bit stronger than I look, you know- woah!” You lost your footing and slid off the log, you brace for impact of hitting the ground, squeezing your eyes tight. A soft beating of a heart could be felt.

“You were saying something?” You could hear him giving you an amusing smile.

“S-so petty.” Mumbling against his chest. It actually feels nice to be hugged, or so you thought. Nice, warm and comforting. He patted your head.

“Ah, right. Sorry. “ You immediately backed off and got in front of him, not wanting him to see your flushed face.

“Well, hurry up slowpoke. You have an important meeting to take care of.” The corner of his lip slightly tugged in a smile behind the mask and followed you wordlessly. The walk there was long and silent, until you reached the premise of the area.

You turned to him “Well, this is the place right?” He didn’t need to confirm it, there were signs of Fatui agents around. The pregnant silence between you two is deafening.

You didn’t know how long you were staring at him, “So-” You tried to talk but he also talked. The soft moonlight highlighted a few of his features, but most notably his eye.

You laughed,“I guess this is goodbye.” Bidding him farewell. “Will the butterfly flutter safely to the deprived golden cage?”

“Pierro, I am capable of going home on my own, and besides. I know of a short cut, it’s the fastest and most likely safe too.” You gave him a teasing smile. Who in turn is baffled at why you would lead him using the long road instead of arriving much earlier.

“I had lots of fun, maybe next time again.” You waved him goodbye, running off making a little cute bell sounds that grow distant.

~~~~~

Miraculously you didn’t run into trouble. Well, except you got another scolding from the lecturer who happened to be awake at the time. You had to write twenty pages worth of scriptures as punishment in the morning. You are dreading this moment in your entire life, as the days goes by, the closer you are to completing your Maiko training.

Part of you wants to believe that Kazuo would show up before the ceremony commences, but he didn’t show up. It wasn’t until you finished and the whole village knew that you are now ready to be of service. All the while you have some self-reflections about your relationship with the merchant. Around this time you didn’t have time to visit the flowers. Even two weeks in as a Geisha, wearing this heavy wig instead of your actual hair.

Your madam noticed your growing sadness and allowed you to be dismissed early, so here you are outside of the tea house on the balcony, staring up so distantly at the moon with the stars that surround it.

Footsteps could be heard, you glanced at the person, it was Kazuo who approached you. “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” He asked, looking at you while leaning on the railings. The moon is partially cloudy to you, it was then you realized something. There’s nothing similar to the two important figures in your life who aren't Madam Wong, they don’t share the same voice, ideals, or even how they act. You love him, the man whom you’ve met a few- but memorable times.

“I know, but the star is even more beautiful. Though the one I love is the dimmest of them all.” You smiled, the love for the first Harbinger shone brighter than the gentle moon.

“I see.” He looked distraught, but a hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Even if I have to wait forevermore for him.” You took off the flower off your hair, it was a giselle flower, looking at it so lovingly.

You didn’t need Kazuo, but you are thankful for the companionship he had provided to you back then. If it weren’t for him, then most likely, you would live bitterly in this occupation with no goal in mind. Well first saving money is your number one priority!

That was also the last time you had seen Kazuo, as a newly appointed Geisha, you had asked your matron to let you go out even for a little while to take care of your friends. So with the same basket that hung on your arm, your geta got into a more normal height instead of the tall ones with bells. At least no more tripping for you!

“Had the little butterfly finally danced and died, connected to Philosophia-fantasia?” A voice from behind sounded, just as you were about to leave and go on to your spot. A smile appeared on your lips before turning to him.

"I haven't thanked you for all the times you’ve done for me, here…" Showing him a flower that looked similar to a star. "It's pretty popular with lovers lately." You smiled.

"How much? " The Geisha chuckles, and places the tiny flower on his lapel.

"Mister Pierro, stop being such a silly man. My friend is definitely worth more than what you are going to offer." You playfully moped before walking away. He just stood there, staring.

“Well, are you coming with me or not? I got extras this time.” You raised your basket to show how heavy it is. “You can’t leave a girl waiting.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is most likely the most fun you had in a while.

“Mhmm, mhmm.” You hummed softly to yourself as you doodled into your notebook.

“What caused you to have a change of heart?” He asked after a long silence.

“Mr. Pierro, you didn’t have to worry. I was just being stupid for thinking I could be happy with Kazuo. Now I’m just in the tea house… And no one wants my service. Cassilda is right, I’ll die forgotten and alone.” You remembered your little argument with the girl who was after Kazuo earlier, and little to no people wanted to request you. The surrounding gossip about you grinding tea would commence soon if this keeps up.

“Dilly-dally, shilly-shally.” He suddenly spoke. You perked up your head.

“Huh?”

Looking at him, seeing he has this straight face on,“Dilly-dally, shilly-shally.” He repeated the funny line, “You should stop that, didn’t you tell yourself to move forward?” Reminding you of what you had said last time, it made you laugh.

“Guess I did, thank you, you silly goober.” You took a bite of the tempura.

“What would you do now that you have everything to yourself?” He asked, making you look down at the little notebook you carry on your lap.

“I’m not really sure… What do you suggest?” tapping your little pen on the blank paper.

Furrowing his brow, “Who’s the goober now, when I just told you my answer earlier.”

“You starchy…” Sighing, putting your hand on your face. But your lips turned into a smile. “Here, I got you something.” Pulling out it’s a handkerchief with the words victory/success on it. Realization hits him as he realizes what day it is, the day of charity.

“But I don’t have anything to give you back.”

“If you want to thank me, then draw me a friend.” You showed him your blank notebook.

“I don’t know how to draw.” He starts to make excuses for him to not do it.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” You laughed, patting his shoulder, letting him draw. Seeing him squiggle and doodle so many things.

“What a liar, you DO know how to draw.” you retorted.

“No I don’t, this is merely an abundance of lines that look like a puddle...” he responded in annoyance, from what you think. He didn’t seem to understand your point of view.

“Really? But, you drew me an elephant inside of a snake, you knew my home is too small for friends like those. How will you fit inside my home if you gave me that? And besides, I don't want the snake to hurt you.” He huffed at your request and turned to another page and began to draw.

“What about this one?” He showed you an animal with a fluffy coat and long neck, you couldn’t see its face because he accidentally over did the curls.

“An alpaca? Dear what if it spits its meal in your face and kicks you out?” Concern is written all over your face, but with mild amusement.

“Does it even matter?” Getting even more annoyed by the second, eye narrowing at you. But you kept your understanding smile. The star eyed director sighed deeply before drawing once again.

“Here.” It's a shorter neck of the alpaca, but it looks off and has horns.

“Did you really want to get harmed by the animals that badly? That’s obviously a ram, he could hurt you if you did something wrong plus, he looks sick, what if you catch the disease?”

Enraged Pierro’s eye twitched, and it looked like he was about to harm you but didn’t. He merely uses his free hand to comb his hair a bit before letting out a puff of air trapped in his lungs an idea popped into his mind. On the next page he drew once more, making a boxy image with circles on the side.

“The friend that you wanted is inside.” He passed the notebook to you.

“Now will you stop-.”

“This is perfect! They’re small and they wouldn’t hurt you.” You smiled in amazement at the drawing of a box.

“What?” He truly did lose it.

“Mhmm-hmm-mm… Thank you really, now I don’t feel so alone whenever you’re not here.”

“If you truly wanted a companion you could have just got an actual pet instead of having me to draw.” Pierro looked bemused, heart racing, heart disorientation, twisted creation. Truly is confused.

“Nope, that just won’t do. You see my home is really small, that only a very few could fit in.”

“Strange is the girl with starry eyes and crinkled wings that dare to take flight.” He rolled his eye a bit.

“But you have to try before trying to fly!” you replied.

“Truly strange.”

“You’re the odd one here. c’mon , these dangos aren’t going to finish themselves!” you tried to feed him some of the food you ordered for the two of you.

Once again he didn’t dare to question the mystery before him. After you two ate, both of you decided to stargaze under the blue sky. Despite having one eye available, he’s really good at identifying the stars and teaching you their names.

“Look at the sky Pierro, a shooting star, quick make a wish!” You cheerfully said, making your hands in a praying motion, soon after your quick prayer, he asked.

“And what did you wish for?”

“I wish- hey, you’re going to make my wish fail.”

He laughs it off, “Keep your wish to yourself, I was hoping to help actually.” he then noticed you staring at him with a knowing smile. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, nothing!” You kept giggling to yourself. ‘I wish this moment could last forever.’

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Gahhh.” A cry of exasperated groan left your mouth, It had been a while since you’ve last seen the first harbinger, your closest- no scratch that your trusted companion. Here you are in your room, writing away to your heart’s content. Scritches and furious tappings from the parchment to dipping the pen again since you’ve run out of ink.

Dead of night, everyone else is asleep, while you couldn’t. Your heart yearns for more than just writing your feelings on a paper. Out of fury, you scrap another piece of letter to try and better contextualize what you have felt these past days. It wasn’t until you piece together a little greeting parcel for the silly ol’ goober.

‘But what if he doesn’t like it?’

No! No more, you aren’t Hu die any longer! You are (Reader)! C’mon, he’ll call you an idiot instead if he knew about this.

Walking back to the tea house since you had to rush the parcel in the carrier. You just hope it was the right address that your madam had obtained for you. The night is rather chilly in this fine spring days.

A foot step caught your attention. “Huh? Kazuo? Why are you here-” vision turned to darkness, darker than the moonless night and the dimness of the stars. The taste of metal and the saltiness of your tears over empowered your senses.

“We’ll be together again, we WILL be happy again!” You were never to be seen again. It is as if a mere whisper of a folklore that haunts the tiny village.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A year has passed and Pierro finally found some free time to spend some time with you, knowing you would.

He tried to make contact with the tea house and tried to request of you, but you never responded. He tried to ask around the neighborhood who had last seen you when he came up empty handed. But then he realizes that he should have gone to the garden first.

Legs ran, nearly tumbling next to the log that you stepped on. Upon arriving, you weren’t there either, only a masterless vision and a notebook that he drew on were there.

His mind wandered to whatever happened to you… Opening it, it showed his drawings on the first page… Then designs of a charm were there, culinary ideas, there are some with specific dates on them, most notably the lantern rite date… He tried searching for you.

“Have you seen a Geisha, this tall, talks silly, and would ask for a box as a friend? No? I see, thank you for your time.”

Again, and again he tried going back to look but the search was the same. Not a trace.

In the end, he nearly forgot all about you with how much time has passed. Until an odd parcel had been delivered to his office table. Accompanied by a music notebook, a journal with the Fatui seal on it, it has a pressed flower the same one you gave him the last time you two met.

The letter looks worn but still crisp, it has some crinkled spots on the parchment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Pierro,

How are you? I bet you’re over-stacked with paperwork like how I imagined your usual day-to-day would be.

I’m sorry I couldn’t give you something more valuable as my home is very, very small and it could only house two people and a patch of flowers. Do you remember the conversation we had about what I should do? Well, I got a few ideas in mind. I always wanted to sing, maybe I should be a wandering songstress. Or maybe start a little journey around the world? Ah, right, I’ll probably run into some trouble on the way. If that happens, you’ll come and help me out, right? Oh, who am I kidding, you’re busy. Sorry.

What I’m saying is that; I’ll cut you some slack for coming to see me. So I’ll be saving up some money from what I haven’t given to Kazuo to have enough to have at least a room in Snezhnaya. But then, what if the friend you made me and ate the flowers? I really haven’t thought this through, a green garden would make the flowers a bit more comfortable. Though probably by the time this reaches you, I most likely had the funds to make a proper garden but then. They’ll get lonely without me, or am I just saying this just to get your attention?

I like you at least what I thought of it, despite how much of a cold steak you are. I really cherished the times you and I have. It's like someone flew a kite with a key attached to it! Also I promised you that date when I was still a Maiko, yes? How about a date over at the harbor around the lantern rite? Or maybe at the shrine for fortune slips? Or maybe we could have matching festival masks at the festival? So many things I’ve thought of yet how could we do them all in one date? I hope you’re ready for more than one meetup because I’m definitely asking you to help me once I land at Snezhnaya. Yep that’s right! I’m retiring! I will meet you even if I had to shake down a few Fatui agents to meet you.

Your silly goober head geisha, (Reader)

ps . My stomach aches and my mouth gets a bit itchy after eating tempura sakura and tri-skewers while writing this.

~~~~~~~~~~

He never did get that date from you, nor would he feel your arms around him in embrace…

So there he is, lying on the patch of flowers who you consider friends. He had stationed an agent or two there to keep an eye out (and if they water/ take care of it well, they’ll receive a bonus) he dismisses them early for now, reminiscing on the moments you two shared underneath the same sky.

“-elllooooo~!” Someone called out.

“Hmm?”

“-ake up! There are better places to sleep than on the ground, you silly goober!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prt 2: coming soon

Teaser :

"That is how I'll always remember you, surrounded by winter. Forever young, forever beautiful, rest well. The monster who took you from me, will soon learn that revenge is a dish best served cold."- (yes, I took it from batman the animated series, heart of ice)

" I heed your call, Jester." a voice did bellow, lace with sanity that melted away all hollowed, their eyes bathed in yellow. From beyond, it revealed-

A/n: Nearly done with the Geisha series, y'all don't wanna know how much time I've suffered.

Edit: @eliciana

Sorry, I forgot to tag you.

[loftylockjaw]

TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Xóchitl’s house PARTIES: Wyatt & Xóchitl SUMMARY: Wyatt finally gets around to surprising his friend from Boston with his appearance in her hometown, and the two reconnect in a few different ways. CONTENT WARNINGS: Wrspice (implied)

—

They’d met in Boston some years ago, but Xó hadn’t lived around those parts since she was a kid, so there was always significant time in between their chances to reconnect. Still, she was a fun person to be around and someone that Wyatt would consider a friend, so when he realized that his hunt for steadier fighting ring work was taking him right into the town she’d told him she was living in, of course he had to see her. He’d waited a few weeks, giving himself time enough to settle in, find a normal job, secure the other job, and generally make sure he was well put together before surprising her with a visit. 

‘Heeey, guess who’s in your neck of the woods?!’ he’d texted her a few days back. She was shocked, naturally, but the two had quickly made plans to meet at her place for drinks, snacks, and catching up. Currently, the Cajun was stood outside her door, a bag in one hand that he’d filled with a couple bottles and some homemade appetizers, and an autumn-themed bouquet in the other. When she eventually pulled it open, a smile bloomed on his face that was perhaps even larger than the sunflower that sat front and center in the flower arrangement. 

“Xó!” he exclaimed affectionately, laughing as he set down the insulated bag for a moment to reach in and hug her with one arm. “Been too long, young lady!”

—

Wyatt was an old friend (so old, she’d joked more than once, when they’d first met), and he was somehow in the same town that she’d grown up in, now. Been born in, at least. Xóchitl wasn’t sure if she could fully say that she’d grown up in a town that she’d left when she was eight years old.

But when he’d texted her and mentioned that he was here, she hadn’t had to think twice about agreeing to hang out. At her place. Which yes, maybe she’d made sure was extra clean (though it usually was – in case she needed to put it on the market suddenly, in case this town made her need to leave again), and maybe she’d also dressed herself up nicer than usual, with a shirt that was one of her less work-appropriate ones, but Wyatt was cute, and she was almost thirty (though she’d certainly tried to flirt with him even back home, back when she was just nineteen or twenty).

She’d heard him at the door and darted over, smile bright on her face. “Far too long, though you still look good, not that I’m surprised, but…” Xóchitl let her voice trail off. “Come on in. What do you think of the place? Decorated it all myself, though manman is an art curator still, so I think some of her talent rubbed off on me.” Even if the place looked more pristine than most homes, she had made every effort to choose decor that felt like her, felt good, and looked good, too.

—

“Ohh, flatterer,” Wyatt teased, sauntering into the home as his gaze raked it over a few times, smile still fixed firmly in place as his head started to bob in a nod. “Hell yeah, ma chérie, it looks great.” His gaze fell back on Xó and he extended the bouquet out to her, adding a cheeky, “Not unlike yourself,” that he paired with a quick wink. 

Once she’d taken the flowers from him, he trailed after her toward the kitchen where she could procure a vase for them, and he could unpack their vittles for the evening. Carefully setting the plated and professional-looking dishes out along the counter, he explained what each one was as he went, then ended with the two bottles of wine he’d brought. He asked after the bottle opener and glasses so he could get them started, and it was as he was pouring the dark red liquor that he gave the woman a smirk and a soft scoff. “Girl, how are you?” he asked playfully, passing her one of the glasses. “Don’t hold back, now, I wanna know the hot goss.”

—

“You know it.” Xóchitl grinned back at him. “Oh, glad you think that my decorating skills are decent, and that you think I look great. Means a lot.” She quickly accepted the bouquet and offered Wyatt the slightest of curtseys in response – tongue-in-cheek and all, but something that worked very well between the two of them, she figured. 

“Damn, I’m impressed.” She spun around on the balls of her feet, pressing a kiss on top of the flowers before setting them down. “I’m well, you know, just looking great and having a brilliant job. Not that I’d brag, ever. Or,” Xóchitl’s eyes crinkled in the beginnings of laughter, “well, not without reason. Hot goss? There’s this sexy guy that’s back in town? Curly brown hair, wickedly charming smile? You might have seen him around.” She winked. “But for real, I don’t know – this town is still weird, but not all of it feels bad. Most of it, yes, but not everything. Do you have any hot gossip for me, babe?” Maybe the babe was a bit too much, but she appreciated just how easy things felt with Wyatt, how at home they felt.

—

"Ohh, no kiddin'? Hmm, you might have to introduce me…" Wyatt teased in return, taking a sip of his wine. Bless her heart–weird didn't even begin to cover it. He wondered, briefly, exactly how much of that weirdness she was aware of… but figured that would come up naturally if at all, and let the comment slide on by with a commiserate nod and shrug. "Little ol’ me? Well… It was gettin' too expensive to stay in Boston, couldn't ah… send as much back home." He'd made the brave decision to tell Xóchitl about his family in Louisiana once, and while he'd left out a lot of details, she at least knew that a portion of his income was mailed to his mother. "Heard through the grapevine that the cost of livin' was better here, n' since I knew you came from these parts, well… figured there had to be some good about it." He grinned, circling an arm around her waist and pulling her in close, pressing an affectionate kiss to her temple. "Believe it or not, you ain't the first person from Boston I've run into up here. Seems the past has a way of catchin' up, eh? Anyway… it's been good. Woulda been smarter to move somewhere warmer, probably. But I never claimed to be smart," the lamia laughed. 

After a beat, he let her go and set his glass on the counter, clapping his hands together. "Right then! Food, before the warm stuff cools off too much. All made special for you, dove." 

—

“I’ll be sure to, I have a feeling the two of you’ll get along almost like you’re the same person.” Xóchitl offered him a conspiratorial grin. She listened carefully to what he was saying – Wyatt was absolutely someone she trusted very much, and cared for all on top of that, and since they hadn’t been in tons of contact recently, she was hungry for whatever pieces of information he shared. “Boston’s way too expensive, I agree – and that makes sense, you’re good for looking out for your mom, I mean, I know it’s just nice to do, but too many people wouldn’t even try…” He’d come here in part because she was from here, and for all that she loathed what the town had done to her, she couldn’t help but smile at that particular remark, body relaxing against his arms. Sighing against the kiss against her temple, entirely at ease with him, just as always. “No way. That’s neat, though it’s kind of wild to see a lot of us just suddenly move up here. Though three’s not so many, I suppose. Well, I think you’re plenty smart,” she pressed a kiss to her fingers and pressed her fingers against his nose, “and selfishly, I’m glad you’re here, because I missed you.”

Xóchitl frowned for a moment when he let her go, though the promise of food was enticing. “I feel very very lucky, because your food is some of the best ever.”

—

It was kind of her to tell him she thought he was smart, even if he didn’t believe it for a second. Not to say he thought she was lying, she’d just probably never been around him long enough for the true, dumbass bayou hillbilly to come through. He’d worked very hard on the walls he’d built up around himself to protect that aspect of his personality from view, and subsequently, ridicule, and there were not many people he’d been that vulnerable with. It was nothing against Xóchitl, either—she was just actually smart, so the walls stayed up. Perception was everything, and if Wyatt was being truly honest with himself, he cared deeply about what others thought of him. Best to keep on her good side. 

They’d eaten the food and made it through the first bottle of wine after little more than an hour, chatting about their time apart as if it had never really occurred—talking to Xó had always been easy. Maybe that’s why she was a therapist (duh). Wyatt, for all his charm, was barely able to follow along as she spoke about her field of work, finding that he relied much more on wit and being able to convince someone that what he wanted was what they wanted than he actually understood other people. Or himself, for that matter. 

“That’s fascinatin’. You must be real good at readin’ people then, yeah? Does that ever get exhaustin’, or is it somethin’ you can like… turn off?” He let a brief pause pass between them before adding, “I hope you can, ‘cause I’m bettin’ tryin’ to read me would give you a right headache.” He was sitting beside her on the couch, arm slung across her shoulders, legs sticking out beneath the coffee table as he settled in comfortably. 

—

Wine and food and good conversation made time pass quickly. Time with Wyatt always did, but in the best sort of way. The best sort of way, minus the fact that it meant that time with him came to an end sooner than she would’ve liked. Which Xóchitl was keen to avoid today, at least. She wasn’t sure how successful she’d wind up being, but trying something mattered, didn’t it?

She wanted time with her friend, and besides, it was nice to look at Wyatt’s smile and know just how warm he was, and how easily he made her smile. Not that smiling was always hard, but Wyatt was undoubtedly on the list of people who always (always) understood just how to get Xóchitl to smile, even when she really wasn’t feeling up to it.

“I guess I am real good at that, huh?” She smirked at her friend. “I don’t try to read my friends, Wyatt, and I don’t try to do it all the time anyhow.” Xóchitl leaned against Wyatt’s chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t worry, this is all just us two. We can talk about, or do, whatever it is that you’d be up for. The food was, unsurprisingly, exceptional.”

—

“Mm, fair… probably best not to, eh? You’d get real sick of us.” Wyatt suspected that if she was ever upset with someone she might try to figure out what the hell was going on with them, but he’d never been on the opposite end of that particular emotion. No, he and Xó only had good memories together, and he aimed to keep it that way. 

The feel of her nails against his skin, even through the barrier of his shirt, had him straightening his spine a little bit. He smiled down at her, brushing her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear as she spoke, assuring him that it was just them. Just them, and whatever they wanted to say… or do. Hm. 

He lifted a brow, craning his neck down to speak against the top of her head. “Well… I ain’t much of a linguistic genius, we both know that, but there’s loads of things we can do that I’m pretty good at,” he hummed suggestively. “Exceptional, even. Not to toot my own horn, but, ah…” The smirk remained as she predictably turned her head to look up at him, and his bright blue gaze fell to her lips.

—

“Well, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of you, so…” Xóchitl shrugged. Not that she was going to think too much about that, because Wyatt had only just wound up back in her life again, and as much as she was one to catastrophize, she’d try to put it off at least for a little while, with him. Especially seeing as she’d only just gotten him back, and that was partially her fault, but still. It was good, and she could be selfish and take everything good that was offered to her.

(Not that there always was a lot of that, and Xóchitl didn’t even mean that in a way of self-pity, but more scientific fact).

His hand on her hair felt nice, and so did him tucking it behind her ear, and he smelled just like how she remembered, back, all those years ago. Even if it wasn’t the identical scent, it was the feeling, more than anything else, about it all, and Xóchitl felt her whole body relax against his, the comforting feeling of being curled into him one that she wasn’t going to stop relishing any time soon.

His words carried a more suggestive tone, then, and that much she could work with. “Being a linguistic genius is overrated anyways, and I’d love to see some of those things you’re good at.” Xóchitl looked up at him. “I think you deserve to praise yourself, and I’ll tell you that there are some things I’m also rather excellent at.” She brushed a finger against his jawline. “Besides, I’m flexible in more ways than one, and as bad of a line that is, let me tell you that I’m truly down for most anything. I think I’d like to see some of what you’re exceptional at, if you’d be so kind as to show me?”

—

Wyatt Barlow was many things, but overly cautious was not one of them. He rarely thought things through before acting, which is probably why he'd been pit fighting for more than half his life, and why he had no real relationships to speak of. He was, in every sense of the word, ephemeral. Flighty. Whim-prone, and right now his whim was curled against his side, touching his face, and telling him how flexible she was. There was no clearer sign in the universe, and the blinking neon might've blinded him had it been anything more than metaphorical. 

“And what sort of friend would I be if I didn't oblige when you've asked me so nicely?” he teased, leaning down to catch her lips in a kiss. It was gentle at first, or at least as gentle as was possible for Wyatt, but quickly devolved into something much more needy and ravenous.

Funnily enough, this hadn't been the intention behind tonight's visit, but it wasn't a detour he was looking to complain about, not by a long shot.

—

His kiss felt good, and it felt even better when Wyatt’s kisses turned more frantic, more hungry, and she’d wanted this for years, since they’d met and Wyatt had decided to be something of a gentleman, or whatever, but now he very much wasn’t being that, and Xóchitl was more than okay with that, as she pulled him against her body. “You wouldn’t be a very good friend, especially since I have asked so nicely.” She pouted for a moment before her grin turned into something far more mischievous – and, for that matter, sensual.

She pulled away from Wyatt for a moment, only to rid herself of her shirt before her mouth found his again. “Since you’re being such a good friend, I think we should take this to my room. Only the best for you, of course,” her kisses were frenetic this time, as she walked backwards, towards her room, pulling him along, until they were on her bed, and something about all of this felt so good and Xóchitl was also more than just a little pleased with herself.

After, she looked over to him, and couldn’t help but remark that, “well, it’s about time, Wyatt. See, though, told you I can use my mouth for much more than just talking. Been telling you that for years, too.” She turned more fully to face him, placing a kiss on his jaw. “Hope that was worth it. Happy to do a repeat any time you’d like.”

—

“And you sure weren’t lyin’, sweetheart,” Wyatt remarked in turn, grinning at her when she moved to better face him. “‘N hey, I was tryin’ to be polite!” It was more that he enjoyed the chase, enjoyed every moment of tension that led up to nights like this, finding the whole experience far more satisfying if there was something at stake. Stakes were the kind of thing that kept him interested, after all. 

Humming softly as she kissed him again, the lamia raised his brows. “Oh yeah? Well, how ‘bout I take you out first next time, treat you to a proper night on the town, hm?” He wasn’t the sort to just show up looking for a bedfellow, no… there had to be some kind of preamble. Maybe it was all the lessons from his mother about treating people right, but it was a habit that was hard to kick. Hell, even Owen was always wined or dined first, or whatever sort of act of service Wyatt could manifest in however little time the slayer had given him. 

Running a hand through her hair, he let it fall piece by piece back to her bare shoulder, smirking to himself. “Kick me out when you get tired of me,” he offered, not wanting to overstay his welcome. “But I can stay tonight if you’d prefer, dove.”

—

“I try not to lie – at least as far as about things like this.” Xóchitl shrugged. “Well, I hope the wait was worth it, though for the record, I wouldn’t have thought you were rude if you’d been quote-unquote rude before now. Just so we’re clear.” But it was also nice, how he hadn’t just wanted to jump into bed with her, even despite all her attempts.

The feeling of his skin under her lips felt nice. “Not sure how much of a proper night on the town this town can give, but I won’t say no, obviously.” She never would, to attention specifically designed for her, for her to be treated specially. From someone like Wyatt, someone she’d actually known for quite a while, there was something about all of that that felt even more worth it, more fulfilling in its own sort of way. “We could always go somewhere more exciting, but I do trust you to make any town something fun.” Which she did. Wyatt was fun, hanging out with him was fun, so even if her hometown wasn’t nearly as exciting as Boston or New York City, Xóchitl figured the two of them could make it a whole lot of fun on their own.

Xóchitl also was in no way opposed to the way he brushed his hand through her hair. “I mean, all of this has been fantastic, and you’re my friend, so I don’t think you could really overstay your welcome.” Her smile, though still smirk-adjacent, was also real, and she hoped he could tell that. “I wouldn’t say no to that. In fact, I’d say a very enthused yes. Especially because I’m not so sure I’m totally ready to be alone in bed…” She shifted closer to him, pressing another kiss on his lips.

[kumezyzo]

Peter 3 x OC | Chp 1... Chp 2... Chapter 3 | m.list

description... Peter Parker and Alina (AJ) Brock (Daughter of Eddie Brock) have been best friends for years since they could remember. She can tell when he's lying or hiding something. He can tell when she's lying or hiding something. And their senior year of highshool is full of secrets and hiding: Peter becomes Spiderman, AJ's dad finds out something more dangerous than he thought he would about Carlton Drake, and the third person to their childhood trio comes back after 8 years.

cw/tw.... unrequited love, self-doubt, banter, silent pining, peter being a dumbass, lowkey bad descriptions...

I sat on Peter's bed whilst he went through the contents of the briefcase. He had laid them out perfectly on the floor in front of him: A glasses case, his dad's OSCORP badge, an ungodly amount of pens, an old calculator, a sidekick, a quarter and a subway token, and the newspaper clipping.

I watched Peter pick up the glasses case and open it carefully. I was surprised to actually see a pair of glasses sitting in there. He pulled them out and showed them to me, smiling in astonishment.

I reached my hand out to grab them from him, "Can I see them?" He gave them to me and carried on examining the items.

I put on the glasses carefully and felt my eyes strain just as I put them on. I squinted my eyes as a way to try to adjust to the corrective lenses. I turned to Peter with my warped vision and watched him glance at me for a second. He did a double take and just looked at me.

I tried to squint again to see if it was better but to no avail. I took them off and blinked a couple of times, readjusting to my normal vision. I looked around the room, trying to refocus my eyes before looking at Peter again. I noticed the way his lips were ever so slightly parted.

"I guess being legally blind runs in the family," I joked, handing them back to him. He didn’t move to reach for them. Instead, his lips morphed into a soft smile. I laughed awkwardly the longer I kept my hand out for him to take the glasses.

Then he finally took them back, clearing his throat. "I wonder if we have a similar prescription then." He stood up and carefully stepped around the items on the ground, padding to the bathroom. I followed behind him, shuffling my feet to catch up to him.

I silently watched him open his medicine cabinet and pull out his contact lenses case. He gave me the glasses to hold whilst he tediously took out his contacts. I grimaced at the sight of him touching his eye and pulling out the clear lens.

He looked over at me and chuckled, thrusting forward his finger with the contact on it. I squirmed and stepped back, my face contorting into one of disgust. He laughed, gently putting the contact in its case. He repeated the same process with the other eye and washed his hands.

When he cut off the water, I expected him to dry his hands on the non-decorative decorative towel. But instead, he flicked the water at me not unlike how I did to him earlier. I stood there stunned for a second and glared at him.

"Okay, truce," I said with a pout as he took the classes from me. He grinned, keeping his eyes on himself in the mirror, unfolding the arms of the glasses. "Truce… right, Peter?"

He just hummed with that stupid grin and slid on the glasses carefully. He looked at himself a little bit longer and pushed them up again before turning to look at me.

I felt butterflies erupt in my stomach again when I finally saw him straight on. The grin on his face and the way the glasses fit on his face was almost too much for me to handle. He stepped closer to me, raising his eyebrows as a way to ask for my opinion.

"How do I look?" He asked me, crossing his arms and looking down slightly at me. I couldn't help but let my eyes dart around his face and admire how he looked. It was attractive.

"More like a dork than you did before," I said, crossing my arms to match his stance. He scoffed and pushed past me, heading back into his room. "Do they work?"

"Yeah, actually, they do," he said with me following behind him. "They're old, but they work."

I hummed, and both of us returned to our previous spots in his room. He picked up the Oscorp badge silently. He sat there looking at it for a while, biting his lip, deep in thought. Then he set it down and reached for the briefcase, lifting it gently.

"Why are you sitting like that?" I asked when I noticed he was sitting on his skateboard and looking at him weirdly as he turned the briefcase. He looked at the leather, puzzled, and turned it in the other direction. A shuffle came from inside of it.

We looked at each other confused. He opened it up again, running his hand through the interior. He turned it over and unzipped the pocket on the back, looking inside and running his finger along the edges of it.

Then there was a click. He looked up at me as he pulled something off of the lining of the bag. I leaned forward and noticed that past the lining, there was a filing folder with what looked to be documents inside.

"How did you even find that?" I questioned curiously.

"I dunno…" Peter stretched forward and closed his door quickly, hitting the switch on his desk that connected to the lock on his door. The door locked and he settled down back on his skateboard and pulled out the files.

I grabbed the briefcase when he went to put it down. He gave it to me with no complaints due to his attention being drawn to the documents. As he gently pulled out the papers, I looked at the pockets of the briefcase.

I ran my fingers along the edges of the inside of the briefcase, looking for anything similar to what Peter happened to find.

"What is this?" I heard Peter mumble. I looked up and noticed the scribblings of equations on yellow gridded paper. "Zero-zero decay rate algorithm." I furrowed my eyebrows and bent forward to read the equation. 

Then, there was a knock on the door. I gasped in surprise, cursing myself immediately for it. Peter turned to look at me oddly.

"Yeah, one sec, one sec," Peter called out, reaching his hand out and shaking it. I, panicking, waved my arms around before realizing he wanted the briefcase. By that point, he reached over and snatched the leather bag away from me.

He placed it over the files under his bed and scattered the other miscellaneous items around on the floor. He got up and sat on his chair, flicking the lock switch and moving his mouse to wake up the computer. That's when I noticed the debate team's picture on the screen, but it was zoomed into Gwen's face. I cleared my throat uncomfortably and looked down to look at my slightly bruised knuckles.

"Come in," Peter called out. Uncle Ben walked in shortly after, his eyes looking between the both of us.

"You okay?" He asked Peter.

Peter nodded, "Yeah, what's up?"

"My god… you look just like him." Ben said, astonished. I couldn't help but smile at the way he seemed to be taken back. Peter just nodded. "Um… can I come in?"

I puffed out my cheeks and took the hint, getting off of Peter's bed. "'Scuse me," I said quietly, pushing past Ben after I made eye contact with Peter and gave him a look. "I'm gonna go call my dad."

"Hey, dad," I said into the phone as I stepped out of the house through the front door.

"Hey, baby. How you holdin' up?" His gruff voice asked me through the crackle of the phone. I smiled, sitting on the bench on the porch.

"I'm alright. I'm at Pete's right now," I told him. "We just had dinner."

"What did you guys have?" He asked, sounding a little distracted. I pursed my lips, hoping I hadn't caught him at the wrong time.

"Spaghetti and meatballs. I helped Aunt May make the sauce," I recounted to him. He hummed on the other end, and then a silence fell between us. "Dad?"

"Hey, Aj, um, I think I'm gonna have to be in San Francisco a little longer," He said, the cautious tone crackling through the phone.

"Oh," I muttered disappointedly. "Why?"

"There's some serious shit going on over here," he said quickly. I sat there stunned by his bluntness. "Look, I don't want you to worry. You know that, right?"

"Well, yeah. But are you-"

"I'm alright, baby." He sighed. "Look, I'm gonna call you from Anne's phone tomorrow and I'll tell you what's happening then."

I just sat there confused and looking out onto the street. He was going to tell me about what he was investigating.

"You can't tell anyone, do you understand?" He asked me sternly.

I nodded before realizing he couldn't see me. "Yeah… but why… are you telling me?" I asked cautiously.

"Alina, you just have to trust me," He said with a sigh. "I will be home in maybe more than a week, okay? Stay with Peter."

"Wait, what?" I questioned loudly. "You want me to stay with Peter? During the week? Dad, what is happening?"

"Alina, if I don't explain tomorrow, I'll tell you when I get home." He said in a calming tone. "I already talked to May and Ben about it, relax."

"Dad, that's not what I'm worried about," I scoffed humorlessly. "You're going to tell me what's happening? And did you say Anne? As in Anne Weying?"

I heard him sigh heavily, "Babygirl, I will be okay," He said slowly. "I'm staying with Anne while I'm here."

I took in a breath as I processed everything he was telling me. He was in some sort of danger. He was staying with the woman he's had a crush on for years. He wants me to stay with Peter until he gets back. And he's going to tell me that something was happening.

"Okay…" I said slowly. "But you're okay?"

"I'm fine. We're fine," he told me reassuringly. I nodded to myself until he spoke again. "Look, tomorrow, I want you to go by the apartment to get your stuff to stay over, take Pete. And I want you to take my bike too."

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion once again. "Your bike?" He hummed with confirmation. "I only have a permit."

"As long as you don't speed, you follow the speed limit, don't rev it, and you dont panic, you will be fine," He told me clearly. "I trust you to not fuck up my bike."

I snorted, shaking my head. I ran a hand through my hair. This was too much to take in. But I trust my dad. There have definitely been times where maybe I shouldn't have. But at the end of the day, Eddie Brock is someone I will always trust.

"Yeah, I won't ‘fuck it up’, promise," I sighed out. "I love you."

"I love you more," He responded immediately. "Be careful. I'll call you tomorrow and if I don't, I will when I get back."

"Okay, be careful."

"I will," he said in such a sincere tone. It reminded me of when I was a kid. "Bye."

"Bye."

I laid on the floor next to Peter's bed. He was lying on his stomach, staring off into the distance. I looked up at the ceiling, staring at the terrible looking red light shade. He kept it off whenever he could. It was a terrible, warm toned light that never looked good, and we had never been able to change.

"Peter?" I asked quietly. I diverted my attention to his face that peaked over the edge of the bed. He hummed, gazing down at me. "My dad said I need to stay with you for the week."

I watched how his eyebrows furrowed, and he looked away from me, thinking. "He did? Why?"

"Honestly… I have no idea. But he told me to get my stuff from the apartment and drive back with his bike. So, I was wondering if you could go with me."

"Yeah, definitely," he nodded. Then his face contorted into a grimace.

"What?" I asked, getting unnecessarily worried. "It's okay if you don't want to, I just didn't want to go alone-"

"No, no, no, it's fine, Aj," He said. "I just need to go to Oscorp tomorrow."

He must've seen the way I just looked at him curiously because then he started explaining. His dad knew Dr. Conners and he wanted to talk to him. There were internship openings, and he was planning on sneaking in. He found that all out while I was talking to my dad.

"But I think I can take you there and make it to Oscorp on time," He said surely. He grinned at me tiredly. "I got you, don't worry."

[wistfulwisteriawitch]

Eddie parked his van outside of his trailer. Turning the radio down, he pulled the pipe and grinder out of his pocket and smiled at them. He was a big fan of 'one of a kind' things, and this was definitely something nobody else would have. Sticking them in his glovebox, he climbed out of the van and headed into the house.

Opening the door, he threw his vest and jacket onto the table. "Hey Wayne, getting ready for work?" His uncle turned around and nodded, "yep. How did your club go today?" Eddie walked to the fridge and pulled out a beer, popping the top. "It went pretty well. Got two new kids that joined...they're a little odd, but that's what Hellfire is all about, so they'll fit right in." "Right, well there's left over spaghetti in the fridge. That little girl across the way, her mom sent it over. Stay safe tonight kid." Wayne ruffled his nephew's hair before grabbing his lunchbox and heading out the door.

Once his uncle had left, Eddie walked over and flopped down onto the couch, pulling his phone out to check his messages. A couple from Gareth. One from Jeff...and one from Lily. He read over it before replying.

Yea, that's cool. Come by around 3, I won't be up before then. My uncle will be here, but he's cool.

Sitting his phone on the table, he leaned back and turned the tv on.

The next day Lily was prancing around her brother like a pup waiting to be taken on a hunt. “Come on! Come oooon!!!” She tugged Mikhails arm and bounced up and down.

“We’re moving Liochka!“ Mikhail laughed before snatching his sisters wrists and holding her off the floor walking her to the van dangling.

“You’re such an ass.” She said kicking out at him laughing.

“And you are very tiny.” Mikhail set her down in front of the drivers side and she got in.

Checking the mirror she fluffed her wavy hair and made sure she looked okay. Her usual way too big buttercup sweater covered a long layered flowing teal dress with chiffon skirts and see through sleeves that opened at a bell shape at the wrists.

“Very nice did you make that one?” Mikhail asked as they drove. Trying to ease his little sisters tension. She was nervous how cute— fearless one that she was perhaps their Papa would be grateful for something to finally snag her by the tail. Or perhaps not.

“Is it okay?” Lilith asked looking at him with a timid expression. So unlike his normally unflappably calm sibling it startled Mikhail as he hummed taking in the new side of her he was seeing. She had never been interested in a boy or girl before.

He reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You look lovely little sister. Do not worry. If it is a bond it will happen just let it go naturally.” He knew Lilith was quite intrigued by this boy— and he was interested to meet him. His own Bonded was traveling but she was quite adamant that he tell her about Lilith’s potential person.

Whether it was friendship or more would be seen.

As they pulled up to the trailer at 3:30pm Lilith leapt out the van as Mikhail grabbed his leather bags and hoisted them over his massive shoulder.

Hopping up the steps she rapped on the door and waited in a swaying motion her arms clasped behind her back as she also had a tote over her shoulder.

She spoke in her families language to Mikhail.

{What If his kin does not like me?}

Mikhail snorted, {what is there not to like a pretty girl comes calling for his nephew. Though best hide the fangs hm} he ruffled her hair from behind her— well aware that his frame towered behind her like a brick wall clad in a button up shirt, brown leather coat and black trousers and hiking boots. Far tougher than his sisters soft apperance.

He would have to duck to get into the trailer and his head would almost brush the ceiling.

{Mikhail!!!}

She squeaked as the door opened and looked up to see who it was.

[wjforever]

Shatter me again. Chapter 64

Adam. This is Adam. He came back to help me, to save me. Although I'm afraid for him, I can't help but feel relieved. Our confrontation with Warner has become too heated. But I don't know what will happen now. Because it's obvious that we've passed the point of no return.

"Get your filthy dirty hands off her, you bastard, before I bury a bullet in the back of your head," Adam says threateningly. 

This is the first time I've heard Adam's voice so hard, unyielding, dangerous.

But Warner doesn't react, he looks at me again, studying, curious. He watches my reaction, blinks, has a silent dialogue with me. There is fear, pleading and relief in my eyes. The possibility of salvation. There is interest in his.

"And here is our hero. Kent." He drags the vowel of Adam's last name. His eyes flick away from me, a smirk twists his lips. And then he turns his gaze back to me and smiles softly, almost too gently. His eyes close and stay like that for a moment longer than it takes to mistake this action for a blink. It's like he wants to tell me something with this. Calming and encouraging, or intimidating, showing his superiority over us, over the situation. I don't understand his message.

"Did you hear me badly? Get away from her." Adam barks again.

Warner purses his lips, pouts them slightly in a falsely offended manner, raises his eyebrows, still looking at me, and then slowly turns in the direction of the speaker and takes a couple of steps to the side. Now I can see Adam. He's standing at the entrance and points his gun at Warner's face. His eyes are blazing with anger, determination and malice are imprinted on his face. It's suicide, I think. After this, Adam will not have a single chance. This can't be explained or justified. He's aiming at the Chief Commander's face.

"Really? Will shoot me with my own weapon? With the gun that I personally gave you?" Warner speaks carelessly, indifferently, as if he came to a fun party and met an old acquaintance, and is not standing in front of a man holding him at gunpoint.

Adam, unlike Warner, is very tense and focused. He knows what he has decided to do. He understands everything.

"Don't doubt it, I won't blink an eye." He says harshly.

Everything breaks down inside me. The thought that Adam could kill someone is frightening. Truly frightening.

Warner takes another step towards Adam, spreads his arms out to the sides.

"Well, come on, what are you waiting for? Shoot. What will happen to you after that? With the two of you, actually, huh? Do you hope that killing the Chief Commander and Regent of Sector will help you get an increase in your salary?"

"I don't care much what would happen to us. We'll get out of here, and you can't stop us."

"Moreover, you will help us in this," I say, taking a step forward. 

Adam looks at me for a moment, surprised that I have interfered with their exchange of pleasantries, but Warner only turns his head slightly and his eyes sparkle with a mischievous gleam. Another smirk touches his lips lightly.

I myself am almost frightened by my determination and admired at the same time. Offer my own idea. And so audacious one. Use Warner himself to get out of here. What a crazy and amazing thought. Where does it come from in me?

I see Adam approaching Warner, his eyes suddenly brighten up.

"She's right. You will help us. You're going to clear our exit out of here."

"With great pleasure." Warner says sarcastically.

Of course, he's just mocking us. However, this seems quite a normal reaction in such circumstances. 

Adam takes the initiative again, apparently deciding that it is he who should negotiate. I don't mind at all. Although, surprisingly, I don't feel lost and indecisive. I'm just watching how the situation develops and waiting.

"You will pay for everything. You're not in charge now, so listen to what we tell you if you want to save your life."

"For how long? Do you think my life will last long if I let you go? I'd rather try to detain her."

Warner's words baffle me. I don't understand. I'm used to Warner's unquestioning power. He's in charge here. It's other people's heads that will roll if he's discontented. But he obeys his father, I remind myself. Isn't that what I heard from Adam? And a lot of things are starting to make more sense. Things that I've never thought about before, though I felt that something was wrong. But now it's too obvious, because Warner suddenly doesn't threaten, but unintentionally shows his dependent position. Something I never wanted to think about.

His words had no effect on Adam, unlike me. While I'm wandering in my own thoughts, he continues to act.

"Make the call. Call and get us out of here."

"Only my dead body would allow her to walk out that door. Although even that's not a guarantee."

"We can verify this."

Adam is taking few big steps towards Warner, and I understand that he intends to get Warner to cooperate. It makes sense. We don't have much time and we can't spend it on games.  Now Adam is only a couple of feet away from his commander, and I can feel the tension rising. We need to force him somehow, but I can't figure out how. I'm not even sure it's possible. But we have a chance while we hold him hostage.

I barely have time to finish this thought when the situation changes. Things are spiraling out of control much faster than I expected. Warner suddenly makes a sharp jerk down and to the side and Adam fires.   These two are in the same room again.

And again shooting.

Only this time the brunette shoots.

Makes a retaliatory move.

A deafening shot stuns this empty building, blinds me, and I realize that I have closed my eyes and covered my ears with my hands. It's hard for me to bring myself to see the world again. Because I'm too afraid of what might be in front of my eyes. And yet I do it.

Adam's gun flew off to the side, and now it rests between us. Apparently, Warner knocked it out of Adam's hands. No blood. No dead. No wounded. I can calmly exhale for a split second.

A possible plan immediately begins to form in my head. I could reach for the gun. Yes, it's quite feasible. And I see Adam looking at the weapon. He thinks the same thing as me. He wants his gun back. We have to get the advantage again. But I need to find the right moment.

It's not that simple. I know exactly why Adam doesn't make a dash for the gun and doesn't even try to rush at Warner and just knock him to the ground. The two of us could try to beat him. But we both know that Warner most likely has a weapon with him. And it's too dangerous to throw myself into the fire like that. You shouldn't underestimate your opponent. Not Warner, that's for sure.

So we freeze. Warner turns to me. He looks intently, disappointed. I think I'm already starting to get used to this expression of his. It's unlikely to ever change given what's happening.

"Did you really decide to run away? With him?"

This is a strange, ridiculous question uttered in an offended tone. And it ignites resentment in me. "Does it really surprise you? After everything that's happened?"

My voice sounds too hurt, too broken, almost hysterical. It's strange that I even have a need to answer him something, to explain something. I'm a hostage. It doesn't matter what happened or what he did. Escape is the natural and logical desire of any prisoner. And yet I feel the need to express my grievance to him. Like if he hadn't done what he did, things might have been different. But that's not true. He was never my friend or my ally, and I shouldn't have forgotten that for a single moment.

Warner narrows his eyes a little, purses his lips.

"Juliette. You're a sensible person. The world has already caused you so much pain. The world put you here. You're here because of them! Do you think that if you get out of here, they will suddenly accept you? Do you think you can run away and live a normal life? No one will take care of you. You'll be an outcast, a monster you've always been. Nothing will change if you don't change your attitude towards yourself."

It's almost comical, but I understand that it's pointless to try to prove something to him, to explain. He will never be able to understand me.

"What you do is not contributing to this in any way, it doesn't help me at all."

Warner suddenly pulls out a gun abruptly, and I gasp.

"Make one more tiny move and I'll shoot you."

He's looking at me, but he says it not to me, but to Adam. And his gun is pointed at Adam. Warner doesn't even try looking at him, thereby showing his superiority and his indifference. And I don't break that eye contact, hoping that I can somehow distract Warner, that I can give Adam a chance to counterattack.

"Juliette, they will bring you back here." Warner continues his speech. "If you leave now, the entire army will follow you, and not only in this sector. They'll find you. And if not, then someone will hand you over to another asylum again. Which means you'll come back here. And next time life won't show you such mercy. There may not be another opportunity like this again. You won't be able to be here as before, on the same terms. Don't waste this chance."

He wants me to change my mind, to change my mind myself, to give up these attempts to escape. And he's threatening me, in fact. He's trying to say that he's still ready to forgive me if I betray Adam. Otherwise, it won't be good for both of us. He doesn't know me at all. He doesn't know me.

"You can kill me if you want. But let Adam go. He's not to blame for anything. He was just trying to help me."

Warner snorts, raises his eyebrows and looks at me from under his brows, chuckling soundlessly.

I'm aware of how ridiculous I sound. It doesn't matter if Adam does all this at my request or if it's his initiative, the result will be the same. We're already out of options, that's what I know. Adam will die if we don't get out of here.

"Don't, Juliette. You don't need to protect me." Adam steps in, and I flinch. "I act on my own initiative. Because I hate all this."

Warner suddenly looks at Adam again. His gaze changes, becomes tougher, more dangerous. "So you hate it. Well, I must admit, it amazes me how you managed to trick me so skillfully. Whatever, it'll be sweeter to see you die."

While they're talking, I have a couple of seconds to look around. There is a chair not far from me. The same chair I used to put Warner's coat on. I still don't know what happened to it. At some point, the coat just disappeared from my room. I didn't use this chair anymore. And I think it's time to fix it. Warner got distracted, turned his attention to Adam, and I have one single chance, one single opportunity. I rush to the side, grab the chair and brandish it.

I can clearly see that Warner has time to react. He turns abruptly and looks at me even before I start swinging the chair. I need to do a lot more actions than he does. And his reaction time is much quicker than mine. He has the time and opportunity to shoot me, or what's worse, Adam. I understand the failure of my plan before I can even try to carry it through to the end. But Warner doesn't shoot. He's just standing there and waiting for my actions.

He doesn't even seem to be trying to fight when I hit his arms hard with the chair. The gun falls out of his hand, but he makes no attempt to grab it again. Instead, he's looking at me, either with surprise or admiration. I don't have time to understand anything. Adam lunges forward, knocks Warner off his feet, and he drops to the floor. But even so, Warner is still barely fighting.

Everything is happening too fast, chaotically, suddenly. I have a split second to notice the gun on the floor, and another moment to realize it's still too close to Warner. This is dangerous. Very dangerous. So I rush to it, grab it in my hand and fly over to the two men. Warner fell on his back, but now he's lying rather on his side and his head is turned to the carpet, as Adam pins him down. Only now Warner begin to show resistance, albeit suspiciously weak. He probably hurt himself in the fall. And I know I must act no matter what. We have to  leveraged this advantage before he starts to do something again. 

I raise my hand and slam the butt of the gun into Warner's face. To stun him, to keep Adam safe. I'm astounded by my own reflexes, my cruelty. I've never hit people, much less with a gun. I've never hold a gun in my hands at all.

My heart is racing. Pulse is pounding in my ears. It's easy. Too easy. It can't be that easy. It's impossible that Warner could be defeated so easily. That's just can't be.

"Holy shit," Adam says, not hiding his surprise. He immediately jumps to his feet and stand next to me.

These eyes… He's on the floor, at our feet, in a humiliated position. His lip is split and a trickle of blood flows down to his chin. Scarlet. Scarlet. Bright blood. It's so harmonizes with his green eyes burning through me. Disbelief. That's what I'm reading in them. I myself don't believe that this is I who did it. But his disbelief infuriates me.

"Don't underestimate me." I spit it out viciously.

His lips curve in a mirthless smile, he leans on his hands, lifts himself up a little and looks only at me. "Never. I've never underestimated you. I've always knew you are capable of a lot, love. Always. And you don't disappoint me."

Adam immediately kicks him in the stomach. Hard. And I know what that feeling is. I know this pain, this mortification. His soldiers did the same to me. He allowed me to be abused in the same way. And I should be jubilant that karma has finally caught up with him, but I can't. I'm worried. I'm so worried. I'm who he saw me to be. That's what's bothering me.

Adam's foot hits him in the stomach again. Warner wheezes faintly, makes some sickening gurgling sound, but doesn't scream or even moan. And I wince, my eyes fill with tears.

"Adam, no, stop it, wait."

Adam, like Warner a little earlier, looks at me dumbfounded, as if not believing my words. They are both astounded by me, but each in his own way, because, as it seems to me, there is a different version of me for each of them.

"We need him conscious," I say. "He will be more useful to us if he can do something."

"Yes, yes, you're right." Adam nods understandingly, reassured by my words. "Sure."

Warner is laughing through a coughing, tries to smile. As if he hadn't just been beaten up and everything is fine. He controls himself very well, I must admit. I couldn't keep the same attitude.

Adam gives me his pistol and I point both guns at Warner's forehead, doing my best to ignore the eyes he's drilling in my direction. Meanwhile, Adam digs into his pockets and pulls out a pair of plastic zip ties. He roughly grabs Warner's hands, pulls off his gloves and binds his wrists behind his back. Then he takes off Warner's shoes and repeats this procedure.

I suddenly realize that we really have a chance to escape right now. The world around me begins to revolve in an ephemeral reality. We were supposed to run away in a week, and all this is quite abrupt and unexpected. But I'm just happy that it happens sooner. That this is happening right now when I need it so much. It's a blessing from heaven, and we're lucky the entire building has been evacuated. We can try to run away, the corridors are empty and Warner has no one to rely on.

"You're living in illusions, Kent, if you think you can stop me by just tying me up."

Adam's face is stony, impenetrable. "I don't live in illusions, I'm pretty much realistic. That's why now I'm the one who binds your dirty hands. It's you who was so carried away by your crazy fantasies that you didn't notice the danger right under your nose."

And Warner laughs. He laughs so hard that I can barely keep myself on my feet.

"Do you really believe that I'm such a fool? It turns out that you are much more worthless than I could even imagine. Did you really think you had me fooled?"

"Shut up, you can try to prove that you didn't screw up, but you did. You pathetic piece of shit."

Adam doesn't take Warner's words seriously. I know that. He thinks it's just bravado and nothing more. So he's confident and calm. But I don't share his emotions. My face falls, I look away with an unseeing gaze as awareness pierces me. I was right. God, I've been right all along. My intuition didn't fail me. 

He knew everything. 

Warner knew everything.

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[therealvalkyrie]

exactly the spring

Pairing/setting: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader, college!AU

Summary: Reserved biology student Ushijima finds himself falling in love when you, an adorably disorganized art student, wander into the greenhouse.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, kissing

AN: Hi!! So, the inspiration for this one sprang from the beautiful, sexi brain of Emme ( @doinmybesthere ) way back in MARCH ahem anyway, it's done! I hope it's just as soft and intimate as you envisioned<33 Also, big shoutout to my beautiful friends Arobi ( @daqueenobooty ) and Cee ( @spacelabrathor ) for being wonderful betas and giving me such kind comments:) I hope you enjoy, and as always don't be shy about leaving comments or coming to chat! Be kind to yourselves and others.  ~valkyrie

p.s. check out this amazing art that @/54prowl made of plant boy ushi!! :D

Plants don’t talk back, Ushijima learned as a toddler. He’d babble to them in nonsensical phrases as his mother worked in the garden, and they’d only sway in the wind and listen, waxy under his chubby fingers.

A volleyball doesn’t talk back, either, not even through its bounces and echoes on hands and hard surfaces. It doesn’t listen as easily as plants, but can be herded and shaped like putty into a winning thing if you touch it right. This, Ushijima learned at his father’s hand and carried with him through childhood and adolescence.

The joy and puzzlement of you is that you do both. You listen so intently and openly with your steady eyes and soft body as the words pour out of him. And then, you reply. With your clear voice and new perspective, you offer something new. You offer companionship.

It was the second week of spring semester that you wandered into the greenhouse, eyes lit by the sun and sketchbook under one arm. Ushijima was repotting a large fern, dirt up to his elbows as he kneeled on the floor. He barely gave you a second glance, preoccupied with nestling the plant’s root system comfortably.

You settled a short distance away, crossing your legs to sit on the tile floor in front of an orange tree to sketch its still-closed flower buds with charcoal pencils. He kept working as you did, the sun sliding across glass, shadows shifting into the early evening of winter. When the sun was threatening to set over the city skyline — even with the greenhouse where it sits on the roof of the biology building — he turned to tell you he was closing up, only to find you gone. In your place, sitting on the wooden table that held newly planted basil and sage, was a drawing.

It was a single branch, detailed in shades of charcoal down to the last dewdrop. At the bottom, looping handwriting scrawled, “thank you for the peace.”

That night, he tacked it up above his desk in his dorm next to the postcard from Tendō and hoped you’d come back.

And you do, a couple of days later, on a Saturday. He looks up from where he’s filling in the logbook, this time, catching your gaze and holding it for a moment before you break away to survey the room. Today, he thinks you looked breathtaking. You’re wearing a long, flowing skirt and a sweater that makes him want to feel how soft it is, and how soft you are in it, and by the time his brain catches up with his thoughts, he’s been staring too long and your eyes have wandered back to him. It’s raining, today — it never really snows in this city, he’s learned — and shadowy droplets play across your face as they drip down the greenhouse’s arched glass ceiling, highlighting the curve of your cheekbone and making your eyes glow softly.

He clears his throat and looks back to the thick spiral-bound book on the table before him. Sometimes, when he meets people for the first time, he knows he can come across as intimidating. That worked out for him in high school and on the volleyball court, but in his adulthood, it’s been more of a hindrance than a help. It makes it… difficult to make friends here, where he doesn’t already know anyone.

And the last thing he wants is to scare you away. The last thing he wants is to break the peace you’ve apparently found here.

Which is why he barely dares to breathe when he looks up to find you approaching him where he’s perched on a sturdy wooden stool.

“Hi,” you smile and lilt, and god if it isn’t the most beautiful word Ushijima’s ever heard, if it isn’t the prettiest smile he’s seen.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to scare you away.

“Uhm,” you start again, when the silence makes it clear he’s waiting for you to speak, “I have an art assignment,” you start digging around in your shoulder bag as you speak, “to draw a, um, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know.”

You pause in your rifling and pin him with such a sunny smile it makes his knee start bouncing. And you laugh, too, which officially replaces your “hi” as the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Ha, you’re funny,” you resume digging, “it was um, pretty leafy and... tropical, I think? Oh! Here.” Triumphantly, you produce a wrinkled paper from your bag. It’s the first imperfect thing Ushijima’s found out about you, that you’re shit at keeping your belongings organized, and he files it away for later reference. You hold the paper in front of your face and squint slightly to read in the shifting light. “Canna indica.”

Canna indica, native to tropical climates, notable as a minor food crop for South American Native populations for thousands of years.

“And I was told that you have it, here, in the greenhouse.”

Ushijima nods and finds himself relieved that this is what you’re asking him. Plants, he can do.

“We do. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please,” you also sound relieved, like he’s provided the solution to every problem you’ve ever had.

He unfolds himself from the stool, setting down his pen as he goes. You take a step back and look up at him mildly, as though you hadn’t realized quite how huge he is.

“This way,” he indicates, leading you deeper into the maze that is the biology department’s greenhouse. The winding path back to the tropical room gives him a moment to sink back into the earthy peace of being here, even if now there’s someone sharing that peace.

The temperature change from the warm main greenhouse to the balmy tropical room prompts Ushijima to shed his flannel outer layer, hanging it on the nail hammered by the door while you step in behind him.

“Whew,” you exhale, shrugging off your soft cardigan as well, “it’s hot in here.”

Ushijima hums in agreement and tries not to look too hard at the patch of skin revealed by your cropped tank top. Canna indica isn’t too far into the room, so he just gently moves past draping leaves and ceramic pots.

“Here,” he stops, holding back leaves for you. He stops breathing again when you duck under his arm and end up so close in the narrow aisle that he can smell your shampoo. The moment passes, and he can breathe again when you breeze past him and squat down to peer at the bright, waxy red leaves of your subject.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, and he silently agrees.

You’re leaning so close to the plant he’s afraid you might topple over when you make a noise of realization and sit back on your butt to rifle through your bag once again. Ushijima knows he should probably leave you to it, but he’s glad he waited just an extra minute when you pull out a pair of glasses and pop them on your face. Adorably.

“That’s better.” You’re looking back at canna indica, now, at a normal distance.

He’s figured you’ve forgotten he’s there when you start to pull out pastels from your seemingly bottomless bag, so he turns to leave you.

A soft, “hey,” calls him back to you, however, and he’s met by your face glowing eerily in the shifting rain-light. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

When he locks up that afternoon, he finds another charcoal drawing waiting for him on the table near the door, this time of his favorite agapanthus africanus. No note, this time, but he attaches all the sounds he heard from you today in its place. He also finds your cardigan forgotten next to where you were sitting and carefully folds it for when you come back.

The drawing joins the orange branch on his wall-- an odd starter garden, he thinks, but all the more precious because it came from you.

The next time he sees you isn’t in the greenhouse, but instead at a cafe a couple of blocks away, two weeks later. He’s walking past, gym bag slung over his shoulder, when he hears your laugh ring out across the outdoor seating area. His eyes find you, head tipped back in sending peals of mirth into the lively spring air. It’s the first truly warm day of the season, though you and your companion are the only patrons sitting outside, and the sun catches on your glasses sat atop your head.

Your friend says something apparently hilarious, because your giggles redouble, and an honest-to-god snort pushes out of your nose. Ushijima catalogues it in his ever-growing list of sounds you make, and pauses at the crosswalk, halfway turned back to keep one eye on you and one on the light. If you were alone, he might’ve approached you and told you that he still has your sweater in the greenhouse, waiting on a shelf between succulents, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your— date?

He isn’t sure, but the person sat there with you seems like someone you might date. Clearly also an art student, judging by the carefully disheveled blue hair and combat boots. Are you the type to date someone with blue hair? Unlikely, he decides. You seem too… bright. Too floaty to be so concerned with looking like you don’t care how you look.

Ushijima’s still debating whether you find blue hair attractive when the crosswalk light begins its countdown and he starts across the street. And he almost makes it all the way across, too, when a voice calls—

“Wait! Hey!”

He turns partially because it sounds urgent enough that it might be an emergency, and his grandmother would roll in her grave if he remained a bystander to some horrific accident. But it’s you, standing up from your seat and waving him back over. He glances at the crosswalk countdown, which lights up red as it ticks from four to three, then turns and jogs back towards you, waving a hand apologetically to the cars waiting at the light. You meet him at the metal fence around the cafe seating area, and now that you’re standing, he can see you’re wearing a yellow sundress that cuts off at your calves and drapes over your hips like the fabric was spun from pure light.

“Hello.” Ushijima talks first this time because if he doesn’t refocus his brain on something else he knows he won’t be able to stop staring.

“Hi! Sorry about that, uh, and I’m sure you have places to be, but, um, did I leave my cardigan at the greenhouse? I can’t find it, and I know I have a tendency to forget things, so,” you finish with a laugh, one hand fiddling with the rings on the other.

“Yes, you did. I put it on a shelf in case you came back.”

“Oh! That’s great!” You sound relieved, and Ushijima’s suddenly very grateful he didn’t take it down to the bio department’s lost and found like they’re technically supposed to. “Is there maybe a time I can come pick it up? When you’ll be there?”

“I’ll be there all day tomorrow, opening at nine.” 

He can’t tell if he sounds a little too eager, and he’s about to soften his meaning by telling you that they’re open today, too, and anyone can hand you a sweater, but you’re already smiling big and sunny and telling him,

“I’ll see you at nine, then. Do you drink coffee?”

He doesn’t; his coaches have always told him that caffeine can only harm his athletic performance.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I’ll see you at nine, with coffee.”

Ushijima says goodbye and turns to wait at the crosswalk again while you swirl your way back to your seat and pick up your conversation with your friend. He can feel two pairs of eyes on him as he crosses the street, red numbers blinking down from ten, and can’t help but turn to look back as he steps onto the opposite sidewalk. Where your friend tactfully looks down into their cup of tea, you catch his eye with yours and wave. He lifts his hand halfway in a goodbye before an eighteen-wheeler stops at the intersection and blocks you from him.

Ushijima’s normal work attire is typical of an average agricultural biology student accustomed to being up to their elbows in dirt every day: practical cargo shorts, dirt-stained but sturdy sneakers, a “plant dad” t-shirt (a gift from Tendō when they’d said their goodbyes and gone away to college), and a soft cotton flannel. He’s usually satisfied with this for his shift at the greenhouse, expecting to be mud-covered at least up to his wrists by the end of the day.

But today… Today, he pauses in the dorm bathroom to scrub his face raw, and he clips and shapes his nails like his mother used to do for him every Saturday. He normally only does it before tournaments, now, and it calms his nerves to feel prepared for a Big Event, even if that event is only handing you your gently pilled cashmere cardigan and receiving a coffee he won’t drink in return.

The air that morning is heady with spring, earthy and alive, reminding Ushijima of lying beneath the hedge along his mother’s garden to pass notes to the girl next door. He was seven and she was nine, so naturally she knew everything he didn’t. She knew about the planets and why worms live in dirt and how to spell the word “catastrophe,” and Ushijima would’ve bet his whole weekly allowance that she was the coolest person in the world, if he knew what betting was. (She did, and once bet him half an ice cream sandwich that he couldn’t climb the oak tree in his backyard all the way to the top. He did, and then twisted his ankle on the way down, and she brought him an ice cream sandwich every day for a week as an apology.) She was all shiny, long black hair and dark eyes and fast words, nothing like the spring blooming around him.

You, on the other hand, are exactly the spring.

He stops at his favorite pastry place on the way to work to pick up two fresh cream donuts. The line is just dwindling from the height of the morning rush, so he manages to make it to the biology building just five minutes before he normally does.

Morning sun sends rainbows through the automatic misting spray as Ushijima unlocks the greenhouse door, letting a burst of humidity out into the rest of the building. The spiral-bound log book is there on the desk, a thick parchment bookmark sticking out from where whoever closed last night marked the page. 

Ushijima places his backpack and pastry bag on the desk and reaches to hang his key on its hook just when there’s a knock on the door.

“I know I’m early,” you start, edging your way into the room with a paper coffee cup in each hand. “But I saw it was already open, so...”

Ushijima smiles despite himself. In their second year Oikawa Tooru had told him that his smiles can be unnerving, but he can’t help it right now. You look so lovely today, in jeans and a silky tank top, with a certain morning tenderness in the way you hold yourself.

“It’s okay, come in. I just need to check the temperature controls and I’ll be done opening.”

“Sounds good,” you reply, smiling back.

As he makes his way to the temp controls on the Southern wall, you perch on the wooden stool and set down the coffee.

With his back turned to you for a moment, you allow yourself to slouch, planting two hands on the table and stretching your shoulders with a sigh. It’s earlier than you normally get out of bed, let alone actually leave your apartment, and you can already feel a quiet exhaustion setting into your bones.

But this is worth it, you remind yourself. Worth it to talk to the beautiful boy with broad shoulders and gentle hands.

He’d been unexpected. That first day in the greenhouse, you’d sat down with the intention to calm down from a tedious school day and nothing more. Your hands had moved of their own volition on that second drawing of the orange branch, scribbling out a hasty message that made your cheeks burn. But he was so present that day, in the corner of your eye but staying respectfully out of your space. And you’re not blind -- you saw the muscles under his shirt as he lifted an entire small tree in its pot. You saw the startling shade of green his eyes took on in the sun. You saw it all, and it drew you back, and now you’re here.

When he joins you back at the table, leaning back against it to face you, you stick out your hand and offer your name.

He looks at it for a moment, then back at you.

“I just, uh, realized we never properly introduced ourselves,” you explain, with a hesitant smile.

He smiles again and your heart thuds, then his big hand engulfs yours and he shakes it firmly.

“Wakatoshi. It’s nice to meet you.”

You learn in the following weeks of coming to the greenhouse that Wakatoshi doesn’t like coffee. But he does like tea and donuts, so that’s what you bring him on the mornings you can find it in you to wake up before nine. You sit with him in the greenhouse, talking and listening as he records data and waters plants and sits next to you on the quilt you’ve fallen into the habit of bringing. The occasional professor or student comes through, and you get to watch Wakatoshi show off his brains when he leaves you to help them.

There are several things you learn about him over those weeks. Number one: he never minces words. Two: he prefers grapefruit chapstick over anything else. And three: he kisses like it’s his last day on Earth.

You discover number three late one night when you decide to drop by after class, shooting him a text to make sure he’s still there. Today he’s closing instead of opening, and you missed spending your morning with him.

The city lights cast a different kind of glow at this time of night. They add a distance to everything that’s palpable as you drop your bag by the door.

“Toshi, are you here-- oh, hi.” You turn the corner to find him closing the door to the supply closet.

His cheekbones are highlighted briefly by a billboard outside flashing red.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired. And I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?”

He takes a step towards you and you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep your eyes on his. They’re leaf green and unreadable.

“Yeah, uh,” you wet your lips with your tongue, “is that okay?”

“Yes.” He pauses for a long time, then, watching you carefully in the neon glow of the exit sign. His hand shakes as it reaches up to push your glasses from your face onto your head.

Without them, he looks fuzzy and soft around the edges.

He says, “Can I kiss you?” and it feels like there’s a bird trapped in your ribcage.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

Wakatoshi kisses nothing like you expected, all tongues and teeth and heavy fingers in the dip of your waist. He growls when you gasp and mewl against him, sucking on your lower lip as your hands find purchase in his shirt. He kisses you so absolutely breathless that you think you might pass out. Your knees buckle and you pull away, gasping with your eyes closed for a moment until you come back to yourself.

“Are you alright, little one?”

The endearment makes your cheeks flush with heat and your eyes snap open.

“Yes, I’m alright. Please do it again.”

And so he does it again, and again, and again until you find yourself bringing him home with you on the last bus that goes towards your neighborhood. He’s standing in the aisle, one hand wrapped around a pole and the other wound around you, who’s standing in front of him. He keeps you steady as the bus rounds a corner.

That night, you bring the peace of the greenhouse into your home, and the only thing you find yourself wishing for is that it never leaves.

[writer-in-theory]

until the day i die — spencer reid

summary: when reader suspected her best friend's husband has something to do with her recent disappearance, she takes matters into her own hands. it’s a good thing she’s the wife of an fbi agent and knows how to hide her tracks. song inspiration: no body, no crime pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader content warnings: language, discussions of cheating, oc character death(not reader), murder (tried to keep it as vague as possible, but ya know), covering up a murder, very morally grey characters word count: 4.7k a/n: this is for rosie's taylor swift challenge over at @samuel-de-champagne-problems ! seriously, congratulations on 1000 followers. you're an amazing writer but an even more amazing person. it's been really fun getting to talk with you about taylor swift over the past couple of weeks. you absolutely deserve all of the love and support possible!!

masterlist want to join my taglist?

“All I’m saying is if you ever decide you don’t want him, I’d be more than happy to take him off your hands.”

“Este!” you laughed, rolling your eyes at the other woman and taking another breadstick from the center of the table. “I love you, but you can’t have my husband.”

“He’s just so delicious,” and you knew your friend was teasing as she dramatically swooned.

“I’m telling Spencer you called him delicious,” you returned.

“Do it, maybe I can be the second Mrs. Reid. We’ll be the dynamic trio no one ever expected.”

Though you loved all of your friends, you couldn’t help but look forward to Tuesday nights simply because of your dinners with Este. The two of you had met in high school and have been inseparable since. She was your maid of honor at yours and Spencer’s wedding a few years ago, and though you never really got close to her husband, Jeff made frequent appearances at your house for double date night. She was a staple in your life that you couldn’t imagine ever being without. Spencer often joked that she was your first love, and while you never did love her romantically, you couldn’t exactly say he was wrong.

“And what would Jeff say about this plan?” you teased, not expecting your friend’s smile to drop completely.

“I don’t think he’d care,” she spat, stabbing harshly at a few noodles of pasta. It was a strange deviation from the laughter you’d been sharing all through dinner, one completely unlike her. Este was the most bubbly person you’d ever met. While she’d toned down after high school, she’d always remained optimistic and bright. This woman now, angrily digging through her pasta with more tension in her body than you’d ever seen, was so different from the Este you knew.

Este had gotten married almost directly out of high school to a man a few years her elder, Jeff. They’d always seemed happy, even though you never quite understood what she saw in him. He could be arrogant and sometimes didn’t handle it well when Este called him out on things. They had more fights in front of you and Spencer than the two of you had had ever. This was beyond any normal couple argument though, you realized as Este’s green eyes glazed over with tears.

“Hey, hey hey, what’s going on?” you asked, reaching a hand out to grab hers with a gentle squeeze. Seeing the sheer hurt on your friend’s expression was enough to make your heart clench.

You had to see this expression on your husband’s face often; coming home from bad cases often meant you holding him as he let out all of his fears. Fears that you’d end up hurt from some unsub trying to get to him, or you somehow being “tainted” with his mess. You’d often have to coax the information out of him, promising Spencer that it was okay to tell you what he was worrying about without fear of hurting you. It had gotten better over the years but still, sometimes Spencer liked to try hiding his negative emotions away. This expression Este held made you realize she was holding onto something big, something she didn’t want to burden you with.

Just like with your husband, there was no way you’d let her keep it all in. “You can tell me, Este, I promise. Is Jeff hurting you or something? Because Spencer’s in the FBI and we can make sure you do-”

Your rambling was cut off by Este’s small, shaking voice. “No, he’s not hurting me. Not in the traditional sense, anyway.” As much as you wanted to interrupt, you wouldn’t. You’d give her the time she needed to get the rest of it off her chest. “I think he’s cheating on me.”

And that, well. I never liked Jeff, you thought bitterly. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s been acting differently the past few months. I brushed it off as him being stressed at work, what with the new merger and all. But he’s been coming home late, and he’s been making these big purchases for jewelry I don’t ever see. Then the other day, I...he came home and I saw a bit of red lipstick on the collar of his shirt. Y/N, I don’t wear red lipstick,” Este managed to get out, voice becoming stronger and angrier as she spoke.

“I just don’t get how he thinks he can do this to me. We’ve been married for eighteen years, why would he throw it all away now?”

And as much as you hated to admit it, you said, “He thinks he can get away with it, that you won’t notice.”

“Exactly. Well, I deserve better than that. I’m calling him out tonight when we’re done here, that’s a promise,” Este told you, nodding her head with as much resolution as you’ve seen in her for years.

“Okay, let’s do this. Let’s call him out,” you agreed, ready to be there for your friend no matter what. “You know my house is always open, right? Spencer and I would be happy to have you.”

“You’re my best friend, you know that?” It was wonderful to see that smile light up her face again, quickly departing from the flash of hurt she’d shown. While you wanted to comfort Este more, you also would never object to sharing some joy with your best friend.

“Yeah, I do,” you laughed, thankful for the chance to brighten the mood again, “because you’re my best friend too.”

The two of you would continue dinner, talking and laughing about any topic you could come up with. Eventually, you’d talk about Spencer, how well he’s been recovering as it hits the two-year mark since he was framed for murder. You’d talk about how Spencer was dropping hints about wanting a kid, and you’d talk about how Este would make the best godmother your kid could ever have. You’d talk about nearly everything, but not once would either of you bring up Jeff again.

He wasn’t worth it.

When a week passed and it was time for another dinner with Este, you knew something was wrong.

Something was wrong because you hadn’t heard from her since last Tuesday. At first, you thought she was just dealing with the repercussions of calling out her husband’s cheating, or maybe even that she’d chickened out and didn’t want to admit it to you (not that you wouldn’t have been there for her either way). Something was wrong, you knew, because Este never showed up at the restaurant.

No matter what happens in your lives, neither of you have missed or forgotten a Tuesday night dinner.

So with a heavy feeling in your chest, you climbed back into your car and set off for Este’s house. Along the way, you dialed your husband’s number in the hope he’d gotten back to his hotel room by now. The sinking feeling in your gut was quickly developing a buzzing in your chest, an airiness you knew would lead to panic if you didn’t get it under the control. Your husband had always been the best at easing your concerns, and you were jumping to conclusions, right? You’d go to Este’s house and she’d be fine, and Spencer would laugh at your adorable overprotectiveness.

You nearly sighed in relief as his sweet voice answered, “Hello? Y/N?”

“Hi, Babe,” you answered back, setting the phone on your dash so you could talk and drive. “Is it a good time to talk?”

“It’s always a good time to talk,” Spencer answered back, and you could practically hear the sweet smile in his voice. It was easy to picture him standing there in his work clothes—a button-up and a cardigan, maybe—pressing the phone to his ear and turning away from his teammates so they wouldn’t completely overhear the conversation, not that it mattered anyway. Over the years you’d become close with his teammates, often going out to dinners with them when they all got back from cases.

“You’re a dork, Spence. I mean it.”

“It’s a good time to talk. Luke’s here since we’re sharing a hotel room. Is everything okay? I thought you were supposed to be at dinner with Este tonight,” Spencer asked, and you were grateful you had a partner who was interested enough in your life to know about your plans. You knew part of it was his lingering fear that something would happen to you while he was on a case, but it was still sweet.

“I was, she never showed,” you explained. “I think something happened to her. She was talking last week about calling Jeff out for cheating.”

“Jeff’s cheating on her? For how long?”

“Apparently a few months. She seemed pretty broken up about it, and I haven’t heard from her since. I’m heading over there now to see what’s up.”

“Y/N, no,” Spencer spoke, his voice suddenly sharper with his worry for you. “Don’t go over there. If you think something happened, then go to the police.”

“I don’t know something happened. She could’ve just forgotten, that’s why I’m going over there to check,” you explained, pulling onto the street your best friend lived on. Eventually, you were driving by her house and- “Oh G-d, Spence.”

“What? Darling, you have to talk to me. What happened?”

You heard Spencer panicking over the phone, you did. It would’ve been smart to ease his concern for you, but all you could do was slow your car to a stop and watch as Jeff helped a woman unload some boxes from her car. You watched as they walked up the driveway to the house Este had bought with him, how they passed Jeff’s car which seemed to have gotten a fancy new upgrade.

You watched as Jeff moved his mistress into the house Este lived in, laughing the whole time as if his wife hadn’t been missing for at least a week. You watched until you were crying, knowing then what had happened to your friend.

“I think he killed her,” you whispered, almost scared Jeff would hear you from inside your car.

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked, your words doing nothing to ease his concerns, “How do you know that?”

“Jeff killed Este. Oh G-d, she confronted him and I think he killed her, Spence,” you gasped, knowing you needed to move your car but being unable to, “He’s moving another woman into the house, their house.”

“Y/N, listen to me carefully. I need you to drive away right now. Do not confront them, and do not let him see you were there. Go immediately to the police, okay? File a missing persons report, then go home and check that all of the doors and windows are locked. I’ll call Anderson in the morning and ask if he can check on you. Can you do that?” Spencer explained, using his FBI agent voice that you usually adored. Now, all you could imagine was Este buried somewhere, gone without anyone knowing to mourn her.

“Yeah, yeah I can do that,” you managed to force out, starting to drive away and leave Este’s house behind you. Your hands were slippery on the wheel and it took all of your concentration to remain focused on the road. Breaths were entering and exiting your chest rapidly now, and you were sure the only reason you hadn’t completely panicked was Spencer’s soothing voice talking to you over the phone.

“We just started this case so I don’t know when we’ll be home, but say the word and I’ll get on the first flight back.”

“No, no, those people need you. I’ll be okay, Babe, I promise,” you told Spencer, not sure if you believed the words but reassuring him anyway. Spencer did amazing work with the BAU, saving so many lives from some horrible fates, saving people like Este. There was no way you’d pull him away for this. You would be fine, you had to be.

“You’re going to be okay, Y/N, just promise me something.”

“Of course, anything.” Distantly, you thought of the last time you’d promised him something that big. A promise between you two at the BAU office, his hands cuffed between you, that nothing would ever keep you from loving him.

“I know Este was your best friend, but don’t do anything rash. Let the police handle this.”

“I will, I promise.”

You tried, you really did.

For three days you hardly left the house except for work, telling yourself that Jeff hadn’t actually seen your car that night and wouldn’t come after you. On the third day, you told Agent Anderson he didn’t need to check in on you every night after work, regardless of what SSA Dr. Reid told him.

Spencer checked in with you multiple times a day despite your insistence that he focuses on the case he had. You spent a lot of your time on the phone, between talking to Spencer and flipping through pictures of you and Este.

There was no way she could just be gone. After putting in a missing person’s report, the police have been scouring Virginia for her, but deep down you knew they likely wouldn’t find her.

On the fourth day, your resolve snapped. Not too subtly, you’d hinted to the police that there was a motive for Jeff to want Este dead. She was planning on calling him out on his cheating, she had life insurance that he could collect, and most of all: he didn’t even seem to be mourning her. Still, you got the call that they weren’t investigating him anymore. Jeff was cleared of the crime and it was determined Este must have left of her own accord, and in that moment all you saw was red.

How could they not see it? Este never would have left without saying something, anything to you. The two of you had known each other for well over twenty years and were practically sisters, she wouldn’t do something like that. Someone had hurt her, had made it so she couldn’t enjoy life any longer, and you knew exactly who did that to her.

Jeff couldn’t get away with this.

So you’d texted Spencer and told him you were going to bed early that night, to not worry about calling you later. You grabbed a duffel, throwing every cleaning product you could find into it along with a spare outfit and some rags. Your hands were frighteningly calm as you grabbed a kitchen knife and shoved that in, too.

He couldn’t get away with this. The police couldn’t prove he did it, but you would make sure Este was avenged. She was such a bright spirit and deserved to have much better than she did. It couldn’t end like this for her, it just couldn’t.

It took half an hour to get to Violet’s house. The younger sister of Este was completely distraught by the news, too, holding onto you and crying. Over the past few days, you’d been in touch with her often, keeping her up-to-date on the investigation. You’d relayed what Spencer told you about the odds of finding out what happened, of finding who did this.

“I don’t understand, Y/N. How could they not see that he did this?” she sobbed, pulling back and trying to compose herself as much as possible.

“I don’t know, Vi, I don’t know,” you answered, wiping away your own tears. You’d already shed so many in the past few days, it was a wonder there was still any left.

“That bastard is gonna get away with this,” Violet snapped, wrapping her arms around her middle. “He did this, I know he did. There hasn’t even been a funeral and he’s already living with that whore.”

“I know, Vi,” you sighed. Normally you wouldn’t agree with calling another woman that for no reason, but the image of that woman laughing and joking as she moved into Este’s house wouldn’t leave your mind. “Look, I won’t tell you everything, but...I’m not going to let him get away with this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...you know what my husband, Spencer, does for a living, yeah?”

“He’s an FBI agent,” Violet answered quickly. Though a few years younger than yourself, she’d been around so often that she was almost as close with you as Este had been. You remembered her being a major push for you to even ask Spencer out after meeting him all those years ago. “He hunts down serial killers, right?”

“Exactly. He hunts down killers by analyzing their behavior, analyzing the evidence they leave behind.”

“...Y/N, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s a good thing he tells me all about his job, how he catches them.”

A deep silence hung between you two, your eyes staring into hers as you waited to see what she thought of it. Would this be the moment you were arrested for planning a crime?

And then, “If anyone asks, I’ll say you were here all night. You left around 2 to go home. Is that enough time?”

“It’s perfect,” you answered, nodding resolutely. This was really happening. By the end of the night, you would be the very thing you always locked your door against. Hopefully, Spencer would understand, or at least find it in himself to forgive you eventually. Even better, hopefully, he never found out.

Violet wrapped her arms around you, squeezing tightly for a little longer than what was necessary. “Thank you,” she whispered, and it was the first time guilt hit your body. This young woman, barely into adulthood, was thanking you for getting rid of someone. It was morbid, but you couldn’t help but smile a little as she added, “Let’s do this, for Este.”

“For Este,” you answered back, determination filling your voice as you stepped back from the hug. You handed her your phone, knowing they’d be able to track where it goes if they really suspected you.

It was far too easy to get back into your car and head down to that house. Every time your nerves began to build in your chest, you repeated a gentle mantra that made you keep driving.

He wouldn’t get away with this.

It was around two-thirty in the morning when you got back, hands shaking as they gripped your duffel bag. As you stepped back into the house you shared with Spencer, you couldn’t help but think that it didn’t feel real. Maybe once you went to sleep, you could imagine it was some horrible nightmare in which you’d actually done the unforgivable.

You expected to take a shower with the hottest water possible then immediately climb back into bed. What you didn’t expect was for Spencer to be sitting in the living room waiting for you.

“What are you doing back so early?” you asked, setting down the bag but not stepping near him. How could you, when you felt so dirty? Tainted?

Spencer used to be so worried about damaging you, tainting you with all of his trauma. It was worse in the immediate aftermath of his prison stay, sure that this would be the moment you realized he was too broken to be with. It had taken a lot of therapy and a lot of work at home to convince him that you would stay with him no matter what and that it was impossible for him to ruin you.

Standing there, you couldn’t help but think he should’ve been worried about the reverse. Here you were, hands raised in front of your chest because you were scared to let them touch anything else, not after they’d gripped that weapon and shoved it d-

“We solved the case, I thought I would surprise you,” Spencer spoke, but instead of relief it was sharp in a way you weren’t expecting. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost say it sounded like the voice he might use when interrogating someone.

“Did you just get back?” Your voice was small, nervous even as you willed it not to waver. Maybe he went out for drinks with the team first, maybe he only just got back. Maybe you could pretend you ran to the drugstore for something.

“You weren’t answering your phone, so I had Garcia track it.” Oh no. A sharp gasp slipped from your lips as suddenly you understood the closed-off look in his eyes. You understood the way his hands shook as he walked over and pressed your phone into your own shaking hands. “How was Violet?”

You swallowed thickly, staring up at him and wondering what you could possibly say to the man you loved. The man you loved who caught killers for a living, the man who’d married you because you brought him light and joy. The man who was looking at you as if he could see the red that once marred your skin and clothes.

“She’s grieving. She wanted it to be over.”

“Is it?” Spencer asked, and you knew exactly what he meant. Did you actually do it? Did you do the unthinkable, did you kill someone?

“It’s over.”

The words were dull on your lips and with those words, you finally understood what happened that night. It hit you harshly, ripping any air you once had away and making your heart momentarily forget how to beat.

“Oh G-d, I actually did it,” you gasped, feeling the tears spilling over onto your cheeks. You let out a strangled cry as Spencer wrapped his arms tightly around you, as though he could protect you from the world. It wasn’t you who needed protecting, though.

Still, even through the crippling guilt, you allowed him to hold you. Even further, you allowed Spencer to guide you to the bathroom and strip you slowly. He guided you into the shower and you gasped when he wiped a stray spot of red off your inner elbow. Spencer scrubbed you clean, and when it was over he guided you into your pajamas and into bed. He laid beside you, playing with your hair and gently running his hands over you until you came back to yourself.

“Can we talk about this?” Spencer asked, and you shook your head.

“I won’t burden you with this,” you told him immediately, finally moving your own hands over his skin. “You catch people like me for a living, I won’t put you in the position where you could lose your job over this.” If you did get caught, right now Spencer would have plausible deniability. He could continue doing his job, he could continue to have a life without you.

“No,” Spencer immediately corrected, shocking you into silence, “you’re nothing like them. You’re not like the people I catch.” He sounded so sure that you wanted to believe him, but the way you’d almost shut yourself off as you cleaned up the mess just an hour before was stuck in the front of your mind.

Tonight you had crossed a line you never imagined was possible.

“I did that tonight,” and the words sunk deep into your chest where they’d reside forever. Este may have been avenged, but now you would have to live with this. You wondered if you would always see red stains when you gazed upon your palms. “I’m no better than anyone you’ve arrested.”

“You are, Y/N.” Spencer brushed his fingers over your cheek, wiping away some of your still damp hair from your face. “You’re different because you feel remorse right now. This is going to burden you forever.”

“I know,” you whispered, “I know I have to live with this now, and maybe it makes me a bad person but...I’d do it again. He would’ve gotten away with it.”

“The justice system isn’t always the best solution,” Spencer answered, and though he was right it still surprised you.

This was the man who had gleefully joined the FBI when he was fresh out of college, getting special permission to join at such a young age. All he’s ever known is law enforcement. You’re sure that the Spencer you loved before prison would have never uttered those words, but he was here now, laying beside you and comforting you after doing the unthinkable. The man you knew now had been knocked down and abused by the justice system, had seen the failings of it all first-hand.

This was a man who still believed in justice but maybe saw there were multiple pathways to it.

“I looked over the case while you were at Violet’s,” Spencer told you softly. “Did you know the woman he was living with took out a life insurance policy on Jeff two days ago?”

While the statement was seemingly innocuous, it hung heavy in the air with the implications hidden within it. This was Spencer, your Spencer, telling you he was ready to help cover this up. While you hated the woman for everything she was willing to do, you never expected Spencer would be willing to blame her for this.

There was no way she didn’t know about what Jeff did to Este, considering the speed with which she moved in. You could imagine her and Jeff, laying together in a hotel room and talking about what they could be if only his pesky wife was out of the way. They’d imagine killing her, describe all of the ways they could get rid of Este. Maybe the woman never expected him to actually do it, but now that Este was gone well, how could she refuse to have the man she wanted?

No, you wouldn’t mind seeing her go down for this.

“I didn’t know that,” you whispered back, staring at Spencer’s chin so you wouldn’t have to see what emotions he held within his honey-brown eyes.

“Will LaMontagne does,” Spencer answered, and it was all the words you needed. JJ’s husband worked in the precinct, would know this bit of information that would condemn Jeff’s mistress. She would go down for this. “It won’t be enough to convict, but they’ll suspect her. It’ll keep them away from you.”

You would talk about the implications of this night later, months down the road after the mistress is tried but ultimately acquitted of murder. Spencer would hold you through the nightmares, would remind you that while you did a bad thing you were not an inherently bad person. When you’d finally begun to forgive yourself, he would open up about how this was the toughest thing he ever had to go through, how he truly thought that night would be the last time he saw you free.

It scared both him and you that he was willing to cross that line with you just to keep you safe.

The case would make the local news, would eventually spread like wildfire. Who killed Este and Jeff Gardner?

Most would decide that Jeff must have killed his wife despite only circumstantial evidence. The real talk was if his mistress had actually killed him. There wasn’t enough evidence to convict her, and she rattled off furiously that it was you who did it, that there were no other options. There wasn’t enough evidence for that either. So people did as they typically do and created wild theories about what must have happened to Jeff Gardner that night. Maybe he joined a cult and ran off, maybe it was a gang deal gone wrong. No one would ever figure out what happened to him. It would remain a secret between just three of you.

And at Este’s funeral, standing between Violet and Spencer, you finally felt the closure you’d all been searching for. For the first time since Este first disappeared that Tuesday night, you were able to breathe fully.

TAGLIST @samuel-de-champagne-problems @just-arandomwriter @matthewgraygublerlover @silverhetdanes @ssawonderland

[the-scandalorian]

Intrasolar

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M Word Count: 5.8k Warnings: ANGST and SPICE and FLUFF, canon-typical violence, nonexplicit sex, cursing, nongraphic descriptions of injuries, grief, nightmares, references to drowning/death in the context of nightmares, alcohol consumption Summary: This is the sequel to Extrasolar. You'll definitely want to read that part first! Author Notes: Parts of this are from Din’s perspective (third person) and parts are from yours (second person).

You did a double take the first time you saw him, whipping your head back to watch him run a hand through his slightly unkempt hair.

You’d never seen him before. He was probably passing through the small coastal town like most people who wandered into the cantina, and he was ruggedly, strikingly handsome. You turned your attention back to the stack of credits you were sorting into the register before he noticed your staring. Your first thought was that he looked familiar, but that wasn’t quite right. He felt familiar? Did that make sense? You shook your head to banish the thought and refocused on the task at hand.

He wasn’t seated in your section, so you wouldn’t be serving him anyway.

Like every other day, you settled easily into the flow of work, welcoming the comfort of tunnel vision. Things were always busy enough at the cantina to require all of your attention, which conveniently prevented you from ruminating on things you couldn’t change.

There was one thing—or more accurately, one someone—in particular you were trying not to think about. You’d been trying not to think about him for over a year now.

Losing him had left you in pieces, a thousand jagged pieces that would never fit back together in quite the same way. So here you were—still you, but different.

Immediately after, to distract yourself from the pain, you had taken some non-Guild work only to find that everything you’d enjoyed about hunting had been warped into vile, unbearable feelings. The thrill of the adrenaline rush was poisoned into anxiety, which clouded your judgment and hindered your ability to think on your feet. The satisfaction of outsmarting a quarry was corrupted into the deep-seated guilt of betrayal and the fear of potentially dooming an innocent person to capture.

Your world of black and white had been painted shades of metallic gray, swallowed whole by the silver sheen of beskar.

So, you did what you had to do—you dismantled your life and built something new, something simple and monotone and self-contained. You removed yourself from the swirling chaos of the galaxy and planted your feet firmly on the ground. You fortified your heart against any potential entanglements by settling in a quiet place, keeping to yourself, and abandoning your old profession. Now, you were an actual waitress, not a bounty hunter who occasionally played the role of waitress to ensnare an unsuspecting quarry.

Do your job. Keep your head down. Go home.

That was your mantra.

An hour later, when you hung your apron on the peg behind the bar and turned to leave, you saw that the man was still seated. His eyes met yours, and with an unexpected wave of panic, you felt pinned, trapped by the spotlight of his gaze. You were only able to turn away when someone in the kitchen dropped a dish, the loud crash breaking the paralyzing spell. You hurried toward the exit, and in your periphery, you could tell his gaze followed you. You realized why he felt familiar: his unwavering stare and something about his posture and the mechanical swivel of his neck reminded you of him.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you stepped into the comfortably warm air of the evening and directed your feet toward home. You savored the ritual of your daily walk, taking the well-worn path bordered by a dense coniferous forest on one side and the shore on the other.

This wasn’t a rare occurrence.

At least weekly, something would remind you of him—someone laying a hand on your lower back, a gravelly voice, a Mandalorian in green armor, the pressure of a chilly window pane on your forehead, a set of especially nice shoulders...the list was endless. A memory would sink its eager claws into your throat and yank you back in time. You’d blink and be sitting at a table with him once again, holding the child on your lap, looking into the black expanse of his glass visor. You could feel the cold of his beskar under your fingers, smell his scent—metallic, warm, alluring. The memories were unlike any others you had: they were visceral, tangible.

In the beginning, these moments knocked you on your ass. When you’d stumbled and a customer wearing soft leather gloves had steadied you, you'd wrenched yourself away, unable to stand the familiar texture gripping your arms so tightly. You had to awkwardly excuse yourself and rush out the back door to take gulps of fresh air to soothe your thumping heart.

Those first few months, when the gaping wound of grief was still so raw, were brutal.

Frustratingly, these instances of heartbreak faded in intensity and frequency much more slowly than you had hoped. Here, over a year later, the hurt was the same—apparently, it would take years to build immunity to this type of pain—but you had, at least, learned how to withstand the pain discreetly. Now, you were conditioned to take it in stride.

You wove your way through the scrubby dunes, leaving the path that edged the forest to strike out on the direct route to your little house. The sound of relentless ocean waves was a grounding metronome in the back of your mind.

The grief wasn’t avoidable, but you could numb it for a while—postpone it to give yourself a break. Over time, you'd identified the things that could occupy your mind enough to offer some relief: work, the ocean, fucking, whiskey, sleep.

And, thus, you had perfected a foolproof daily routine: work, the ocean, fucking, whiskey, sleep.

You stepped onto your creaking porch and unlocked the front door. As always, you immediately went to your room to change. With a towel in hand, you walked back out your door and across the wide expanse of sand to the edge of the sea. For almost an hour, you lost yourself in the refreshing salt water, swimming laps between two rock structures that breached the surface, staying out past the tumult of the breaking swells. It was cold enough and strenuous enough that all you could do was focus on one stroke and then the next, propelling your aching body forward.

The sun was starting to set when you emerged, breathless and exhausted, and you returned home, your damp feet sinking into the rapidly cooling sand. Like clockwork, your neighbor was there, sitting on your porch—ready to commence the third act of your routine. He lived a couple houses down, and you had the perfect arrangement for both of you: regular sex without any obligation. He was beautiful, kind, uncomplicated.

When he fucked you, your mind went blank: it was like falling into white noise. You let it swallow you, let it sweep you away—because, in that nothingness, your thoughts had no surface on which to ricochet, so instead of echoing incessantly as they usually did, they faded away. It was blissful static.

Today, though, a thought found purchase. Unbidden, an image formed behind your eyelids—an unfaltering picture of that man with the overpowering gaze. It crowded your mind, and your eyes flew open, your breath shallow. You did your best to focus on the feeling of the man pressed against you, the silky sheets fisted in your hands, the slow tension building in your body.

It was futile.

You felt claustrophobic in your own head.

You gently extracted yourself from his embrace, mumbling that you had a headache. He was understanding and thoughtful, bringing you a glass of water and a pain pill before slipping out the front door to let you rest.

You ignored the pill and poured yourself whiskey instead—a more generous serving than normal in hopes of flooding the image out of your mind. When that didn’t work, you commenced the final stage of your routine early. You tossed and turned in bed, frustrated that there had been a breakdown in your system. This wasn’t supposed to happen: these five things were supposed to provide uniform reprieve every day. You tried not to agonize over it. Tomorrow would prove that this was a fluke, an anomaly, nothing more.

Eventually, you fell into a fitful sleep.

You woke early the next morning to a loud knock. Head fuzzy with sleep, you stumbled out of bed, clutching the blanket around your shoulders, and cracked the door.

It was the stranger from yesterday.

He had brown hair that needed a trim, patchy stubble along his jaw, and one of the most handsome faces you’d ever seen. His eyes were an inviting brown; they spoke of warm embraces and safety and home.

And when he smiled—

When he smiled shyly, his cheek dimpled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. You wanted to hold him.

You opened the door all the way.

You looked at him, and all you could think was that he was both the person you wanted to rail you with absolutely no mercy and the person you wanted to hold you when you cried.

Your grip slackened involuntarily, and the blanket slipped off your shoulders and onto the floor, pooling around your feet.

On some level, you already knew, but you were still surprised when he spoke your name and reached a hand out toward you. You took a reflexive step backward, ankle catching on the blanket, flinching away from his touch. Even without the distortion of the modulator, you’d know that voice anywhere.

“Mando—”

***

two months earlier, Nevarro

The Jedi came for the kid, and Din immediately felt disoriented without him: untethered, adrift. Over the last year and a half, everything important to him had been stripped away, and now, empty-handed, he was forced to appreciate the magnitude of what he had lost.

To cope, this new grief was shunted into the shadowy recesses of his heart to keep his existing grief—for his parents, for his tribe, for his identity, for her—company.

He told himself that work was what he needed—routine and familiarity. He could slip back into what he’d once known, back when his life had revolved solely around a job; he would recapture the focus and tireless, single-minded resolve that he’d relied on for so long. He returned to Nevarro and took the hardest jobs Karga had to offer.

Din had never told Karga what his deception had cost him—how a simple lie had completely rearranged his universe. The first time he saw Karga after he lost her, he had been legitimately tempted to kill him (fuck, it would have been so easy), but he’d been desperate for help taking down the Imp. So, Din had locked away those feelings—his longing and anger and grief shut safely behind iron bars in his heart—to prioritize the safety of the kid. And even now that the kid was with his people, Din was afraid to tap into that rage and hurt, terrified that he’d unleash something wild, a destructive force that would overpower him.

Besides, Karga was a means to an end, nothing more. He didn’t deserve to know. And so, Din guarded the story jealously. He didn’t even tell Cara when she prodded gently.

Evidently, however, in the wake of losing the kid, Din’s heart was at capacity, and bounty hunting was not a compelling enough distraction from the clamoring of so much grief unacknowledged. On jobs, he was inefficient and reckless, making rookie mistakes he hadn’t struggled with in decades. He felt none of his old drive. What was he doing this for? What was the point? He’d always had a guiding star, a direction, a mainstay, a why. Not anymore.

Din was desperate to feel grounded; he yearned for the reassuring sanctuary of gravity, but everything large enough to hold him down was gone. So he was left to wander aimlessly and alone.

Several weeks into his failing plan, Din limped up the ramp of his new ship and hoisted an unconscious body into the carbonite chamber before collapsing onto the floor. He’d been careless. The quarry had managed to outfox him at every turn, prolonging what should have been a two-day job into a two-week struggle. In the end, Din had caught him, but not before he’d pursued him across miles of unforgiving desert and been stabbed twice.

He was in pain, exhausted... and despite the fact that he’d captured the bounty, he felt utterly defeated. The thrill of eluding danger and the rush of pride that used to accompany the successful completion of a job were absent. He hadn’t felt those things in months.

He lay there on the floor of the hull, chest heaving. Without lifting his head, he closed the ramp and initiated the ground security protocols with his vambrace. He knew he should get up. The wounds on his side and his thigh were slowly leaking blood, and he needed to tend to them right away. His body required water and food, then sleep.

Any minute, he’d get up and grab his medkit.

Any minute.

Instead, Din thought about the things he had lost.

There were the inanimate things, the loss of which shouldn’t weigh on his soul the way they did, but when almost everything in his life was transient, the few things that were enduring became significant, whether he liked it or not. He thought about his Amban Rifle—a reliable companion in his solitary existence. There was an endless list of threats that rifle had saved him from: a Ravinak, quarries, hunters, raiders, an AT-ST, troopers, a kriffing Krayt Dragon. On an almost daily basis, he found himself reflexively reaching over his shoulder for it, only to close his hand around the cold beskar spear.

And there was the Razor Crest, the closest thing he’d had to a home for decades. It had been as integral to his sense of self as his armor, something he didn’t realize until it was gone. He hated every inch of this new, unfamiliar ship. It held no memories, and memories were the only source of warmth that made a real difference to him in the unforgiving chill of space. In the Crest, he could picture the kid, and her, and even Cara and Kuill; he knew where they fit. In this ship, there were only blank silver expanses.

Then, there were the people he'd lost.

Din thought about his tribe, the haunting image of a pile of empty beskar shells flitting through his mind. In the past, his duty had sometimes felt like a burden—the responsibility to provide for so many resting on his shoulders alone—but now, he realized it had been his backbone. Without it, everything crumbled. What felt like chains holding him down had, in reality, been scaffolding, maintaining every bit of his integrity.

He knew it was time to look for what remained of his covert, but he could barely bring himself to think about it, let alone do anything. What happened if he searched and found no one? The prospect of seeking out the splintered fragments only to find that none survived was even harder to fathom than leaving it unknown. If he didn’t search, there was always the possibility that they were out there. He was being a coward in the name of preserving what little hope he had left. It was selfish.

But... that wasn’t the only reason he delayed.

Din thought about his lost identity, his broken Creed. Did he even have the right to seek out his tribe when he was no longer one of them, no longer a Mandalorian? Was he still a Mandalorian? He still wore his armor, but he wasn’t totally sure why—another question he couldn’t answer. If he was no longer a Mandalorian, how could he possibly have a rightful claim to the Mandalorian throne? The Darksaber sat at the bottom of his weapons locker, burning another hole in his already frayed conscience.

This was what he was left with after he took off his helmet that first time, a swarm of needling questions that ate at him every day.

But it was worth sacrificing the Creed for the kid.

Right?

He thought about Grogu, a tiny, three-fingered hand on his face. He wondered what he was doing, if he was happy, if he thought of Din as often as Din thought of him. At least he had a face to attach to his memories now. Was he learning a lot from the Jedi? Did he get to spend time outside playing in the sun? Was anyone rocking him gently to sleep the way he liked when he was fussy?

And, finally, he came to the last entry in the catalog of what he’d lost in the last year or so: he thought about her. To be fair, he had never really had her. He never had the chance to call her mine, but they’d had potential—the promise of something more, a bright shiny glimmer of hope. At a time when Din’s world was turned upside down, right after he’d broken the Guild code to save the child from the Empire, when he was totally out of his depth and everything around him felt like chaos... she had made him feel still. And that was a hell of a thing to lose.

Even after she revealed her true motives, he couldn’t shake that feeling—that feeling that she was the thing he was supposed to orbit.

He could picture so vividly the way her features lit up when he and the kid walked into the cantina. He could hear the musical cadence of her laugh, feel the comforting warmth of her hand over his, smell the light floral notes of her hair.

With those details playing through his mind, he drifted off. He let grief and exhaustion and defeat pull him under.

Din couldn’t breathe. He was underwater, suffocating weight pressing in around him as his heavy beskar dragged him deeper. She was drowning, arms and legs flailing as something with an iron grip on her ankle drew her down. He reached for her, arms outstretched, but he couldn’t keep pace with her descent. His lungs burned, begging for air, as the reassuring light of the surface retreated above him. He watched in horror as her eyes widened in panic, and she choked, lungs filling with water. He tried to yell, kicking toward her frantically, but she stilled, all the fight leaving her body.

He woke with a start, adrenaline coursing through his veins. In a panic, he ripped off his helmet, letting it clang loudly against the metal floor, and took several shaking breaths. Clarity burned through him like acid. With the little strength he had left, his head swimming from dehydration and blood loss, Din hauled himself to his feet and did the simple list of things that would keep him alive.

He couldn’t wear his helmet after that. Every time he put it on, he felt like he was suffocating, the years of bearing the heavy beskar no match for the stifling weight of his shame. And the armor felt wrong without the helmet, so he stopped wearing that too. He locked it away with the Darksaber.

To move forward, he had to let what little he had left fall away.

In the following weeks, he traced her name, her chain code, her age. He recalled every detail she’d shared with him—about her family and past and likes and dislikes, anything that might give him some clue as to where she’d be. He worked from a holomap on which he'd meticulously marked off the planets he'd already eliminated as possibilities. He'd had to recreate this map after he lost the Crest, but that was easy enough, as he vividly remembered each and every planet he'd scoured.

And eventually—ironically, thanks to some information from Karga—Din uncovered the promising golden thread of a lead.

He tracked her to a planet that was largely water, one known for its expansive oceans, beautiful coastlines, persistent sunshine, and temperate weather—her ideal home. He felt the softest stirring of hope in his chest, knowing that she was where she wanted to be.

The first time he saw her again, it was from afar, but he knew her by the way she carried herself, her unmistakable walk. His heart stuttered. She was as beautiful and perfect and bright as he remembered. He didn't realize until that moment that a small part of him had worried he'd built her up, romanticizing the memories until she was more than human in his mind. But there she was, just as ethereal as in his daydreams.

For those first few days, all Din did was watch her. He reminded himself that she wasn’t a quarry, but there was some information he needed, and this was the only way to get it. He wanted to know if she was happy; he wanted to know if his appearance would be welcome or disruptive.

He studied the topography of her life, searching for any hint that there was a place in it for him.

He smiled when he found out that she lived in a small cottage right on the beach. He stopped breathing, fists clenching by his sides, when he watched her walk into the waves and disappear, only to reappear seconds later. For the briefest moment, his mind flashed back to his nightmare, and he had the mad impulse to follow her and pull her out. But he knew she never needed saving.

Even still, he waited at the edge of the forest until she emerged.

Frustratingly, the more he watched her, the less certain he became. He knew what she was to him, but how was he to know what he was to her? He had been a job that had evolved into something more. She had confirmed that what had grown between them was also real for her—the written proof was folded neatly in his pocket. So surely, she had real feelings for him at some point... but how real? And how enduring? Her feelings had been tamped down, reined in because she was doing a job. How successful had she been at burning them away? How much had her feelings been eroded by time? It had been over a year... maybe that was too long.

He watched a man walk up and sit on her front step, awaiting her return. She approached him with a smile on her face, salt water dripping from her hair, and took his hand, leading him inside.

Fuck, that smile.

Was her solar system already complete? Or was there still room for a devoted moon? Would she want it to be him?

In the end, Din told himself that if she could take the leap of faith and trust him so many months ago, he owed it to her to swallow his fear and let her make this choice for herself. Last time, he had made her feel like he didn’t want her, and that was his biggest regret.

He wasn’t going to do that to her again.

***

“Mando—”

She looked scared.

He didn’t expect fear. He expected confusion, surprise, irritation, apathy, maybe even anger? But never fear. But there he was, standing in front of her, and fear flashed across her eyes.

“Din,” he rushed to get the words out, “My name is Din.”

The fear faded as quickly as it came.

“Din,” she repeated.

He’d imagined her saying his real name hundreds, if not thousands of times, and his imagination got nowhere close to the real thing. His throat felt tight.

She stepped forward, raising her hands to frame his face. Her eyes glazed over slightly; she was entranced as she took him in, caressing his cheeks and scanning his features like she was trying to commit every detail to memory.

Din leaned into her touch, closing his eyes to savor the moment. His breathing slowed, and for the first time in months, he felt still.

When he opened his eyes again and met hers, she startled slightly, like she hadn’t realized what she was doing.

“Sorry—”

She started to lower her hands, but Din caught them, bringing them back up to his face, unwilling to lose the contact.

“Don’t be,” he said, smiling uncertainly. The corner of her mouth quirked up in the beginnings of an answering smile.

They stood there for a moment, Din holding her hands against his face.

He’d planned what he was going to say, rehearsing it in his head at length, because he was worried as soon as he saw her, he’d revert to his inability to string words into sentences. Sure enough, despite his preparation, his mind was blank.

So instead, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

In response, she slid her hands around his neck and pulled his face down to meet hers, and relief spread through him like a cleansing fire, stealing the breath from his lungs.

***

When your lips met, everything fell into place; it felt like the universe spontaneously rearranged itself and finally got it right—every planet and every star and all the empty space in between attained perfect alignment in an instant.

You had no idea that one moment could curate the arrangement of the cosmos exactly to your liking.

You pulled Din backwards across the threshold into your house, kicking the door shut behind him without losing contact with his lips. You were both desperate and clumsy and impatient, hands everywhere at once.

He was just as you remembered and completely new. You recognized those shoulders, those hands, that scent—he somehow retained the metallic twang of beskar even without the armor. The way his breath hitched and his chest expanded when you slipped your tongue past his parted lips was familiar, reminding you of his reaction the first time you touched him.

But you’d been privy to such a limited sliver of him before; now, here he was, laid bare for you to learn again, and so you charted his features with your hands, your lips, your eyes, every part of you. Eager to close what little space remained between your bodies, you pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he obliged, tugging it off until it slid to the floor.

A dim thought rankled at the back of your mind, a reminder that you were taking the life you’d carefully constructed and throwing it straight out the fucking window, inviting uncertainty directly into your orderly world.

You were finding it difficult to care when Din’s hands were lighting a fire across your skin.

You had a million questions for him, but only two were louder than the need humming in your veins. You broke away for a moment to say, “Where’s the baby?”

“Grogu—”

You were both panting, slipping words in between kisses, too enthralled in each other to stop and have a real conversation.

“What?”

“That’s his name—”

Palms on his chest, you pressed him against the wall, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He groaned and lolled his head back when you sucked one beneath the sharp corner of his jaw so you did it again.

“Fuck—he’s with the Jedi—he’s, uh, he’s with his people now. I brought him back to them.”

At that, you actually did stop, stepping back to look into his eyes, hands linked behind his neck.

“You must miss him so much.”

His eyes met yours for the briefest moment then flicked away, grief written plainly on his face. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But he’s where he belongs.”

Din wrapped his arms around you, drawing you into his tight embrace and resting his chin on the crown of your head. Unspoken words hung in the air: and this is where you belong.

Ear pressed to his chest, you smiled and asked, “And your helmet?”

He hesitated. “I... I took it off to say goodbye to the kid. I couldn’t let him go without showing him my face...” His voice caught, and he paused to take a deep breath. “I sacrificed the Creed to do it, and I still don’t know if it was the right decision.”

“Of course, it was the right decision,” you said earnestly, nodding against him, “You told me how precious foundlings are, and you prioritized your foundling. How could that be wrong?”

You were the farthest thing from an authority on the Mandalorian Creed, but you were certain—so deeply, painfully certain—that Din was a good person and sharing love with a child could never be wrong.

“I don’t know what’s right anymore...” He ran a hand over his eyes, scrubbing it over his face as he let out a resigned huff. “I found out that some Mandalorians do take off their helmets, so I don’t know what to believe.” He sounded exhausted, lost.

You pulled away to fix him with a fierce look, framing his face with your hands to force him to meet your gaze. “You cared for Grogu and kept him safe and brought him to his people. You protected a child, loved a child. That’s what matters. An arbitrary rule is nowhere near as important as that, and breaking it doesn't change who you are. I think you already know that.”

He stared intently, and you worried for a second that you’d offended him, stepped over an invisible line by assuming you knew better than he did what was right or wrong in this case.

“I’m sorry, I—”

He crashed his lips against yours once again, and when you stumbled back in surprise, Din steadied you, holding you upright.

There was nothing else pressing you needed to know in that moment; you had everything you needed in this, the refuge of his arms. There would be time for everything else.

He slipped his hands under the hem of your shirt and before he could even ask, you ripped it over your head, tossing it aside. He responded in kind, divesting himself first of the several weapons strapped to his belt and his calf, then his shirt.

You raked your eyes down his face to his perfect chest—muscled, golden brown, littered with a constellation of scars—and mused, “You know, if I had known from the beginning that you looked like this under your armor, I’d have thrown my entire plan out the window to fuck you immediately.”

He barked out a surprised laugh. “I would have preferred that.”

Laughing, you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall to your bedroom. He paused at your doorway to say, “I, uh, I want you to know—this isn’t what I came for.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “What did you come for?”

“I—just... you.”

“Then take me.”

“I mean... All of you, not just this.”

You slid your fingers under his belt and jerked him forward, smiling mischievously: “Well, we have to start somewhere.”

He laughed, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

And when he did take you, when you closed your eyes, you didn’t slip into that familiar static. You stayed—there, with him, where you belonged. It was all whispered praises and breathless moans and a tangle of euphoric thoughts. It was overwhelming, a hum of lust and safety and longing, a hyperawareness of every sensation. You felt held—carefully, lovingly, preciously.

Hours later, you were lying with your head on his chest, the steady beating of his heart a reassuring cadence in your ear. You lifted your head slightly to look up at him: “Why now?”

He looked down and furrowed his eyebrows. “Because I happened to find you this time.”

“What do you mean?”

His fingers traced intricate patterns on your back. “I looked for you that day. I looked for you for a couple weeks after, and I would have found you if I’d had more time... but then I was quested with finding the kid’s people, so I had to stop. But whenever I was near a temperate planet with an ocean and had some time, I stopped to look for leads. And then when the Jedi came for the kid, I, uh, was lost for a bit... I tried to work to distract myself from everything but I couldn't. So... I had time again. I had to find you.”

He said it so unsentimentally. He put his devotion into words like it wasn’t a declaration of love—he recounted it like a simple fact.

You sat up and swung a leg over his hips, pressing your lips against his once again. He straightened, running his hands down your back and crushing you against his chest. The tempo of your breath kicked back up in tandem.

It was a relief that you were both on the same page: you had over a year of touch to make up for, and you were shameless in your pursuit of that goal.

You mumbled against his mouth, breathless: “That day—the day I left... I thought you hated me.”

Din leaned back, brow wrinkled in genuine confusion. “I could never hate you.”

“You said the person you were falling for didn’t exist.”

“You let us go. You proved me wrong.”

“Oh.”

“Even if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have hated you. You thought you were doing the right thing. I shouldn't have said that... I didn't meant it. I was hurt. And drugged.”

“Oh.”

You shook your head, laughed. What could you do but laugh? It didn’t matter anymore. Why mourn what little time you had lost when you had what you needed stretched out infinitely before you?

It tasted like hope, this feeling—to be able to look forward once again, to broaden your horizon back to the endless possibility it once promised. Finally, you’d be able to move freely, unencumbered by the need to maintain safeguards around your heart. You could venture out into the galaxy knowing wherever you went with him, you'd never be lost.

Smiling, you asked: “So, what now?”

He looked down and clasped your hand, lacing his fingers between yours. When his eyes met yours again, there was so much uncertainty there, so much unease, you almost had to look away.

Fuck. The bright light in your chest faltered like the wavering of an unsteady flame.

“I—There’s something I need to do. A few things, actually... things I’ve been avoiding, but I know I can do them now. I’m sorry, I'll have to go, but I needed to find you first,” he stopped, then rushed to add, “but I know you like it here. I wouldn’t ask you to leave—to come with me. No, but I’ll come back. Of course, I’ll come back to you. I’ll always come back to you, for as long as you want me.”

The light in your chest expanded, filling every inch of you with warmth. You smiled at him, placing a reassuring hand over his thumping heart, and leaned down to press your forehead to his.

You closed your eyes. “I want you to ask.”

He let out a relieved sigh, holding you closer. “Will you come with me?”

You kissed a word into his lips: yes.

***

Tagging those who expressed interest in a sequel to Extrasolar: @disgruntledspacedad @thirstworldproblemss @dincrypt @beskarhearts @goldielocks2004 @elinedjarin @speakerforthedead0 @thosewickedlovelies @theawkwardpedestrian

Everything tag list: @spideysimpossiblegirl

I hope I didn't miss anyone! I'm sorry if I did!