#some days my brain just stops processing languages and throw everything out as it comes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

butgilinsky · 4 years ago

Text

'cause maybe then you'd want me just as much // np

warning; heavy language, toxy relationships, love triangle to an extent, throwing up, mentions alcohol a lot, mentions of smut but nothing explicit, there's one make out scene in it, angst angst angst this is straight angst, i think that's it?

summary; after your split from Nolan, you can't seem to find a way for both of you to be happy. when you meet his girlfriend for the first time, everyone seems to think you've developed a crush on her. based on the song girl crush by little big town.

word count; 15.6k+

a/n; he baddies, so this is a lot. one thing i wanted to say quickly is that this is mainly a nolan fic, but there are heavy joel x reader themes throughout. a bit of a love triangle but that's not entirely the focus of it. so if you're here for a nolan fic, here ya go. if you're here for a beezer fic, strap in it just takes a bit of time to develop to that point(: enjoy!

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

“You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too.” your eyes instinctively rolled back, the anger burning in your chest only growing at his attempt to confront this situation head on. He had a tendency of doing that, going at something full force with little to no thought of how it’ll actually end up.

“That’s a stupid saying! Why would I want the cake in the first place if I can’t eat it?”

“Can you dissect the english language another time and just listen to me for once?” the scoff that tumbled past your lips was subconscious, something you couldn’t stop yourself from. “All i’m saying is-”

“I get it, Nolan. I won’t give you the satisfaction of claiming me in front of the entire world, and now you’re walking away from me. If you can’t tell everyone that I’m yours then it means I'm not, right?” his shoulders slumped, his chest deflating as your words resonated in his mind.

Truth be told, Nolan didn’t give a shit what other people thought. He didn’t care about other people’s view of him, nor did he care about their validation. All he wanted was to be able to tell his friends where he went after each of his games, who he spent his nights and mornings with. He didn’t want to keep lying about why he bought enough groceries to feed more than one person, or who called him when he was on the road.

He understood at first, why you wanted to keep things to yourself. For a while, he agreed with you. He didn’t want your friends to get in the way either, though the group the two of you were in made that slightly difficult. They thrived off of teasing each other, and the two of you did your fair share of teasing as well. One thing Nolan didn’t want was for his friends to make the two of you feel as if this was all a mistake. He didn’t want you to have to face any scrutiny from the team or anyone else, so the two of you agreed to keep things just between the two of you.

That all turned to shit around six months in, when Nolan stopped getting excited about slipping out of his apartment unseen or arriving at the rink just in time for him to duck underneath Claude’s radar. The secrecy wasn’t fun anymore. He didn’t need a label, didn’t need you to commit to an entire life with him, but he wanted to be able to show up to functions with you under his arm. He wanted to see you wearing your Patrick jersey outside of your apartment.

He wanted you to be his girlfriend, and he wanted everyone to know about it.

Nolan knew there were things that had happened to you in the past that made you hesitant to climb aboard. He tried to be patient, tried to give you the time and space you needed to get you to where he stood. But months passed and you never got there, and he was starting to lose faith that you’d ever get there. He was starting to think he was waiting for something that was never going to come.

“I’m not sneaking around anymore. You can decide what that means, but I refuse to have these secret rendezvous where I can’t even tell people where I’m going. We don’t have to put a label on it, I’ll wait an entire lifetime if I have to for that, but I’m sick of the lying and scheming and secrecy.” he didn’t know what was more important to you at this point; being with him or making sure you kept all of your walls up. He did know what his priorities were, where he stood on the subject matter, but that wasn’t enough anymore. Now it was up to you to decide where the two of you lie.

“So what’s it going to be y/n?”

The last time you had gone through a break up, it had hurt a lot less than this. The weeks following the split between you and Nolan had been harder than any breakup in the past. Maybe the thing that was making all of it worse was the fact that you were suffering in silence. Nobody knew about you and Nolan in the first place, so nobody knew about the breakup that wasn’t actually a breakup.

You didn’t see him for two weeks after he’d walked out of your apartment. You couldn’t bring yourself to go to his games, and you denied all of the team’s invitations to go out with them. Even when Joel and Travis showed up to your apartment with several bags of take out food and tried their best to pick your brain about what had been going on with you, you fabricated a story about how school and work were mixing together in an unappetizing way.

It was easy for the most part, to blame your mood on schoolwork. Most of the flyers had no idea how stressful college could be, given that even the ones that were in your age range had never gone to college. Apart from a few of them like Joel, who had spent a year in college before being drafted, they assumed that school was everything you said it was. So any time they invited you out and tried to tell you that you couldn’t come up with any more excuses, a simple lie about a project being due soon would fend them off for a few days before repeating the process.

You finally agreed to go to a game when Joel needed a last minute ride to the rink, which ended in him convincing you that since you were already there, you could stick around for the game. You were sure that he had planned it all out, no doubt with the help of a few of the guys in order to be convincing enough, but it worked. It got you in the seats where most of them stopped by to wave at you during warm ups.

The smile that crept onto your lips when Nolan scored was subconscious. You couldn’t help but smile and clap for him, a warm familiarity swimming in your chest. Normally you’d meet him at your apartment afterwards, sharing toothy smiles and sensual kisses that never failed to turn into more. Your bed was familiar with Nolan, claiming half of itself to be side and clearing out a space on your nightstand for his phone and water bottle.

But you couldn’t do that anymore, Nolan wasn’t yours to take home anymore. While the realization was tough to bear, you simply wiped the smile off of your face and barred a neutral expression for the remainder of the game. You clamped your lips shut in a tight line and kept your deafening thoughts to yourself.

Your life had made room for him, a space for him to slide in without much effort at all. Your routine molded itself around Nolan being there in the mornings and nights. It started as little things like buying a second phone charger to plug in on his side of the bed. Then it turned to buying double the amount of groceries and recording his favorite shows on tv. Then he had a toothbrush next to yours on the bathroom counter and a bottle of body wash next to your shampoo in the shower. They were little changes here and there that somehow made it feel like Nolan practically lived there.

Even if the words were never said out loud, you and Nolan had broken up. It was hard to wrap your head around, how you could break up with someone without even realizing that you were dating in the first place. It shouldn’t have been so detrimental to lose him, to not have his hips snapping into yours or wake up to him brewing coffee in your kitchen. It was never supposed to get this far, was never supposed to be a tale of two friends that pined for each other enough to cause these waves. It was what you had done your best to avoid over its entirety, but you failed.

And now you had to pretend as if none of it had ever happened.

“Get out of the car, y/n.” you rolled your eyes at Joel’s attempt to sound stern with you, given the look he was sending you through the door frame. His eyebrows were raised and his hands sat on his hips, as if he was your angry mother that was dragging you to soccer practice on a sunday morning. “You have five seconds or I'm carrying you inside.”

“Jesus, Joel I just dropped my chapstick, chill the fuck out.” he rolled his eyes but smiled when you began climbing out of the car.

It was almost painful to convince you to come to Claude and Ryanne’s cookout, an event you normally wouldn’t miss for the world. If this were three months ago, you would’ve been happy to oblige. You’d steal glances across the yard at the boy who was more often than not already looking at you. Maybe you’d meet up in one of the empty rooms far enough from everyone else that they wouldn’t hear you sharing affirmations or other things not appropriate for a family friendly cookout with practically everyone you knew in Philly.

But you knew when you woke up this morning that that wouldn’t happen. You don’t live in the past and you’re no longer able to share stolen glances and smiles with the blue eyed boy who had stolen your heart without you realizing it. Instead you’d be forced to act as if nothing had happened between the two of you. It was easy at games, given that you never truly had to talk to Nolan, but today wouldn’t be that easy. You were certain that at some point you’d have to talk to Nolan in order to eliminate any suspicion about the two of you giving each other the cold shoulder.

You had mentally prepared yourself for the disaster you may or may not encounter, the feelings that were bound to throb in the back of your mind upon seeing the boy with shoulder length hair and a voice that never failed to send a chill down your spine. What you hadn’t been expecting was the petite blonde girl tucked into his side, the one with bright blue eyes and a smile that surely had the entire room smiling right back at her.

The weight of the situation hit you at full force, almost knocking you off of your feet before you even stepped onto the grass in the backyard. You asked yourself if there was any way you could escape, any way you could find a last minute excuse and run out the door before he even saw you but then you remembered that Joel drove you, and there was no way he’d take you back now.

That, and Nolan locked eyes with you before you could form a coherent thought that might have gotten you out of this situation. He looked thrown off, like he hadn’t been expecting you to be here. He looked down at the girl beside him, painfull aware of how this all looked to you and finding a million and one things that he assumed were running through your mind.

“You alright?” your eyes flicked up to meet Joel’s that were flooded with confusion and worry at the sight of you clearly thrown off by something. But then you coughed and shook your head, forced a smile to the surface and told Joel that you were perfectly fine.

You were fine for a while, assuming you could just stay away from them and everything would be okay. If you didn’t have to talk to her, didn’t have to hear about her or anything that had anything to do with her, you’d be fine. You could handle the avoidance of eye contact with Nolan and you could push your feelings below the surface for the time being.

Unfortunately for you, she seemed to be just about the nicest person on the planet and felt the need to introduce herself to everyone in her general vicinity. You were walking back out of the house, your fingers wrapped around the neck of four different bottles before she popped up out of nowhere and offered you a bright smile.

“Hi! You’re y/n right?” you nodded gently, pushing a soft smile to the surface to humor her. “Thought so. Nolan’s told me a lot about you. I’m Mackayla.”

Aside from the fact that she was definitely the last person you wanted to be talking to right now, she was dangerously nice. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t see the appeal. Her long blonde hair was beautiful, and you were sure by the way she was gently gripping onto her cup that she was gentle in all walks of life.

She was nicer than you’d wished she’d be. It’s as if you couldn’t find a flaw about her, other than the boy she chose to latch onto. It’d be easier if he was smiling all the same, if he was looking at her the way he used to look at you, even if nobody noticed. You’d be able to live with it if Nolan looked just as happy with her as he did with you, but he didn’t.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his hands were always shoved into his pockets or running through his hair. His knuckles went white from his tight grip on his better bottle, and you just knew. You knew that the way he looked at her held little to no weight, not when compared to the way he’d look at you with your head on his chest or his in your lap. If you didn’t know what he looked like at 2 in the morning over a plate of waffles the two of you were sharing. If you hadn’t heard the laugh that bellowed out when you stared at him in disbelief for eating the last bite.

You wondered if she knew that he’d rather waste money on overpriced sushi than order a pizza, if she knew that rubbing his temples and scratching his scalp helped soothe his migraines. Did she know that he’d talk about the things bugging him if you just gave him space for a minute or so and let him collect his thoughts? Did she know that he kept a bottle of ibuprofen in his nightstand and one in the center console of his car?

You doubted she knew these things, because you knew Nolan was oblivious to you knowing these little things. He didn’t know you’d picked up on these small details about him because you didn’t voice them, you didn’t need to. You got his favorite coffee creamer without asking him what flavor he wanted, keeping it in your fridge at all times just in case. You made sure not to steal the black hoodie that always laid over the back of his couch, because you knew it was his favorite and if you had ever taken it he’d lose his mind.

You made sure that Nolan was taken care of, that you never acted out in a way that would negatively affect him. And as much as it hurt to stand in front of his new girl and act as if you didn’t know all of these things about him, you’d do it for him. You swallowed your pride and forced a smile so that nobody picked up on anything for Nolan’s sake.

You were doing an okay job with faking a smile and listening to Mackayla talk about the things she’d done with Nolan over the weekend. You’d learned she was from Georgia, though that much had been obvious from the southern drawl in her voice, and it only led you to wonder how she even met Nolan in the first place. Was she staying at his apartment while she was here? Did she sleep on your side of the bed and eat the granola bars that he always bought for you without a second of hesitation?

You were doing fine, until you noticed Nolan’s eyes glued to you. He was watching you, whether it was out of fear of you falling apart or stepping out of line in front of her, you weren't sure. Maybe he didn’t trust you with the girl he was trying to use to get over you, and maybe he was concerned for your well being, but you had a fairly good guess as to which one it would’ve ended up being.

So with the best excuse you could muster, you politely told Mackayla that you had to deliver the beers slotted between your fingers and ushered her back in Nolan’s direction. He tucked her under his arm just like he had when you first arrived and sent you one last careful glance before turning away from you both figurative and literally.

When you got back to Joel and dished out the beers you promised everyone, you pressed your own against your lips and downed half of the beer in one go before Joel forced you to stop.

“Woah! Try not to drink your weight tonight, yeah?” you rolled your eyes and fought back the groan that threatened to slip when Joel pulled your bottle away from you. “Breathe for a second.”

You tried to ignore Travis and Karly’s concerned looks, confusion setting in for both of them when you offered a smile in place of an explanation. They didn’t question it, knowing better than to dig too far into the reason for your actions. In an attempt to take the focus off of your odd behavior, Travis offered a change of conversation. Though it would’ve been better if he had chosen a topic that didn’t directly relate to your sour mood.

“So Mackayla’s pretty nice.” Karly hummed, eyes locking with yours for just a second. Her motive was innocent, simply offering a skepticism about a new girl being introduced into the mix, something the two of you usually had when any of the guys started dating someone new.

“She’s pretty.” you shrugged gently, attempting to offer an innocent enough addition to the conversation that wouldn’t force you to endure too much more of this conversation.

Joel gasped gently, eyes panning down to you while a smirk creeped up his lips and firmly planted itself on his face. “Do you have the hots for Patty’s girl?”

Your eyes blew wide and while the only thing running through your mind was how wrong Joel is, he mistook your shock for fear of being sniffed out so easily. It didn’t help that Joel had been your wingman on more than one occasion, always doing everything he could to snag you someone worthy of time.

“Bee-”

“You’re so into her!” you groaned at Travis bouncing in excitement, only calming down when his girlfriend dug her elbow into his ribs.

“I do not have a crush on Mackayla.”

“Who said anything about a crush?” Joel’s smile ignited a fire inside of your chest, an aggravation that had you clenching your jaw and rolling your eyes. He sucked his teeth and pressed a hand to his chest, a far off look settling in his expression. “My baby’s growing up.”

“Shut the fuck up, Farabee.”

Unfortunately, you were unable to convince Travis and Joel about your feelings towards the girl, or lack thereof. You couldn’t exactly tell them that you weren’t anything less than envious of her, that you kept looking in her direction because she seemed physically incapable of leaving Nolan’s side. You couldn’t tell them that you were truly looking at Nolan, that all you wanted to do was tell him that everything that’s happened was severely miscalculated on your part.

While Joel and Travis were painful at times, they were your best friends. They were attentive to your feelings more often than not, even if they miscalculated them here and there. Joel slipped you a few more drinks throughout the night and Travis made sure you never had an empty cup in your hand. Karly kept a close eye on you, worried about you quickly tipping over the edge if no one paid attention. She wasn’t convinced by the story of your crush on Mackayla, but she wasn’t sure what was truly bothering you so she did her best to make sure you stayed away from the ledge.

After two cups of the punch that Jake brought you were taking deep breaths in the bathroom, mustering up the courage to go back out and face the music. With every twinge of alcohol that infiltrated your system your shoulders slumped and you forgot about the pain that resonated in the back of your mind. It was easier to not look at Nolan every few seconds when you partially forgot that he was even there.

However, just as you opened the door to step back out into the house, the door was pushed wide open and Nolan stepped into the small space with you before shutting the door behind him. You were caught off guard, not having been this close to him since he walked out three months ago. It was almost nice, you almost let yourself slip a smile but then you were painfully aware of the way his forehead creased in frustration.

He saw your mind go over ninety different thoughts, your face showing off just about every emotion you were feeling when you felt it. It was hard for him to stand his ground, to not reach out to you and press a soft kiss against your forehead at the sight of you stressed out about something. But then he remembered why you were stressed, why he came up here in the first place. He remembered how you told him you couldn’t be with him, how you broke his heart.

“Why are you in here, Pat?” he flinched at the name, having not heard you call him that since before everything had unfolded between the two of you. You never called him by his last name, nor his hockey nicknames. Not after you’d been trapped between him and his mattress far more times than you could count.

“You talked to Mackayla earlier.” you hummed, rolling your eyes when you realized what was coming.

“So you saw me talking to your girlfriend earlier and now you’re wondering if I told her something she’s not supposed to know. If you’re wondering what we talked about then you can ask her, because I honestly couldn’t remember if my life depended on it. I stopped listening to her after she told me that you’ve told her a lot about me.” despite the way his eyes changed, darkening ever so slightly and pupils dilating, Nolan looked unphased by your confession.

“She’s not my girlfriend-”

“Then what is she? She’s clearly something since she’s here at your captain’s house. She’s visiting from Georgia for fuck’s sake, Pat-”

“So you did pay attention to her.” as fucked as it was, Nolan smirked at the realization that you still cared. Despite everything you told him, every time you said that you needed things to be a secret and that you couldn’t open up that part of you, he was elated to find out that you had a soft spot for him.

“Do you think it’s funny? You think it’s funny to watch me fall apart right in front of you? I’m trying so hard to keep myself together, and then you bring her here and wave her around in my face like you deserve an award for moving on.”

“I had no idea you were coming.” you wanted to laugh, wanted to scream at the top of your lungs that he had to be joking right now. But you didn’t, you held the laugh in the back of your throat and you opted for a vocal level that wouldn’t travel downstairs for everyone else to hear.

“That’s bullshit! I know you’re lying to me because Joel showed me a string of texts from your group chat of everyone saying that they were excited to see me. You know why he showed me that, Pat? Because I needed the motivation to peel myself off of my couch and start hanging out with my friends again. You know, i’m doing everything I can to hold it together but it’s really fucking hard when i can’t even be vocal about the fact that I don’t want to be around you right now.”

“Oh, don’t put that shit on me. You wanted to keep us a secret, so that means your heartbreak is a secret too. What do you want me to do about it? Help you through it? You want me to help you get over me? This is me trying to do that. I’m trying to move on, and you should be trying just as hard.” that almost hurt more than figuring out that he had deep rooted feelings for her. To know that she was your replacement, the one that was meant to help him get over you, that was much worse.

“But that’s the thing, Nolan! I don't want to get over you!”

“Well you have to! It’s too late to make up for all of the shit we’ve already been through. The damage is done, so you need to let me be happy without you.” your heart sank at the revelation, the look of defeat that sat on his face and told you that there was no going back. There was nothing you could do that was going to backtrack from this.

So you reached around him and grabbed the doorknob, twisting it as quickly as you could and slipping out of the bathroom just as quickly as Nolan had slipped in. You ran down the stairs fast enough to miss the sound of him slamming his fist into the countertop, the guttural groan that left him as he broke down in the room you left him in.

The good thing about the alcohol induced daze you were in was that your tears could’ve been due to anything. They could’ve been from someone taking your white claw away, and while you were sure you could find an excuse for crying, you knew that you wouldn’t need to when you saw Joel’s face.

“Can we go?” he nodded without a single question, promising you that it had been well over two hours since he had had a single sip of beer. He turned to Phil and told him to tell everyone they left but to leave out the part about you standing in front of them with wet cheeks and red eyes.

He didn’t ask you what was wrong, didn’t ask you to fess up to your crying fest in the car. He simply drove around the city until you had let out every tear and choked sob you could manage. He knew that part of it was spurred on by your blood alcohol level, surel exceeding the limit to drive, but he knew there was something you weren’t saying.

While not many people other than the people in Joel’s close vicinity had seen you crying just before your disappearance, a few did. And while nobody knew what it could have possibly been caused by, Karly watched Nolan descend down the stairs a few minutes after you had with an expression much different than the one he wore when he went upstairs. His cheeks were red and blown out, a dead give away for him being angry. It didn’t take her long to put the pieces together, to realize that you weren’t looking at Mackayla all night but rather the boy who had an arm draped around her shoulder.

You hoped that maybe you’d never have to see Mackayla after that, that she’d return to whatever town in Georgia she came from and stay there. Maybe even if she was around, you wouldn’t have to be around her. If Joel and Travis wanted to believe that it was from your attraction to her then so be it, just as long as you didn’t have to witness Nolan giving someone else the affection you craved from him.

But time passed and Mackayla stuck around. She stuck around for a few more months, visiting Nolan far more often than you would have cared for. She was around more than you wished she’d be. She was nice enough for everyone to like her, though it was kept at a surface level. Joel still picked your brain about your supposed crush on her, dropping hints in various conversations about it.

“So I was talking to Mack the other day-”

“Who the fuck is Mack?” it was a reflex, popping your head around the corner and shooting Joel a confused look across the room. He was leaning back on your couch, waiting for you to come back with the popcorn that was currently popping in the microwave.

“Mackayla…” Joel’s voice trailed off as he turned over his shoulder, his smirk all too irritating for you to not roll your eyes.

“What, the two of you are best friends now?” if Joel didn’t know you so well, he’d think you were jealous. He did, to an extent, think that you were jealous of him for being close to Mackayla, which was somewhat amusing for you.

“Chill, y/n/n. I’m not going to steal her away from you. She’s all yours, after she’s Patty’s.” it was meant to be playful, meant to bring a soft laugh out of you. Joel had no idea that he was just digging the dagger further into your heart, twisting it violently at the mention of Nolan and his girlfriend that seemed to be here to stay for much longer than you originally expected.

She showed up at games that you quickly regretted attending, wearing a jersey that you recognized all too well, having a few matching ones lining the back of your closet. You played nice though, letting her ask questions about you and answering them with the best answer you could offer at the time. You even went to grab drinks with her during the second intermission.

It was almost laughable, how oblivious she was. She was nice and in any other scenario where she wasn’t dating the boy you were hopelessly in love with, you probably would have liked her. There was nothing wrong with her other than her love interest, and the fact that she was oblivious to everything around her. You thought it was innocent at first, maybe even cute, but then she offered you a bright smile after you had calmed down from celebrating Joel’s second goal of the night and told you that the two of you would be a cute couple. Not only did it make you laugh, but the way she wiggled her eyebrows and told you that she could help you make that happen made you sigh in realization that she truly had no idea what mess she had walked into.

You hadn’t realized that Karly had caught onto your distaste for her until you announced that you had to run to the bathroom and Karly jumped up before Mackayla could even think about it and hooked her arms in yours. You sent her a puzzled look laced with a soft smile until she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in a way that told you exactly why she volunteered to go with you.

She let you break down in the bathroom, confessing that the mere sight of her made you nauseous. You told her about the history between you and Nolan, the way that you fell in love with him without even knowing it. You told her how you messed it up, how you did something that he couldn’t forgive you for and before you were able to tell her that you didn’t know how you would fix any of it, she told you that there was no way in hell that this was irreversible.

She’d seen the way you looked at him, the way he looked at you and the way he looked at her. In her mind, the choice was clear. Mackayla was no match for you, not even close. She didn’t bring any of the things to the table that you could, despite her being a good person. She wasn’t a bad person, but you were made for Nolan. Even Karly could figure that one out.

So you let her drag you to a bar with the team afterwards. You let her ring up a tab for the two of you and slip you drinks throughout the night without thinking much of it. Sure, Mackayla and Nolan weren’t very far away, but you knew you wouldn’t have to watch them do much more than things you’d already seen. You knew they wouldn’t dance, since Nolan would’ve preferred to drink everything behind the bar than dance in public.

It made you think about the times he danced with you in the kitchen at 3 am when soft music was pouring out of his phone and encapsulating the two of you in your own bubble. Neither of you were ever fully dressed, wearing things that you picked up off of the floor before cooking an entire meal in the middle of the night. Those nights were your favorite, when he did things that only you had the pleasure of experiencing.

It made a familiar feeling stir in your stomach, one that had you pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as you rushed towards the bathroom, passing the line that formed against one of the walls. Karly apologized to everyone who you had unintentionally skipped, though they all waved her off and claimed that you clearly needed it more than they did.

You were relieved when you got inside, able to breathe while also getting the nausea out of your system. Karly stood guard, only opening the door to yell at someone that had been knocking for the past three minutes.

“It’s fucking occupied- Patty?”

“Move.” you coughed at the sound of his voice, your throat constricting in a way that was involuntary. “Karly, seriously-”

“Nolan that’s not a good idea-”

“I can get her to stop.” Karly’s words paused in her throat, uncertainty flowing through her but when she heard you dry heave for the third time, she stepped aside and let Nolan come inside.

He gently pulled your hair out of your hands and grabbed the hair tie around your wrist, throwing your hair into the quickest ponytail he could in order to get it out of your face. His hands fell to your sides, slipping under your shirt without much effort at all and providing your skin with a newfound warmth.

He’d done this before, that much was obvious to Karly with the way you easily melted into his touch. He wasn’t doing much more than Karly could do but she knew that it was the feeling of his hands that grounded you, rather than physical touch in the general sense. If it wasn’t Nolan it wouldn’t have worked, and that gave Karly everything she needed to know about how you felt about her boyfriend’s best friend.

“You’re okay.” he whispered softly, letting you fall back against his chest and curl up into a ball on the floor of a dirty bar bathroom. He rocked you gently, almost unintentionally, while he kissed the back of your head gently. “You’re okay.” he repeated, feeling you relax into his hold afterwards.

Karly was stunned to say the least. She had never seen you react like that to anybody, let alone when they were that close to you. She was used to seeing you shove Joel or Travis away from you when they tried to baby you, claiming that you could hold your own and didn’t need them to help you through things. But here you were, melting into Nolan’s hold without a second thought.

“Thank you.” you whispered gently, despite the fact that Nolan was inherently the reason you were in this position. He didn’t know that, assuming your physical reaction to be from the alcohol you had consumed.

“I’m going to go get you some water.” Karly whispered softly before slipping out of the room, but not leaving until she threatened anyone else that tried to usher you out of the bathroom.

“You didn’t have to do that you know?” it was soft and broke through a thick silence after Karly had left, but it was enough for Nolan.

“I know I didn’t, but I care about you and I know that Karly’s clueless when it comes to things like that.” you laughed, one that came out more bitter than you had originally intended it to. Nolan’s ears perked up, his face twisting in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just holding me in a bathroom right now while your girlfriend is waiting for you to return.” Nolan groaned, annoyed that you had to ruin a good moment by mentioning Mackayla. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he wished that just once he could have a conversation without you mentioning her.

“Alright well if you want me to leave, I can.” he stood up, brushing off his jeans and turning towards the door before you were on your feet and pulling away from it.

“Do you love her?” his brow furrowed, confusion written into his features as he tried to figure out why you would ask him such a thing. His silence gave you hope, made you believe that there was a possibility that maybe he didn’t love her.

“Why would you-”

“Do you still love me?” it hit him like a thousand bricks, like he had walked straight into a wall and knocked himself out. He’d never told you that he loved you, despite the fact that he definitely did. You had never told each other that you felt that way, though now you think maybe that would have changed things between the two of you. “I only ask because-”

“Just, don’t. Don’t this to me, y/n. I can’t handle this again.” you wondered if the sound you heard was his heart cracking, breaking in his chest at a simple question. You wondered if you had messed things up by being too scared, by living in fear rather than taking things that you wanted.

“I love you.” you felt your shoulders fall, shedding themselves of the weight they held onto for so long. “I love you so much it hurts, and everyone thinks it’s just because I’m in love with your girlfriend. They think that when i’m looking at you, i’m looking at her and while it’s a great coverup for the real issue at hand, it’s almost worse. Because in a way, I guess I am. I want to be her, I want to be in her place. I want to kiss her because at least I'll get to taste your lips again. At least if I listen to her go on and on about her weekend plans then I can keep up with your life from someone other than Tk.”

It was a lot, a lot of things you’d wanted to say for longer than you could recount, but now it was too much. It was too much to dump on Nolan in a bar bathroom where you had just previously been throwing up. It wasn’t ideal, and it was probably disgusting, but you need to get it out now. Now or never, right here in the bathroom where Nolan’s girlfriend stood not too far outside of it.

“Y/n-”

“Just tell me you love me. Tell me i’m not crazy because I think you look at me the way you should be looking at her. I think that whatever you have with her is probably great, but it’s nothing like what we had. She’s not me, Nolan. I know she’s not.”

“That’s the problem! She’s not you, and that’s good for me. She’s good for me. She doesn’t hide me, doesn’t shove me into her room when her best friend comes knocking on the door. She doesn’t hide my jerseys in the back of her closet or stay ten feet away from me in public. She’s not you, but that’s not an accident.” your heart sank, not only at the words ringing in your ears but the steam pouring out of his ears. The way that he was looking at you, like you’d ruined him, made your stomach twist. It was awful, to have him stand in front of you and not understand that all you wanted was him.

“Nolan please-”

“Please what, y/n? Haven’t we already had this conversation? You want me to help you but I'm telling you I can’t do that. I can’t keep running into bathrooms when you’re throwing up and I can’t hold your hand when your anxiety bubbles up and you can’t be around people anymore. I can’t do this for you anymore y/n. Yes, I love you. I love you but it hurts in a way that love should not hurt. I shouldn’t wake up every morning feeling like i’ve lost a part of me that i’ll never get back. I should be able to have a girlfriend without worrying about what my ex thinks, how she feels about me. I shouldn’t have to worry about your feelings anymore because you didn’t worry about mine when I was begging you to stop making me sneak around with you.”

“I didn’t mean for-”

“I don’t care anymore, honestly. I don’t care what you meant to do. All I'm asking you to do is to leave me alone and let me move on with my life. You had your chance, you had me right in front of you, telling you that you were the one for me, you were it, and you threw it away. You broke my heart and kicked me to the curb because you didn’t care what I wanted. So now i’m telling you that I don’t care what you want. I want you to stay away from me.”

The image of him walking out of the bathroom felt a lot like the night he walked out of your apartment. The way he slammed the door in your face, leaving you behind with wet cheeks and an ache in your chest that made it hard to breathe. It wasn’t any different from last time, but you were determined to change it from here on out.

You walked out of the bathroom after splashing water on your face, walking straight up to the bar and ordering three shots of tequila. Three shots that Karly watched him place in front of you from her place across the room as panic coursed through her. She shoved Travis to the side and did her best to reach you in time, dragging Joel along with her but it was too late. You had already tipped back two of the shots by the time they got there, and just as they slammed into the side of the bar, you lifted your third in a mock cheer before downing it.

“Let’s go have some fun, yeah?” you grabbed Karly’s hands and pulled her to the middle of the room to dance with you.

Karly wasn’t sure if she should be careful around you, if you had things that you wanted to air out or if you wanted to bury everything. She wasn’t sure exactly what happened with you and Nolan, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to help you. So she let you drink. She made sure that Joel would be ready to take you home when you needed to go, and she let you do almost anything in between.

Joel was the one that cut you off, paying for your tab and pulling you away from a guy you were trying to hustle drinks from in favor of taking you home. He labeled you as gone enough to go home and when he was met with a drunken smile, he knew he made the right decision.

He kept an arm around you when you said goodbye to everyone, and pretended not to notice the way you skipped right over Nolan on your way out. Karly made him promise to call her as soon as he had gotten you home. He let you lean against him on the walk to his car and made sure all of your limbs were safely placed inside before shutting the door.

“You have a good night?” Joel asked about a minute or so into the drive, watching you gaze longingly out of your window. You nodded gently, which was slightly off putting but somehow enough for Joel to stop pushing it.

“She’s so pretty.” Joel’s ears perked up, attention shifting over to you at the sound of your voice. “Great smile, big blue eyes that you can’t help but stare out. Her accent can get annoying but it’s cute in a weird way.”

Joel laughed gently, thinking that your rambling was a drunk confession that his skepticism had been correct, that he had sniffed you out easier than you had expected him to. But then you spoke again, and it took everything in him not to slam on the brakes in the middle of the street.

“Maybe if I had her long blonde hair or her magic touch, he’d want me just as much.” he felt his heart sink into his stomach, realization dawned on him more and more as time progressed.

All this time, he’d been teasing you about the stupid crush he thought you had on Nolan’s girlfriend. He thought the glances and the heavy sighs were directed towards the blonde girl when in all reality, they were directed at his teammate. It made sense, how you and Nolan seemed to start acting strange around the same time. He wouldn’t hear from either of you for hours at a time, when nobody knew where either of you were.

It made sense why you stopped coming to games, why you stopped accepting invitations to go out with everyone. He realized now, that he’d made a big mistake. By thinking that you had a thing for Mackayla, every mere mention of the girl must have brought a sick feeling to your stomach. He mentioned her and Nolan all the time, and had unintentionally hurt you in the process.

“Do you think he would?” you turned toward Joel, hand falling onto his arm while your eyes blurred with a thin layer of tears. He looked down at you, so fragile and small in his passenger seat, and softened. He couldn’t help but think he helped put you in this position, but he could make sure he never did it again.

“I think he’d be an idiot not to love you just the way you are.” you rolled your eyes but the smile that stretched across your lips was enough for him. You shoved him playfully, letting a laugh pass your lips afterwards.

Something twisted in his stomach, seeing you laugh beside him in his passenger seat. You looked beautiful despite the drunken haze and the way your eyes could hardly stay open. It wasn’t the first time Joel had seen you like this but he hoped it wouldn’t be his last either.

“Careful, Beezer. You’re going to get my hopes up.” his heart sank again, the smile slowly fading from your lips before you slipped into a light sleep. He was furious that anybody would hurt you like this, let alone someone that he was so close to. He didn’t know how he didn’t sniff this out sooner, but he was determined to never let it go unnoticed again.

Joel kept a close eye on you then. He made sure not to invite you to things when Mackayla was already set to attend. He kept conversation topics about Nolan in the ‘do not mention’ box, only mentioning him if he was a vital part to the story he was telling. Joel went through your closet and replaced every single Patrick jersey with a Farabee one, claiming that you can’t keep showing up to the games with a simple flyers hoodie that was practically on its last leg.

You noticed the small changes, noticed that Joel was doing his best to keep you out of harm's way. You assumed he must have told Travis enough for him to stop mentioning your alleged crush on Mackayla. One thing you were sure of was the fact that you wouldn’t have made it this far without Joel. He showed up with takeout when he knew you’d gone all day without eating, and put on your favorite movie without asking.

Essentially, he was himself, dialed up to eleven. He made sure you never had to go anywhere by yourself if you didn’t want to. It was clear that Mackayla wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and you were far too close with the rest of the team to let Nolan indirectly stop you from having fun with your friends.

You went into the night thinking that it would be a good stepping stone for you to accept the fact that Mackayla would be around more often whether you liked it or not. You got ready with Karly, pulling on the tight leotard and the bunny ears that matched. It was a ridiculous outfit, but it was worth it when Joel walked into your apartment with his arms outstretched beside him and a pipe hanging from his lips loosely.

“Where’s my bunny?” you wiped a stray tear from your waterline, your laughter tumbling further into an uncontrollable fit. You knew these costumes would be ridiculous but seeing Joel in a velvet robe and a sailor’s hat was far more comical than you originally expected.

“Hi Hughie.” you kissed his cheek gently, heating up the patch of skin unintentionally. You didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on the skin of your exposed thighs, nor did you see the way his eyes followed you when you turned around, back facing him.

“You ready?” you nodded gently and told Travis he did a good job, despite the fact that his and Karly’s prisoner costumes were just orange jumpsuits.

Karly brought her lips close to your ear when Nolan and Mackayla arrived, making a passive comment about how you and Joel looked ten times better than that. It made you think about last halloween, where you ended up leaving Claude’s with Nolan, only to wake up the next morning with a trail of marks down your neck and a mess of makeup you had forgotten to take off before falling asleep.

You shook the thought out of your head, deciding that it wasn’t worth it. You were thankful that Joel stayed close to you all night, eliminating the possibility of you ever being locked in a room with just Nolan and/or Mackayla. He didn’t stop you from tossing back one too many white claws and kept guard in front of the door when you used the bathroom.

He didn’t stop you from standing on a table beside Tk, elbows hooked together while you raced to down your can faster than him. He hip checked Karly when she tried to distract you to give her boyfriend the win, and he grabbed onto both of your thighs when you wobbled on the slightly unsteady surface.

Your hands fell to grab onto his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself, thankful for the way he had no intention to let you fall. He smiled up at you with a smile that said he knew you were just past the point of being able to keep your balance. You’d lost count of how many white claws you’d been handed throughout the night, but the close eye he kept on you told him how much more you’d be able to handle before the night was over.

Joel wrapped his arms around your legs and lifted you off of the tabletop, only loosening them enough for you to slide down to stand on your feet. When your feet hit the floor, you were painfully aware of how close you were to Joel, feeling his breath fan over your face and struggling to keep your eyes locked on his.

In all the time you’ve known Joel, you’ve never felt the fuzzy feeling that was currently residing in your chest. You’d never thought about your relationship all that much. The two of you spent time together because it felt natural, it was easy to fall into a routine with him without even realizing it. In another world, you’d let Joel break down your walls. You’d probably help him, hammering them down all on your own if it meant that he looked at you like that for the rest of your life.

But this wasn’t a perfect world, and you couldn’t do that. No matter how much you tried to soak in the way that Joel was looking at you, the way he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes off of you or pry his hands off of your sides, you were reminded of the fact that he wasn’t Nolan.

You cleared your throat, eyebrows furrowing for just a second before you started tripping over your words. “I, uh-”

“Beezer!” Joel’s hands fell back to his side, eyes snapping up to follow the sound of his name only to find Morgan and Phil beckoning him over in their direction.

“I should uh-”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, go. Don't fall off any tables.” he laughed gently and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before walking past you, leaving you with a burning feeling in both of your hips and now the spot of your temple that was still warm from his lips.

You quickly shook it off by the time that Karly popped up beside you with an unopened white claw, swinging it in front of your face and smiling brightly when you snatched it out of her hold. Unbeknownst to you but not flying under Karly’s radar, was the boy with bright blue eyes and shoulder length hair that had been watching you longer than he should have been.

Karly sent him a firm glare while your back was to him, silently testing him while also warning him. He rolled his eyes, unsure of when she had figured things out or what she had heard. He was sure you told a skewed version of the truth, surely roping Karly into believing Nolan was the spawn of satan. In all actuality, Karly didn’t think that. She thought that the things you told her about Nolan were great, and she knew you deserve someone like that. She did, however, know that you were also hurt by the things that Nolan had been doing and saying recently, and she’ll be damned if she lets him hurt you again.

So she kept an eye on Nolan all night, she made sure that he kept his distance from you while also trying to figure out what was going on between you and Joel. You leaned just a little further into him than you normally would and he seemed to always have a hold on you, whether it be his hands on your hips or an arm thrown over your shoulders.

The first time she could ask about it was when the two of you were dancing, not the only ones in the room but you were surely the only one that could hear her over the music. She wrapped her arms around your neck and brought her lips close to your ear to help drown out the sound to everyone else while also trying to eliminate the possibility of raising suspicion.

“So you and Beezer?” you smiled fondly, not even realizing that a toothy grin spread across your lips at the sound of Joel’s name.

“He’s just my best friend, K.” she rolled her eyes, unconvinced that’s all it was. She casted her eyes over your shoulder, catching the eyes of none other than the boy dressed as Hugh Hefner.

“I’d say the way he’s looking at you right now is not how I look at my friends. It is, however, the way I look at my boyfriend after being teased all night long.” you turned over your shoulder, catching Joel’s eyes with your own. He pushed a smile forward, one that eventually turned into a short laugh before he looked back at Morgan who was talking about something he had lost track of a while ago.

“We’re just friends.” Karly hummed, unconvinced but dropping the subject nonetheless.

If you weren’t thinking about it beforehand, now it would have been impossible to stop thinking about Joel. maybe it was the fact that you could still feel his hands on your hips, or the fact that almost every time you looked at him he was already looking at you. It felt impossible to stop thinking about him, to turn your mind off and stop thinking. It sucked, the dull ache finding its way back to your chest because no matter how much you were thinking of Joel, you couldn’t stop subconsciously looking for Nolan.

The way he didn’t have his arm slung around Mackayla’s shoulders like always brought a whisper of a smile to your face. She was talking to Jake about something that he looked amused over, whether it was the topic of their conversation or her hand gestures that amused him you weren’t sure of. He was hardly looking at her, opting to stare into his cup or up at Travis when he nudged him hard enough to grab his attention.

But then he looked up at you, holding eye contact with you for longer than either of you should have. His knuckles were white, his cheeks tinted red in a way that made you dizzy. You remembered a time when you’d smile at the sight of them, run your fingers over them and probably kiss them softly. Nolan would tell you to leave them alone, to ignore that they were even there but he didn’t mind when they made you smile like that.

It took you back to a time where you could cock your head to the side and ask him to meet you in the bathroom. There’d be rushed kisses and whispered affirmations, words that nobody outside of the two of you were ever going to hear but it didn’t matter because Nolan was the one saying it all to you.

But you couldn’t do that now. You couldn’t meet him upstairs or back at your apartment afterwards. He’d be going home with his girlfriend and you’d be going home alone. It was the harsh fact that you had been trying to accept for months at this point, but it didn’t hurt any less than it did the first time you saw Mackayla and realized that no matter how much you wanted to hate her, you couldn’t.

You took a deep breath and broke eye contact, opting to turn your focus to downing the rest of your drink before walking into the kitchen to grab another. You’d love to say that you were surprised when you heard the door open after you had shut it, but you weren’t. In fact, you’d be surprised if it hadn’t opened.

“Is there something going on with you and Beezer?” you fought back a laugh that sat in the back of your throat. Of course that’s what he cared about. Of course, even after all this time, he was still worried about what you were doing and who you were doing it with.

“Would there be a problem if there was?” you turned over your shoulder, not missing the way he had to peel his eyes off of your backside. Though, you couldn’t blame him for it. You look good in the black leotard and you were sure it wasn’t the first time tonight that he looked at you like that.

“So there is?” you rolled your eyes and turned back to your drink that was practically finished. You took a deep breath and exhaled through your nose, bringing the cup to your lips to take a large gulp of it before you turned back around and made a break for the exit.

“No, Nolan. There’s nothing going on between Joel and I but it’s not exactly your place to grill me if there was.” you went to give him a firm pat on the shoulder but he gripped your wrist lightly, turning you just enough so he could look at you properly.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” the look of confusion mixed with hurt that took over your face filled him with regret. You had never done anything that should have given him the notion that you’d ever lie to him, but he felt the need to ask regardless. Now that he had, he had his answer and he wished he had just kept it to himself.

“Things would be a lot easier between us if I was able to lie to you.” despite the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, there wasn’t enough time for you to explain your words to him before you were walking past him and out of the kitchen.

The alcohol swimming through your system had your eyes burning before the door had even shut behind you and while Nolan didn’t follow you out right after, that didn’t stop Joel from grabbing your hand and tugging you away from the room.

“I was just about to go in. I saw him follow you in there, are you okay?” he could tell you were in a bit of a daze. It was evident in the way your eyes didn’t meet his right away, the way that your breathing was slightly irregular and the way that when you looked up at him, he could tell you were still out of it.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah i’m okay.” he nodded slowly despite the fact that he wasn’t entirely convinced and agreed to dance with you when one of your favorite songs came on.

It felt like the night was never ending at this point. You’re not sure what time it was or how many white claws you had downed, but that was obvious by the way you were stumbling around the Giroux house. Joel hardly trusted you to go to the bathroom by yourself with the way you were stumbling everywhere.

He was persistent in walking behind you up the stairs, holding out his hands to stop you from falling backwards. He wasn’t much more sober than you were, but he was clearly handling it a lot better than you were. You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest when he said he was going to wait outside for you, but then he offered to sit on the edge of the tub and while it was far from the thing you should have done, you were certain that you would mess up somewhere if you did it all on your own.

One thing you had forgotten about was the outfit you were wearing, and the fact that you practically had to strip in order to use the bathroom. So, with a low groan and a drunken laugh, you told Joel he had to stand in the shower while you peed, curtain closed and all. He did though, stand in the shower and stare at the tiled walls while he asked you if you were having a good night, all things considered.

When he heard the sink turn on and your voice telling him he could come back out, the shower curtain slid to the side and he stepped back out, a smile gracing his lips when he locked eyes with you in the mirror. He bumped your hip with his gently and gasped when you splashed water at him from the faucet, splashing you back without any hesitation.

“Oh that was a grave mistake, Farabee.” his eyebrows shot up, a silent questioning sitting on the tip of his tongue before he repeated his actions.

Somewhere along teasing comments and a few more splashes, the laughter dulled down and the faucet was turned off. Joel’s eyes were trained on you though, the alcohol in his system lowering his subtlety in the way he raked your body up and down. It wasn’t subtle and it sent a chill down your spine, the fact that he was openly checking you out unapologetically.

He leaned closer, or maybe you leaned closer, it was unclear who made which move first and who was just simply following suit but within mere seconds, your lips were pressed against Joel’s. His hands found the back of your thighs with ease and lifted you up onto the countertop, giving him the ability to press his lips further into yours.

You got caught up in the heat of the moment. The way his lips felt against yours felt so familiar, like you had kissed him in another life. It felt easy and natural, and right. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced, even holding his head in yours while you kissed him back just as feverishly.

You were in a daze until he pulled his lips back from yours and pressed them against the skin of your neck, making a path of his own on the way down to the spot of your neck that met your shoulder. Maybe it was the fact that he settled in an all too familiar spot of your neck, or the way that his hands couldn’t seem to hold enough of you, but you ripped out of the moment. Everything around you started coming back, reminding you of what you were doing in the bathroom of a Halloween party where all of your friends were just downstairs.

“Joel.” you whispered softly, trying to get a firm grip on reality rather than allowing yourself to get lost in the boy that was still nipping and sucking at your skin.

“Yeah baby?” the rasp in his voice sent a shockwave through your body, making your head fall back ever so slightly at the same time a low whine passed your lips.

“We can’t do this.”

“Why’s that?” he switched sides, grabbing the underside of your jaw and turning your head enough to give him access to the other side of your neck.

“Because we can’t Joel. you’re my best friend-”

“Oh bullshit.” he pulled back then, pupils blown out and lips slightly swollen. Red tinted his cheeks and the soft pants rolling past his lips mimicked the way his mind was racing. “Haven’t you heard anyone say that falling in love with your best friend is the best decision you can make?” your heart fell into your stomach, your shoulders slumping at the sound of his question.

Falling in love? You didn’t think Joel was anywhere near in love with you. You’d guess maybe a crush or some surface level feelings but full blown love? There was something holding you back, not allowing you to get to that point with anyone after what you’d been through. You couldn’t just forget about all of it as if it hadn’t happened, as if it didn’t still affect you.

“Say something.” the desperation in his voice killed you, somehow breaking your heart even further. The way his lust clouded vision turned to one of pleading tugged at your heartstrings in a way that had you speaking before you could even think about it.

“I still love him, Bee.” Joel’s head fell then, his hands moving to grip the edge of the counter on either side of you as he tried to catch his breath. “Joel-”

“Don’t bother. I get it. It’s always going to be Patty, right?” he looked up at you, hoping that you’d rush to tell him that’s not what you meant, but that never came.

Instead you bit your lower lip, chewing the anxiety away as you tried to find the words to describe the situation. By the time you could think of anything worth saying, Joel was already turning the knob and slamming the door shut behind him. The sound made you jump just before you leaned back against the mirror, trying to rid yourself of the mess you just made for yourself.

Joel rushed down the stairs in search of something to drink, anything that would save him from his mind. He couldn’t stop replaying it over in his head, the way your hands felt on the sides of his face or locked in his hair. The way your lips felt against his or the way you reacted to his touch. He couldn’t get the sight of your blown out pupils and swollen lips, two things he had caused, out of his head. He couldn’t get you out of his head.

When he found Phil and Morgan passing a flask back and forth, he held his out for it and downed about half of it before Phil tried to swat it away from his lips, noticing something severely wrong with Joel. None of them noticed you jog down the stairs and bolt out back, in search of fresh air and a space where there weren’t many people around.

“You alright Beezer?” Phil asked just before tipping the flask enough to take a swig from it.

“Other than the fact that I may have just fucked everything up, I’m fine.” Morgan realized what he meant first, given that he’d heard Joel talk about you more often than anyone else on the team. Morgan was the one he went to when he couldn’t go to you, this being one of their main conversation topics.

“What did you do?” Joel’s eyes lingered on Morgan for a bit and when he pushed out a heavy sigh to procrastinate the words he was about to say, he only allowed the time for Nolan to walk past him just in time to hear everything he was going to say.

“I think I almost slept with y/n.” Nolan came to a screeching halt behind him, eyes snapping to meet Phil’s who was completely clueless to the tension currently building up.

“You what?” Joel’s neck practically snapped with how quickly he turned over his shoulder, coming face to face with the broody boy who was seething right in front of him.

“Nothing. I uh, that came out wrong.” Nolan didn’t believe him though. With the way Joel was stumbling over his words and avoiding eye contact, Nolan knew there was something worth digging into.

Nolan walked away from the three of them, eyes scanning the room, no doubt in search of you. His fists were clenched and his focus was completely thrown off. He had forgotten about everything else going on around him, everyone else that stood inside of the house.

He saw you through the sliding glass door, a smile sitting on your face that he knew held no weight to it. He knew that whatever Jake was telling you was probably funny, but he knew there were other things on your mind. Both because he knew you well enough to know when something was on your mind but also because he had just heard Joel say that there was something for you to be thinking about.

He yanked the back door open, not caring for a single second if it slammed open or shut, or if it even shut at all behind him. He didn’t care if he was attracting attention to himself or if he was about to accidentally air out a bunch of dirty laundry for not only himself, but you and Joel as well.

“So you’re a liar now?” your head turned at the loud voice calling out to you from the opposite side of the yard, worry and fear intertwining in the back of your mind.

“What are you talking about?” Jake and Claude had forgotten what their conversation was even about by the time Nolan was halfway across the yard, anger clearly written into his expression.

“You fucked Beezer?” your eyes blew wide open, along with the two men at your side that were rudely interrupted by a false accusation.

“No! What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about whatever happened between you and Beezer that you told me was surely not happening.” you rolled your eyes now, more annoyed with the fact that he was digging this deep into something he had no business knowing about rather than the fact that he was yelling at you in front of your families.

“Why do you even care, Nolan?”

“He’s my teammate! How am i supposed to play on a line with him when i know he’s-”

“He’s what?” you stood up now, standing face to face with the boy who was clearly causing a scene. Even the people still standing inside were watching through the door that still hadn’t shut from Nolan’s dramatic exit/entrance.

“He’s touched you!”

“It was just a kiss for fuck’s sake!” Joel wouldn’t admit that his heart sank at the comment. What was ‘just a kiss’ to you was much more to him. It was everything he’d wanted to for as long as he could remember, but he’d keep that to himself too.

“It’s the principle!” his words irritated you. He was irritating you. You’re not sure how it was his business to know, let alone who gave him the right to be mad about it.

“You’re not my boyfriend, Nolan!” he clenched his fists at the fact. He knew that, he was painfully aware of that. All it did was remind him that the girl he wanted more than anything wouldn’t meet him halfway.

“Well that doesn’t mean he can be!”

“And why the hell not?”

“Because i’m still in love with you!” it was bad timing, truly. In theory, someone probably should have stopped her from stepping outside while the two of you were fighting, but nobody did. Nobody stopped Mackayla from hearing everything that Nolan said, everything that he had denied to her for as long as they’d been together, and they didn’t stop her from walking out into the backyard just as her boyfriend was confessing his love for another girl.

You deflated at the sight of her, shoulders slumping when you realized that you were responsible for two people’s heart breaks tonight. Three if you counted Nolan, but you didn’t. He’d been like this for a long time it seemed and while you wanted to fix that, one thing Nolan was right about was the fact that there was too much damage between the two of you to backtrack now.

“You’re in love with her?” Nolan’s eyes fluttered shut at the sound of her voice, mind racing over all the ways he messed up in the past that led to this moment. His girlfriend of x amount of months was now standing behind him, her heart in her stomach and her cheeks wet as she witnessed her boyfriend confess that he was in love with the girl she’d been worried about for the entirety of their relationship.

“Mack.” he whispered gently, turning around to face the girl who had already given up on him. There was no way he could fix this. He had told her too many times to count that nothing had ever happened between you and him. He promised her that you weren’t somebody she needed to worry about, but he told everyone that it seemed. “Mack I didn’t mean to-”

She turned and ran back into the house before Nolan could even finish his thought. While he wanted to turn around and drill into you for fucking up another thing for him, he knew it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything you weren’t allowed to do and he made a mess for himself. He didn’t walk into a mess you built, didn’t try to fix someone who didn’t need fixing, but he did break two girls who deserved the world.

“Good job.” you mumbled to yourself, bumping his arm with your shoulder when you walked past him and tried to follow Mackayla when he made no effort to.

“Y/n-” you spun at the sound of your name, angry tears building up in your eyes at the look on his face, a look that made you feel guilty for something you were more than allowed to do.

“No! You don’t get to berate me. You don’t get to belittle me or tell me that I made a mistake. I’m allowed to do whatever the fuck I want to. You left me, remember? You left me and you told me that I needed to let you be happy. I tried, Nolan. I tried so hard to let you be happy and now you’re screaming at me in front of everybody because of what? Because I might be starting to be happy without you? You don’t get to be angry at me for finding a way to fix myself. Just leave me alone.” by the time you passed by everyone who was looking at the floor rather than up at you, you knew that you should leave anyways.

With your phone in one hand and your shoes in the other, you ran outside and sighed at the relief you felt when you found Mackayla sitting on the curb.

“Mackayla!” you ran down the driveway towards her, wincing at the sight of her glaring harshly at you. “Mackayla I’m so sorry.”

She wiped her cheeks and nose and let out a heavy sigh. In reality, she couldn’t be mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong in her mind and you surely weren’t the one that lied to her. Sure, it wasn’t her first choice to hang out with the girl that inherently stole her boyfriend from her, but she also figured that she had stolen your boyfriend in a way so she guessed that made the two of you even.

“He sucks.” you laughed gently and sat beside her, opening your phone while you plopped down on the curb beside her.

“He does.” you paused for a moment before smiling over at her. “You’re staying with him, aren’t you?” she nodded slowly, realizing that she didn’t have anywhere to go or any of her things. “Well I'm about to order an uber if you want to crash at my place for the night. I’ll answer any questions you want and I’ll help you get your shit from his place in the morning.”

She hesitated, clearly not ready to accept your offer with a wide smile and an open mind. She hardly knew you, and she wasn’t ready to forget about all of the things she was beginning to realize about you and Nolan’s relationship.

But she agreed, because she truly had nowhere else to go. She sat at your dining room table with you in a pair of your sweatpants and a shirt you had promised her was not Nolan’s. She drank your coffee out of one of your mugs and asked you every question that had plagued her over the course of her relationship with Nolan. Not all of them were about you, not even all of them were about Nolan, but you answered them all regardless.

You helped her get her things in the morning from Nolan’s and drove her to the airport when she was able to rebook her flight back home. You apologized ten more times and she waved off every one of them by telling you that you didn’t do anything wrong other than be the love of Nolan’s life, which wasn’t your fault entirely.

Karly was there to help pick up the pieces the best that she could, though it was hard with her not always being in Philly. She tried to fill the space in your life that Joel left when he stopped coming around for movie nights and take out dinners. You fully stopped going to Flyers games, finding no use in showing up to them anymore.

Every call you made was sent to voicemail, every text left unread. You were being shut out, and you couldn’t do anything about it. Travis tried to assure you it wasn’t your fault, you just didn’t notice your best friend falling in love with you because you were trying to fall out of love with his teammate. He told you to just give Joel time, but you were stuck believing that ‘time’ may never have an ending.

So you threw yourself into your work. You submitted projects before their due dates and received positive feedback on just about every portion of them. It was a healthy coping mechanism, a way to shift your focus onto something productive. You did such a good job, in fact, that your boss called you into his office after a few months.

It was nerve wracking, to be called into your boss’s office with no clues as to why. It was even more nerve wracking after you had left and your hands were slightly shaking. The weight put onto your shoulders was unlike any you’d ever experienced, plagues with a decision to make all on your own. It wasn’t a decision you wanted, not one you had even been close to looking for, but it’s one that you got.

It’s one that lingered in the back of your mind for weeks afterwards, still never reaching a decision. The flexible timeline gave you all the time in the world to decide, and your boss wasn’t pushing you in either direction, though you slightly wished he would have.

But then you told Karly about said decision, and the way you watched her face fall told you that she knew what your decision would be. In all actuality, you knew what your decision was. If you were going to say no, you would have by now. You would have denied the offer and stuck with your current life, boring or not.

You were practically tackled the second you stepped foot in Travis’s apartment, his arms thrown around you as he leaned into you just enough to throw off your balance. Phil followed close behind, wrapping you up in his arms and telling you that you weren’t allowed to disappear for that long ever again. Karly’s sideways glance in your direction went unseen to everyone but you, mostly because you silently told her to drop it, given that now was not the time to be talking about this.

But then you felt your heart sink further into your chest with every passing second. It was nice to be around all the people that made Philly feel like home to you, but it made your decision harder. Not because you had to choose which side you were on anymore, but because it made your choice that much harder to accept.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard if Joel wasn’t going out of his way to ignore you. The way he ducked out of your way any time he got close to you, or the way he purposefully stood on the opposite side of the room when the only open seat was beside you. You noticed the way he steered clear of you and while you wanted to be upset that you didn’t have your best friend to make these things easier for you, you knew that Joel was doing this for his own good, not to hurt you.

So you found yourself on Travis’s balcony with Karly, your head leaning on her shoulder while you swung a bottle back and forth between your fingers. The sound of the door opening behind you made you turn over your shoulder, eyes locking with the same pair of blue eyes that you knew you’d have to face at some point.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Karly whispered gently before standing up and ducking back inside.

Nolan closed the door this time, making it a habit in everything he did nowadays. He sat beside you, his knee knocking into yours gently. He didn’t know what to say to you, didn’t know how to apologize for all of the things he had put you through. The two of you had something beautiful once, you’re not sure when it turned itself upside down but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when things were about to change so drastically. Maybe not for him, but definitely for you.

“I’m shocked your lap dog’s not out here.” you rolled your eyes, finding it ridiculous that you thought he would start this conversation on a positive note.

“Why don’t you sit there and i’ll sit here and we can keep to ourselves until one of us wants to go back inside.” he sighed, like he regretted starting off on the wrong foot.

“We can’t even try to be nice to each other?” you turned to him then, giving him a look he hadn’t seen in a long time. It reminded him of times where you’d let the stress from school and work pile up, when you looked at him with an exhaustion that he couldn’t help. It was how you looked right before you stress cried, right before you’d normally turn into his chest and unload everything you’d been holding on to for far too long.

“I’ve tried being nice to you. I’ve tried letting you live your life but the second I started doing that, you stopped letting me live mine. I think you only want me to be happy if you’re the one that’s making me happy and that’s fucked. I lost my best friend over it. I lost the love of my life. It feels like I'm losing everything and I'm starting to think this isn’t the place I need to be anymore.” the latter part of your rant slipped without you even realizing it.

“What are you saying?” you shook your head, chewing on the side of your cheek and deciding not to dive into. Nolan didn’t care, and he was not the person you needed to be talking to about these things.

“Nothing. Forget about it.”

“Y/n. You’ve never been good at opening up but you’re clearly struggling. I know I'm not your first choice right now but I'm the only one that’s here. There was a time when I was your go to person for this sort of thing. So just tell me, what are you talking about?” you stared at him, hesitation evident in the way you were chewing on your tongue.

He was right, though. At one point, he was the person you called when things went wrong. He was the one you unloaded things onto at the end of the day when he asked what was worrying you. You told him your problems, shared your demons with him. If there was anybody who knew how you got when things were ruining you from the inside out, it was Nolan.

“I got a promotion.” a small smile spread across his lips, excitement and pride filling his chest. He always supported your work ventures, and he knew that they were crazy to ever think that you wouldn’t be their top employee sooner or later.

“Y/n that’s great.” you shook your head slowly, heart deflating in your chest before you pushed out the vital information that he hadn’t been looking for.

“It’s in Vancouver.”

He didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he wanted to say no. no, you can’t go to Vancouver. No, you can’t leave Philly behind. No, they don’t need you up there, they need you down here. He wanted to grovel, to fall to his knees and to beg you to stay. Stay in an apartment that he knew like the back of his hand, stay in a city where he knows you’re never too far. He wanted to say that moving to Vancouver was crazy and you’d regret it before you even had time to settle in.

But he couldn’t do that, because the other half of him was louder and logical. You deserved the promotion, deserved the raise that came with it despite where the job was. Nolan knew that Philly held things that you wanted to forget about, reminded you of times in your life that were only painful to think about at this point. You didn’t want to be here anymore, that much Nolan could tell. If you didn’t want to be here, you shouldn’t have to be.

“I think that would be good for you.” it was hard for him to say, tasting just as vile as it was to think about you going to another city.

Would you go to Canucks games? Would he have to see you dressed in blue and green rather than orange and black? Would you start hanging out with the Canucks roster like you did with the Flyers or would you avoid hockey completely? Maybe you’d date one of their players or maybe you’d make sure that anybody even remotely affiliated with hockey stayed far away from you. He didn’t know what the future held for you, but he hoped it was filled with joy and relief from the things you’d endured in Philly.

It hurt you to hear him say it just as much as it hurt him to say it. You could see that there were more thoughts swimming through his mind, that he wasn’t telling you everything he was thinking. Part of you wanted him to beg you to stay, to say that he was single now and everyone knew about the two of you anyway. You wanted him to say that maybe one more shot would finally do the trick, but you knew he wouldn’t and you knew that jumping back into anything with Nolan was far from a good idea.

Then there was Joel. Joel who had feelings for you that you never got the chance to hear about. There was a place for you and Joel, you knew that, but you thought it was unattainable. To be with Joel after everything between you and Nolan, it’d be a catastrophe. There wasn’t a possibility of you going back to being best friends, not when he had feelings for you that weren’t unrequited. You could pour your heart out to Joel, could tell him that you could see yourself falling in love with him if he was willing to be patient with you. But you couldn’t do that either. Not when you had finally come to the conclusion that you needed to move to Vancouver in order to put yourself back together.

That didn’t stop you from looking over your shoulder though, gazing at the boy who was impossible to rid your mind of. His smile made your heart clench, the way his head tilted back and his eyes screwed shut behind his glasses. He was beautiful in every sense of the word and while you loved the sound of a world where the two of you fell in love with zero complications, you knew that you were holding onto false hope.

“You should tell him. I don’t doubt he’ll show up on your doorstep in Vancouver if you don’t.” you laughed gently and turned back to face Nolan, hardly aware of when you had turned away from him. He wore a gentle smile, one that told you that even if you took this step, he would still be here for you. Maybe not in the ways that you previously needed him to be, but there was always room for building a new foundation.

“I will in a bit.” you whispered gently, sinking into your seat and lying your head on Nolan’s shoulder.

You’d miss this; he noisy bunch inside right behind you, the skyline you could see from Tk’s balcony. You’d miss the feeling of being close to Nolan, if only having your head on his shoulder while you sat in silence. You’d miss excitedly running into his apartment with new song recommendations, or him sending you a short playlist he made on the road for you. You’d miss waking up in the middle of the night to him tossing and turning until you brought him painkillers and a tall glass of water.

You’d miss Joel slamming his way into your apartment with a bright smile that meant he was having a dangerous thought. You’d miss the times you’d bring his back to the rink when he forgot it at home, or the way that he brought you lunch on days when you were too busy to send him a simple text that told him you were okay. You’d miss lying your head in his lap and looking up at him with nothing but love in your chest.

You’d miss going to Flyers games and watching your friends do the thing they loved most. You’d miss watching Joel score insane goals that you were always unsure of how he made them. You’d miss wearing Nolan’s Flyers paraphernalia and splitting snacks with Karly.

You’d miss it all, but you had to go. You had to go for you, because Philly isn't home anymore. It would always hold a special place in your heart, but so would all of the people in it. And you knew you needed to lead all of them behind as well.

Even the ones with bright blue eyes that would be burned into your memory for the rest of your life.

#nolan patrick #nolan patrick x reader #nolan x reader #nolpat #joel farabee #joel farabee x reader #joel x reader #beezer #philadelphia flyers #flyers #nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nolan patrick imagine #joel farabee imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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butterysalt · 4 years ago

Text

Fun | Sherlock x platonic!Reader

Pairing: Sherlock x platonic!gender neutral reader

Request ( @a-paper-cut ):

Word Count: 2,202

Contains: Mentions of child abduction, platonic fluffiness and banter :)

A/N: AAAAAAA thank you so much, lovely! This was my first request and I was SUPER excited to write it hehe. I’ve been on a slight creative block lately and I enjoyed writing this so much. I hope this fic does justice for what you wanted and I hope that you are doing amazingly 🧡🧡

It was an early, snowy winter morning in London. You and Sherlock Holmes have been mind-boggled by a puzzling case for the past week. The detective proposed that the two of you go on a walk to allow some fresh air in the brains again. This suggested that even his extensive mind palace and composing weren’t helping the genius. Not that you were complaining about sharing a nice stroll with Sherlock. It had been years after all since you two had spent any casual time together. Like what people normally did in their free time, anyway.

The two of you stepped side by side, feet planting in the thin sheet of snow on the ground in unison. You grinned a little at the matched body language. You and Sherlock always had special ways to subtly communicate with one another. It was like a part of your minds were connected.

“Anything yet?” the tall brunette questioned. Your lip twitched upward. “Don’t rush the process, Sherlock. Just enjoy the moment. Live in it a little.” Sherlock’s long drawl could be heard next to you. His walking strides were growing longer as his patience began to thin out. You could practically hear the subtle gnawing of his teeth.

“We’ve only been walking 5 minutes,” you flouted, “Loosen up a bit.” Sherlock snickered to himself, messing with his gloved hands. “You’re already trying to read me?”

“You’re walking like you’ve got a stick up your arse. It’s clear you’re agitated,” you jested. The curly-haired detective sneered at you and kicked a clump of ice out of the way. “I can’t think, Y/n. We have potential homicide to solve and we’re here drudging in the snow.”

“Remember, this was your idea, genius. Unless you can come up with something else, this is all we’ve got.” Sherlock went silent, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mind wandered to try and come up with something snarky to throw at you. Perhaps a witty comeback that would leave you in doubt. The headache he was dealing with was enough to strike him in his train of thought. He shook it off and his focus returned to the matter of urgency. Unsolved case.

Sherlock lifted his face to the sky, blowing a hot cloud of breath into the chilly London air. He tugged his scarf a little closer to his neck, shoving his gloved hands down into his thick coat. The breath cloud was a common habit of Sherlock’s during cold weather. It mimicked the effect of blowing cigarette smoke, just without the tar and nicotine. Fortunately, the only time the detective abused drugs anymore was when cases had him horribly stumped; thanks to you and John’s efforts, his drug use was much more controlled now.

“Five missing children. All between the ages of 7 and 9. We know that the connection is tied to their private schools. Three different religious private schools within a 10 kilometer radius — so, fairly close together. The parents reported their children coming home with expensive gifts from a mysterious donor shortly before they went missing. They referred to the perpetrator as ‘Ray’. Anyone handing out shiny trinkets to naive children is either a philanthropist or a predator. I’d like to bet on the latter.”

You sighed, mentally reviewing all of the evidence from the case in your head. “But all of the children knew basic safety protocols: don’t talk to strangers, never accept anything from strangers, the whole package. Their parents are terribly traditional. They never would have let any of them see the light if they broke any of those rules. So the chances are near impossible that they would have fallen for such typical child abduction tricks.”

“Near impossible, L/n. That means there’s still a possibility and possible is all we need to screw this up,” Sherlock tutted. He blew another large cloud of air, shaking some light snow off his curls. You frowned, “The suspects. We’ve interrogated the popes, teachers, parents… who are we missing?”

Sherlock stopped walking. You turned to check up on him, finding him with his eyes shut. “Maybe we’re asking the wrong questions…”

“Of course we’re asking the wrong questions! We have all the pieces in our hands but no instructions, Sherlock. We’re running in circles with this case,” you walked over to a public railing, leaning against it and looking out across the long white blanket that stretched to the horizon.

He joined your side shortly after, bending down to pick up some rocks to toss down the snowy hill and watch as they made skinny trails in the frosty powder. Sherlock sighed out, exasperated and worn out. “We’re not getting anywhere by mulling over it, are we?”

You smiled at him and shook your head. You pulled your coat a little tighter around yourself. “That’s why I’m here to keep you in check. It’s good to get some air, you know? Christ knows when’s the last time you did that simply because you wanted to.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow perked up and he faced you with a blank expression. “How do you mean?” Your eyes widened a little, unsure of how you should pick out your next words. “Well… you know, you don’t exactly, uh…” Nervously, your eyes flicked up to his. He was watching your expression very carefully.

“You don’t spend a lot of time for yourself,” you said simply. Sherlock frowned in disagreement. “I spend a lot of time by myself. I thought you knew me better than that,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your back against the cold railing now, crossing your arms. “In your mind palace, Sherlock. I mean you don’t do things you enjoy.”

“Who said I don’t enjoy things?” he countered your query. You found yourself forming a cold sweat, debating on how to deliver your message. “Hobbies?”

“Violin.”

“Meh. Parties?”

“You disturb me.” Your best friend’s disgust made you cackle. “See, that’s my point! You don’t know how to have fun anymore. What happened to old Sherlock?”

Now this was a personal offense against Sherlock. “What? You don’t think I’m fun?” Sherlock sounded incredibly appalled by your claim. A hot cloud of air rose to the sky when you scoffed.

“Holmes, you are probably the farthest thing when it comes to the definition of fun!”

“Well, probability-wise, that’s highly improbable when Mycroft exists.”

“His poshness makes up for it. You’re just irritating.” Sherlock puffed out his red cheeks, nudging you playfully. “Oh, come on. You must admit that I’m at least an interesting character?”

You pondered in fake thought, scrunching your face together. “Interesting is debatable. Fun? That’s foreign territory, Sherlock.” The tall man grimaced deeply at your bluntness that he clearly had issues with. “What do you mean by ‘Old Sherlock’? What was good about the ‘old me’? I consider myself much more refined in the present day.”

Old memories of the two of you hanging out with one another as teenagers came back to you. A smile melted on your face from the warm feelings of nostalgia, the chilliness from the snowfall leaving your body.

“You used to prank Mycroft all the time. Everything was always a competition with you and me; we would go from racing down the neighborhood to reach my house first or rush to finish homework and claim the telly before the other could. Oh! We would always make up fake cases, too, trying to entertain a mystery that didn’t even exist,” you laughed to yourself, “Look at us now.”

Sherlock grumbled at the reminder of your old shenanigans. He wasn’t always the fondest of his younger self. But he had to admit he was reckless, even as a child. It was a simpler time and kids didn’t have much to fret or fear.

“Now you’re all enigmatic and stoic with your flipped up coat collar and scary cheekbones. The difference is so disappointing, it’s sickening,” you gagged. Sherlock slipped off his glove and jabbed his freezing hand against your neck, making you exclaim at the coldness and shove him backward. He wore a victorious smirk at your suffering. You pointed a hard finger at him, holding back your own laughter to prove a point.

“NO, that’s not being fun, Sherlock. That’s torture- sadism! You’re just an arse!” He threw his arms in the air, tossing his glove in your face. “It’s subjective! I can be fun,” he insisted.

“You’re predictable, Holmes. You don’t remember what good humor is and it shows in your actions. You pick everything up from books and telly. You can’t surprise me anymore,” you declared. Sherlock’s expression contorted into shock as he stared at you in disbelief. You had left the great Sherlock Holmes baffled. The silence was deafening — music to your ears.

When you thought you were winning this argument, a special glint quickly shone in Sherlock’s eyes. Your expression dropped and then you were pushed backward. There was no railing behind you anymore to catch you.

As you were falling, you naturally grasped for something to hold on to. In this case, Sherlock’s coat. The evil smirk on his face was immediately replaced with shock then fear as he was crashing hard into you. Gravity did the rest of the work. With the momentum you had already begun, dragging Sherlock down with you was one of the worst possible outcomes of the situation. A crude curse slipped past his lips and both of you latched onto each other because there was nothing else to brace with.

What was initially meant to be a playful fall down the snowy hill turned into a rolling battle full of frantic thrashing and screaming as both of your bodies thumped and tangled with each other. The two of you occasionally bounced a few inches off the ground and crashed back into the ground, knocking the breath out of both of you. The wild human avalanche down the hill was finally put to a stop when you rolled into a tree. With a loud OOMPH, you and Sherlock flopped into the ground, groaning and croaking in pain. Neither of you moved for the first passing moments, unable to process what just happened.

Your fall was broken when you landed on top of Sherlock, his body sprawled out in the cold snow, rasping heavily. Some snow fell off your form and your arms shook as you propped yourself up, no longer caring about the fact that you applied all the pressure in your friend’s ribs.

“You alright, mate?” you panted, checking up on Sherlock, eyes analyzing him for any serious injuries.

“You take my breath away.” You sputtered and shook your head at his ridiculous humor. “Aren’t you just romantic?” He squinted his eyes and flashed a sarcastic smile but groaned out, “No, really. Please get off my chest.”

“Oh God, sorry,” you scrambled off of him and he rolled over into the snow, gasping for air as he clutched his side in pain. You punched him in the shoulder. “You bloody twat, Sherlock Holmes! Pushing me down a hill by Jove’s sake!”

“I remember it being much more fun when we were younger,” he grunted out, pushing himself onto his forearms. And just then, his eyes burst wide open. His face slack-jawed as his brain computed at top speed. He was onto something.

“Sherlo-”

“FUN, Y/n,” he articulated, scrambling over to you and grabbing you by the shoulders. You stiffened and backed away, startled by his abrupt realization.

“Oh, Y/n, you are brilliant! This is why we work together!”

“What?! What are you-”

“The kids were abducted because they were having fun! ‘Ray’ is Remus Stooge, another private school kid in the area. The Stooge family owns several of the land plots around this corner of London and they’re the ones funding all three schools — The Stooge’s are plenty wealthy. The children were going to Remus’s home, ditching class time to get a personal house tour of his daddy’s money. The fancy car rides, luxurious delights, shiny sneakers and tailored clothing… Who wouldn’t pass up on an opportunity like that? It only makes sense why they were lured in so easily! Their rich best pal Remus has been the one inviting them right into the trap!”

“What- Sherlock! Where is this all coming from?! How do you even-”

“Trust me, Y/n!! I have it figured out- It all makes sense!” he interjected again. The look on your faces was bizarre. You tossed a handful of snow at him as he blocked it with his hands. “NO?? It doesn’t! This is so sudden-”

Sherlock was on his feet in an instant, brushing off the powder from his coat and yanking you up. His eyes were gleaming with excitement. “We have to go tell Lestrade, now! Call John and get over to the Stooge’s place!”

“To arrest the kid?!”

“No, the butler!” He grabbed your gloved hand and dragged you up the steep white hill. You shook your head wildly, “Holmes, you better have a bloody good explanation for this in the cab or there will be hell to pay.” Sherlock smirked triumphantly and squeezed your hand.

“Come, L/n! The game is on!”

Requests are open! <3

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock fic #reader insert #sherlock fanfic #sherlock x platonic reader #platonic #fluff #humor #request #gnc #gender neutral reader #a-paper-cut #prompt list request

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bluefirewrites · 3 years ago

Note

not sure if u are still taking this but, celebrity/fan au for JUKEE 🤭

Okay this one's a little involved but I got you!

Rated T for mentions of sex and maybe some language

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I’LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

******

Julie tugs against the rather short dress Flynn had squeezed her in, not caring for how much she looks like a glorified candy wrapper in the shimmering gold.

She feels like she's some Ferrer Roche, waiting to be devoured.

Which seems to be her intention for tonight because she's insane, and so is her bestie Flynn, because she's supposed to grab the attention of a certain someone in this club.

Her motives for tonight sound like they come straight out of a Wattpad story, but her boyfriend- or well maybe an ex boyfriend now'- forced her hand.

So a year ago, right around the time they started dating, they both disclosed their 'hall passes'. Just a list of celebrities they were both 'allowed' to cheat on their partners with. It was fun. Just to see who the other person would pick.

It was harmless because the whole point is that these people are so famous, so far out of reach, that the odds of hooking up with them would be essentially impossible.

Nick's was the lead singer of the world famous pop group Dirty Candi. And Julie remembers drunkenly applauding the choice ("She's pretty! Wowww you like them Bubblegum Pop girls?")

They had a laugh that night and Julie doesn't really consider that hall pass conversation all that much since then-

-Until fast forward to last week when Nick disclosed to her that he ran into Carrie Wilson at an event. And then promptly disclosed to her that he invoked his 'Hall Pass' rights.

His rights?! She had exploded at him, and he claims that its no big deal. That he thought she would understand that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, a crazy set of circumstances, and that- 'Holy shit Jules, she was actually into me. Like what?'

Understandably, Julie stormed out and has been staying with Flynn for the time being. And it must have been the haze of crying and watching a lot of true crime series to cheer herself up that she and Flynn concocted this... plan.

One fueled by spite and pettiness.

Get back at Nick, make him jealous, make him feel how she did- by invoking her own 'Hall Pass' rights-

-which so happens to be Sunset Curve frontman, Luke Patterson...

"There he is" Flynn whispers from their corner of the club and Julie gulps.

"I don't think I can do this," Julie hisses at Flynn, when they spot him at the bar, nursing a drink with his bandmates like he usually would (they did their research).

See, Julie’s been a fan of Luke’s for a long time. Ever since she heard ‘Now or Never’ in freshman year of high school, she’s been hooked onto their music- especially Luke and his voice and playing.

She had their posters on her bedroom wall and had been that girl who would (when no one’s looking) press her fingers to her lips then press them against Luke’s image before going to bed.

It was that bad.

And Julie had probably fantasized on more than one occasion of meeting him and all the other scenarios you would picture in a typical Celeb x Reader scenario.

And she’d like to think she grew out of it, now she’s in her mid-twenties and just casually listens to Sunset Curve, following up on their careers every now and then.

But you can never really shake your first major celebrity crush. Hence he had been on her so called ‘Hall Pass’ list.

(”You into rockstars, Jules?” Nick had teased her that night.)

Seeing him there, in the same place as her, is so surreal, but Flynn’s continued pinches to her arm remind her just how real this is.

“This is ridiculous,” Julie crosses her arms, ready to bow out because what is she thinking? Why would Luke Patterson pick her up, of all people, at the bar? It’s like a supermodel runway in here, filled with girls more accomplished and famous. Her confidence is shaken a bit and she rethinks everything.

"Nick didn't seem to have a problem when he did it," Flynn points out, “And girl, you look great. He would be blind to not want you.”

The mention of Nick still boils her blood, which only reaffirms her plans for revenge. She’s still nervous but they both stand up from their booth and walk over to the bar.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend,”

“No. You’re musician extraordinaire, Julie Molina! The world may not have heard about you, but they will one day. I bet that’s something you can talk to him about. Music? Lyrics?”

Julie could use her songwriting credentials to her advantage, “I mean I guess-”

“Quick, he’s getting up!”

“Flynn, wait I’m not-”

With a forceful push, Flynn sends Julie into the path of Luke Patterson, colliding into him and effectively spilling his drink all over her dress.

“Oh my god,” Luke gapes at her, “I am so sorry-”

Julie fans herself, shaking slightly from the fact she’s drenched and also that her freakin’ high school celebrity crush is looking at her, actually talking to her.

But she recovers quickly, and she speaks, “It’s fine. Really. I guess I’m just... clumsy.” She shoots a glare at Flynn, who merely winks and retreats to their booth.

Luke grimaces and takes her by the hand, leading her somewhere, napkins in his other hand, “Here, let’s get you cleaned up. Again, I’m sorry. Hate to ruin a pretty... dress.”

It’s the way he eyes her that catches Julie off guard. He’s... not talking about the dress, is he?

Julie reels it back in tries her hand at a joke, “I wouldn’t call this a dress. I feel like fancy leftovers in this thing.”

Luke stifles a laugh, “Okay, I mean I wasn’t gonna say anything but yeah. I guess it’s a bit tin foil-y.”

“Not your style?”

His gaze drifts over to her one last time, “Well, any way to take a meal back home is fine by me. I mean-” Luke scrunches his nose, wincing, “I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. Shit. That was too... much. Are we-” he laughs nervously, “Are we still... talking about food?”

“Unless you just called me a meal. Then no.”

The look in his eyes say that he’s absolutely mortified, “...yeah. I think I did. I was hoping that was a nightmare.”

“Nope, it definitely happened,”

“Feel free to slap me,”

Julie giggles, somewhat delirious because she hasn’t tried to flirt with him but here Luke is, flirting with her. Or trying. And failing. Like a far cry from the suave rockstar she had pictured him to be.

“No need. Just, can you-?” she points to the napkins he’s holding hostage.

“Oh yeah. Here,” They stop in front of the coat check, and he hands her the napkins so she could try herself off with the best she can.

Suddenly, a weight falls onto her shoulders, she looks up and sees Luke draping a jacket over her- his presumably.

“You looked cold,”

Julie wraps the jacket tight against her, relishing in the warmth, “Wow, thanks.”

Luke smiled and stepped back, “Just so you know, if I made you feel weird in any way, I’d like to throw out my third ‘sorry’ of the night. Nothing has to happen though. So, just say the word and I’ll leave you alone.”

Whew. Um, okay. Julie stands there, faced with this decision.

The compliments aside (she will revisit those later), Luke’s giving her an out. Any reservations she has about moving forward with this plan, this is her chance to leave.

She could just treasure these amazing few minutes for the rest of her life. This could be a story to tell friends at a dinner party, about the time a rockstar lent her his jacket. Would be up there with the time Jack Black passed her on the street and said “Nice hat!”.

But-

Maybe she wants to see where this goes.

“All this talk about food is making me hungry though...” she says and Luke lights up, “I could go for a bite to eat.”

Luke snaps his fingers, “I know just the place.”

*******

Half an hour later, Julie and Flynn are in a smelly alleyway with the guys from Sunset Curve, in line for a street dog cart just a couple blocks away.

“An Oldsmobile?” Julie gawked after hearing Luke and the guys describe the delicacy, “Are you trying to poison me?”

“I swear by it,” Luke insists, taking her hand and moving them up in the line. Flynn sees this and doesn’t comment, but Julie’s starting to get used to Luke doing that, “You have to try!”

Julie doesn't know when she got over her initial starstruck, but by now its so easy to treat Luke like a regular person.

Well, celebrities are all regular people in the end, but more so now that he and his friends, have their sleeves rolled up, smiles wide, ready to dig into what may be the most disgusting hot dog she has ever seen.

Julie takes a bite out of hers and her eyes widen. Wow. It's not terrible.

"Ayy! We got another one, boys" Reggie laughs, noting her reaction.

"Told ya" Luke needles her sides and she giggles, ticklish. Her knee jerk reaction is to playfully shove him, but in the process accidentally smeared some mustard onto his face.

Luke goes to lick it off with his tongue, making funny faces as he did which amused Julie even more.

"Here," she takes a napkin and wipes at his cheek, "Now we're even."

The whole group gets to talking over by the couches, while Flynn chats up the other boys, Julie and Luke are sequestered in their own corner, and yes, eventually the topic switches to music.

"Wait, so you know Rose and the Petal Pushers?" Luke chokes out, "Like everyone I talk to hasn't heard of them!"

"Yup. Have their record actually" Julie beams proudly, censoring out the part that its her mom's band and hence she has one of the few records ever released.

Luke is floored by that and continues to poke her brain for music and Julie finds that their spiels go on naturally, that she could probably talk with Luke for hours and hours.

Which ends up happening. Flynn had already made her escape, having texted her to come home safely, the boys had gone too, leaving them in the nearly empty lot.

When the food truck closes down for the night, they end up taking a stroll down the streets of L.A, talking and getting to know each other.

Julie learns so much about Luke, things she's never heard about from the press- like his songwriting practice, that he cries at Finding Nemo, and that he can do a cartwheel only when drunk.

And in return Julie shares with him her crazy college stories, how she misses her mom sometimes, and that she is encyclopedia of commercial jingles (a fact Luke exploits by rapidly quizzing her at random moments)

Somehow they end up near the beach, with Julie pointing out the different stars she could see, but finds that Luke isn't looking at the sky.

"Hey, Julie..." He gets her attention, "I had a really good time tonight."

"Me too"

"So... would it be alright, if I kiss you?"

Julie's mouth parts, speechless. It happened. Holy shit it happened or... is happening. She has Luke exactly where she wants him.

She could only nod and Luke takes it as the sign to lean in, but just as his lips is about to brush against hers, she freaks-

"Wait" she steps back. Luke opens his mouth, "No. No more 'sorry's from you. This one's one me. I'm sorry but... this- this" She sighs, "I have to be honest with you."

Then she tells Luke everything- Nick, The Hall Pass, her plans for tonight- basically admitting to using him.

When she's done, she expects for Luke to get angry, to leave in a huff and never want to see her again.

That's not what happens.

"This Nick guy sounds like a piece of work" he says.

Julie nods slowly, "Yeah... I guess he was. So maybe that's why I did it. But I don't think I could have gone through with it. Like I don't think we're together, me and Nick but-"

"You wouldn't want to do what he did. Because you don't want to hurt people," Luke surmises, understanding, "And by doing that, that means you're a better person than he is."

"I guess"

"No Julie, you're a good person" Luke insists, "Man, I think that makes me like you even more."

Julie laughs, "God, if my high school self could see me now..."

"You were a big fan?"

"I'm not having this conversation right now with you,"

"Okay cuz now you got me curious-"

Julie swats his shoulder but it doesn't deter the guy from snickering.

On a more serious note though-

"I think..." Julie hums, "I think this means that I got some stuff to work through. Before I could start considering... this."

"I understand"

"But thank you... Luke. For tonight"

"It's been real, Julie,"Luke smiles and pulls her in for a half hug, "And you should keep the jacket. Looks better on you anyway."

****

Julie goes back to Flynn's that night and her bestie's still awake, wanting all the deets. But there's not much to tell. Nothing happened.

She shrugs off the jacket and resigns to the couch, not caring that her makeup is still on. She's about ready to pass out.

Her phone dings.

She pulls it out and sees two notifications.

luke_patterson is now following you

luke_patterson is requesting to message you.

Curious, she accepts the request.

'here if you want to talk, Tin Foil :P'

Julie rolls her eyes and collapses onto the couch, sleeping with a smile on her face.

She doesn't know it now, but the oncoming years would be filled with more messages back and forth, meetups with their friends for more shady street food, building a solid foundation of friendship and eventually, when Luke asks again if he could kiss her, Julie would eagerly prop herself on her toes to close the gap.

Yeah, Julie's high school self would definitely be screaming...

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #julie molina #luke patterson #luke x julie #julie x luke #this one turned into an actual fic wtf #lol #i got carried away #long post #blue answers asks #celebrity/fan au

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jincherie · 4 years ago

Text

say so | knj & ksj [m]

! — COMMISSION — !

❥ — pairing: namjoon x reader x seokjin ❥ — genre: poly, 1950s au/rockabilly au, smut, childhood f2l, angst, fluff, musician!namjin, burlesque!mc ❥ — words: 24.5k+ ❥ — rating: 18+ ❥ — warnings: light angst, pining, smut !!!; oral (all kinds), anal, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, edging, light switch!joon, light switch!oc, harder dom!jin, double pentration, cockwarming, reverse cowgirl etc.... if I forgot sometihng I will add it later but for now this is it fellas. ❥ — notes: oh my god I am FINALLY ejecting this fic from my brain !!! part of the reason this took so long was, of course, the current circamstances across the world mixed in with a few personal factors, but also because I haven’t written a ‘historical’ fic before and I wanted to make sure I got it right ! of course, that somehow ended with me going way over word count so i am so sorry for that, but i truly hope you like it! I haven’t gone over it yet but i will do that later, i just wanted to post and get this fic out of my asshole

Returning to your hometown for a week is something you’ve managed to avoid for three years, but when you can finally put it off no longer you find upon arrival the very thing you were scared of encountering. When the two famous childhood friends you haven’t spoken to in years have returned at the same time as you, you can’t quite tell whether you’re going to be able to make it out in one piece or emerge with a heart more wounded than before.

Especially since it turns out the feelings you thought you were over never quite went away.

— masterlist | posted; 17.08.2020

You didn’t really expect to find yourself back here so soon, but here you are— everything in your room is in exactly the same state as it was three years ago.

The covers on your bed, the magazine cuttings, faded posters and hand-painted canvases that mark the phases of your youth hung on your wall—even the light-toned floral wallpaper and the little knickknacks atop your dresser are the same. It makes something like nostalgia rise within you, a reminiscent haze filtering through your thoughts. It has been too long since you’ve been back here, and the guilt that always lingers in the back of your mind now pushes its way to the forefront. You feel bad, not having been back to your childhood home in so long, despite the reasons you had for moving away.

You haven’t been here all that long, but as soon as you finished talking with your parents downstairs your feet had carried you here, more out of habit that anything. Absentmindedly, you brush your hand over the oak of your dresser, curious when your fingertip comes back without a single speck of dust. Your mother must have come through often to clean. The realisation both warms your heart and compounds the guilt you feel, making you frown. In an effort to distract yourself, you turn your gaze back to the rest of your old room, catching sight of a few photographs plastered above your study desk. You know what they contain, and still you can’t seem to help yourself as you draw closer and peer at them anew. They’re just as familiar to your eyes as you expected.

Of course, in this house you’d be lucky to find a photograph of you that didn’t also have these two in it.

Your eyes skip over the older ones with yellowing glaze and curled corners to focus on the most recent-looking image, drinking in the two boys you’d spent the entirety of your childhood and teen years with. Easily your best friends, until… well, until three years ago. A fond smile fights its way to your lips; you remember when this was taken. Your mother had lined the three of you up for a photo in the yard but at the very last second they’d pushed you into the pool. Both boys stand tall in the image, but you’d recognise the taller one with the goofy grin anywhere, even if his face wasn’t already plastered across newspapers and featuring on the television every other evening. Namjoon is just as boyish in the image as you recall, and next to him where they stand laughing over the pool is Seokjin, appearance every bit as neat and clean as you’ve glimpsed in recent years when he has featured in a magazine or program that is particularly popular with the youth. It was always a bit weird to you, a little hard to process, that the two boys you’ve known since the three of you were in diapers are now pretty much, well… celebrities. Something bubbles in your chest, the pressure of a sigh but the weight of something you’re not quite ready to name yet. Distantly, in the back of your mind, a tiny part of you whispers that it tastes a little like regret, and sounds a little like yearning.

Growing up, the two of them had discovered an affinity for music, and you for the arts. You suppose that small difference is what eventually led to the distance that grew between you, before you left— if not for the fact that they found the limelight so naturally and built popularity quicker than anticipated after their individual musical debuts. It really didn’t take them all that long to begin steadily growing their fanbase within the youth of your town, their songs played more and more often on local stations. Before long people even a few cities over caught wind of them, but you didn’t get to see it. By the point they had spread their wings that far, you were already gone.

You wrinkle your nose, not liking this sudden trip down a particular lane in your memory that you’ve been avidly avoiding the past three years. Taking a step back from the desk that the photographs hang above, you desperately search for something else to capture your attention. Fortunately for you, a voice sounds behind you before you can flounder too long.

“Wow, I can’t believe you actually came. How long has it been, forty years?”

You jump slightly, the familiarity of the voice and sheer amount of attitude in the words allowing you to recognise it instantly. You spin, eyes quickly locking onto the familiar head of straight blonde hair and cherubic features that belong to your sister. You’ve kept in touch with her via letter and the occasional call, but other than that this is the first time you’ve seen her in years. She’s a little bit taller than you remember, and she’s filled out a little more now that she’s no longer a gangly teen. You are surprised though to note the absence of the usual distressed denim that she favoured throughout the years. Instead she’s in a neat pair of capris that rise to the dip of her waist, where she has tucked in a bright red blouse beneath a belt. Out of habit, you look down to her feet and catch a glimpse of red canvas shoes that instantly make you want to laugh; your mother never could get her into a pair of heels, even if she managed to get her out of the dungarees that she used to love so much. Lisa smiles cheekily beneath your scrutiny, opening her arms wide. With a laugh, you throw your own around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

“You’re so dramatic,” you retort, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it. “Of course I would come to celebrate my own sister’s engagement. I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it.”

“Why does everyone say the same thing when I talk about it?” Lisa groans, pulling back with a familiar pout that seems to have survived her transition into young adulthood. She slips her arm through your own, giving your bicep a smack as she leads you from the room. “It’s not that hard to believe that I’m getting married! Also— what on earth have you been up to all these years? Have you been attending classes? You’re in such good shape, oh my goodness—”

Unwittingly, your cheeks flush; you probably shouldn’t tell her the real reason for your current physique lest she blab with champagne-loosened lips about it to the rest of your family at her party. Sober Lisa is the only one that knows how to keep a secret, as you’ve found out through a number of shamefully scrawled confessions in the letters she would send you. A number of things you’d confided in her over the years have since been aired like dirty laundry to some of her friends, much to your mutual regret.

“Uh, yeah. Something like that,” you say dismissively, quickly returning to the previous topic as the two of you descend the stairs. “And it’s probably because of all those things you said when you were younger, like how you’d rather live in a mud hut on a deserted island than ever marry a smelly boy riddled with cooties—”

“Ah, yes,” Lisa sighs, the sound more fond and less ashamed than you were expecting. “Those were the days— I was such a badass little ankle-biter. What has become of me? I must be the one riddled with cooties at this point.”

“Probably,” you muse, catching sight of your mother behind the kitchen counter and shooting her a smile as you move past. Lisa is lucky she hadn’t spoken too loudly or else she’d be getting a light smack for her language. It never seemed to stop her when she was younger though, so you doubt it would have an effect now either.

“A skirt at the knee, y/n?” Your mother lets out a dramatic, scandalous gasp upon seeing you. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“These are the clothes that you greeted me in?” You give her a pained look; apparently you need readjusting to her oddball sense of humour. She’s always been a little out of place in the straight-laced, conservative society that marks this day and age; your father too, except he was just a bit more sneaky about it. Actually, now that you think about it, Namjoon and Seokjin’s parents were always a little more on the liberal side too… What an odd coincidence that the three families ended up in a row at the end of the same cul-de-sac.

You’re not deigned with a response, your mother smacking her hands onto the apron she has tied over her baby blue skirt and turning to the oven. You think you hear her muttering about ‘time’ and ‘darn apple pies always taking too long to cook’ and can’t help the way your mouth waters in response. Gods, is it bad if one of the things you missed the most while away is the apple pies your mother makes?

You turn to Lisa, about to ask her whether the apple pie is something you’re going to be able to steal a piece of, only to find that she’s disappeared into thin air. Fantastic. You’re not staying here while you’re back in town, so you’re unsure whether you’re going to be able to cash in on dinner or whether your mother will hold it over your head a little first. You wander over to the edge of the kitchen, sticking your head into the living room to peer around; you’re curious as to just how much has changed in the time that you’ve been gone. Not as much as you might have hoped, to your chagrin.

“You still have that ugly old thing,” you observe, unable to help the way that your nose wrinkles in response to the sight of the monstrosity still wearing holes into the carpet of the living room.

“My love,” you mother says, giving you an (affectionate) sharp smack on the shoulder as she slips past you, shooting you a bright grin when the thickness of her skirt knocks you slightly. Apparently she’s finished in the kitchen for now; you glance back to see a bowl of nuts joining the bowl of fruit that had been on the counter earlier. “I’d sooner perish than give up your grandmother’s armchair. Besides…. I do so adore how it never fails to draw your ire.”

“I do hate that thing,” your father utters suddenly from the kitchen behind you, his hand reaching for the bowl of fruit; he has his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, so you figure he must have retired to his study to read after greeting you earlier. He moves just as fast as you remember— your mother didn’t even have a chance to stop him before he was gone as quick as he came, hands full of whatever fruit he couldn’t fit in his mouth.

“You—!”

The sound of your father’s laughter tumbles off the walls, and you can’t help the smile that tugs your lips. You did miss this; the liveliness, the feeling of home.

“y/n, dear, darling, light of my life…”

You turn to your mother, already knowing what is coming next from her tone. One thing you definitely didn’t miss—

“I forgot when I went past earlier, but could you go and fetch some cream from Barb’s? You know, that little store on the corner, down the road from the diner you always used to—”

You’re already turning towards the front of the house, heading for where you’d left your purse with a fond roll of your eyes. “I know where Barb’s is, Ma! I only went away to study, I didn’t lose my memories!”

Your mother’s cheeky laugh is what bids you farewell as you duck out the door and start on your way.

X – x – x

You’d forgotten just how tempting the treats in Barb’s are.

When you exit the small corner store around an hour or so later (it was hardly any distance to walk, but of course Mrs. Park was keen to hold you hostage long enough to squeeze every single detail out of you she could about your time away) it’s with an overflowing paper bag in your arms that holds more than just the cream your mother sent your for. One look at the apple Danish pastries and cinnamon-sprinkled goodies behind the glass of her counter and you’d been unable to help yourself. Your mother did always say that your sweet tooth would be your undoing.

Walking through the streets that you grew up becoming so familiar with breeds a certain kind of yearning that swells in your chest and borders on painful. This, you suspect, is because most— if not all— of your memories of this place are intrinsically linked with those of the two men who used to take up such a big part of your life; and that therefore then left such a big hole when they were gone.

It’s hard not to fall into them, the memories. The candy store where the three of you would scrounge up as many coins as you could and pile them all together to get the best sweets on the shelves; the library where you spent as much time goofing off and getting scolded as you did studying in your senior years; even the drive-in cinema, where you used to take your parents cars for the evening and sit on the hood while poking fun at the latest flick to grace the screen. Being back here is making you face something that you have somehow skilfully managed to avoid up until now—

You miss them, Seokjin and Namjoon. You miss your best friends.

This is something that is hammered home further when you reach the point in your journey home where you pass the place featured most in your memories. Dana’s Dinery, probably the only thing more constant in your life than those two boys and your own family. The pink and red hues of its name and the exposed bulbs decorating the signage are something you remember clear as day, and just the sight of it alone has your mouth watering for the burgers and other fried goods they loved to serve there. The kind of food you know is terrible for you, but that you also just can’t get enough of nonetheless. You’ve spent so many nights there that at some point every single member of staff there knew you by name. Of course, since the three of you were barely seen apart at that time, they knew Seokjin and Namjoon, too.

You’re tempted to duck in and say hello, and before you can even give it much thought your feet are already angling you in that direction, short heels scuffing against the pavement. Through the window you can see the familiar shiny red booth seats and the similarly upholstered stools that line the counter; behind it is a woman with wild, dark curls thrown back in a bun, a pencil behind her ear. Ah, so Mrs. Cara still works there. A petal of affection unfurls in your chest at the sight of her, but drops to the ground in the next second as your gaze slides to the side and halts on two figures currently seated at the counter.

No way. No way.

You freeze, eyes wide as you stand rooted to the spot for just a moment. You know that logically, they can’t be here, but the profiles you can just barely glimpse from this distance are so eerily familiar to that of Namjoon and Seokjin that you think your heart skips perhaps one too many beats. For some reason, your stomach roils with the urge to flee; you just got around to admitting that you miss them, and yet the second you think you might be seeing them, you want to run away? Honestly, it doesn’t make sense—wouldn’t make sense to anyone else privy to the thoughts currently whipping through your mind.

But you’re a master at stewing in your own thoughts and feelings, familiar with dissecting them until you understand them to the best of your ability at the time. So you know why you promptly turn on your heel and begin hastily back on your way home, abandoning any plans to go inside the diner. You know why, but you’re not quite ready to dwell on it yet, so you push it to the backburner and do your very best not to think about it the whole walk back.

X – x – x

You’re ashamed.

A huff escapes you, your eyes boring into the ceiling, unfocused. After delivering the cream to your mother (and promptly having the extra sweets confiscated until after dinner, lest you snack away your appetite—you guess that answers your question about whether you’re staying for supper) you decided to retire up here for now. You’d thought that your room might feel a little alien to you after all this time away, but when you’d dragged yourself in and shucked your shoes off at the door, it had welcomed you back with an air of nostalgia and open arms. You’re sprawled across your bed now, arms behind your head as you stare at the ceiling. When you were younger, maybe fourteen, you had decorated it with little stars and planets that you’d painted. Well, it wasn’t just you—some of the more crudely decorated renditions towards the wall are courtesy of Seokjin and Namjoon. You wouldn’t say they’re bad at art, just that they have… well, a distinct style that is very them.

Wait, you’re getting distracted—back to the matter at hand: you’re ashamed.

At this point in your life, if someone had asked you why that particular emotion might be plaguing you right now, then in all honesty you would have a vast array of reasons to give them. But the answer as to why you’re ashamed right now, lies in the two people you could have sworn you glimpsed earlier.

Now that there is a little temporal distance between you and that particular moment, you can use logic to assure yourself that there’s no way you actually just saw Namjoon and Seokjin at the diner that you all used to haunt in your youth. But in the moment, when you thought you’d seen them, you fell into a bit of a panic. This, you have determined, is because you are ashamed. It’s a little harder to determine why you’re ashamed in relation to them, but what you’ve managed to discern so far is that you feel to blame for the way things went, at least partially. Or, perhaps its that you fear they blame you for the way things went. In reality, from what you remember, they first began to grow apart from each other, and then they began to grow apart from you. That, of course, isn’t something you can blame yourself for. But, what you can blame yourself for – and here is what you think may be the root of your shame – is that you were the one to up and leave suddenly. You were the one to disappear without even a goodbye, almost. You could have kept in touch if you tried, but you’d basically disappeared off the face of the earth.

You wonder if they blame you, or if they might even resent you because of that.

Well, if they even remember you, that is. They’re pretty much in the big leagues now, you remind yourself. They’re making it mainstream and they’re hot on the heels of the most renowned names in the business.

You’re not very good at comforting yourself. Not that you really attempted it this time, but usually whenever you do you just end up stewing in your thoughts a little. You don’t even realise you’re glaring at the ceiling in the midst of sorting through your mental mess until a knock at the door jerks you out of it. You turn towards it just as it opens and a head pops inside, a gleam you instantly decide you don’t like shining in Lisa’s eyes.

“Come downstairs,” she says cryptically, beginning to ease back out. She only chimes once more when she’s out of view. “If you don’t, I’ll eat all those pastries you brought back! Keep that in mind!”

What on earth… you’re left absolutely confused for a moment, before her last words sink in and you throw yourself from your bed with haste, not even bothering to put your shoes back on before you dart out of the room. The trip downstairs is treacherous in stockings, but you don’t have time to lose. You’re sister isn’t one to bluff, and you don’t want her anywhere near those pastries!

“Don’t you touch those!” you call in warning as you slide across the hardwood floor in the hall and fly down the stairs. “Lisa, I mean it! If you lay a single finger on those pastries you’ll lose it!”

There’s laughter in the direction of the kitchen, and you’re angled to follow the sound when your eyes catch sight of movement to the side and you freeze on the spot.

“y/n!” your mother cries, clearly ecstatic that you’ve come down to join her. She’s standing in the hall that leads the front door, talking to some people you can’t yet see. “Look who’s here! My, I haven’t seen these two in almost as long as I hadn’t seen you!”

Something like dread, mixed with an odd spike of anticipation, begins to trickle into your abdomen. All too suddenly you remember exactly who you thought you saw earlier, and realise she can only be talking about two people in particular.

Nervously, you smooth down your skirt and blouse, shooting your mother a look that you hope isn’t too panicked. She is, of course, oblivious, and simply grabs you by the arm to drag you around the corner.

“I haven’t seen the three of you together in so long! I missed your handsome faces around here, too. Perhaps the height as well— now there’s no one in the house that can reach the top shelf in the pantry.”

Your mother is babbling, but you can’t bring yourself to mind when it saves you from having to speak yourself. As you’d feared, there are two very familiar people standing before you, hovering on your doorstep with almost nervous energy.

“It has been a while,” a soft tone with the luxurious depth of velvet— Seokjin smiles so charmingly at your mother that you think your heart really might have stopped for a second. When his dark eyes turn to you, there is something swirling in their depths that is in such contrast to the winning smile on his lips that you almost feel your knees shake. “y/n, it’s a lovely surprise to catch you here— we didn’t know you were in town as well.”

“Oh, and what brings you two boys back here?” Your mother asks, all too excited to hear exactly what has been going on in their lives since she saw them last. Thankfully, she saves you from having to answer straight away. “Are you back for long?”

“Just a week,” Namjoon answers, bashful smile juxtaposing the beaten leather of the jacket over his shoulders and the low, rough melody of his voice. Oh dear— “We’re actually here celebrating something with a close friend of ours; we were invited to a… party of sorts, you could say.”

You think you might be safe, that he might not say anything to you just yet, when he turns to you and his eyes flick along your form. He smiles again, this time with his dimples making an appearance.

“It really has been too long, y/n. I’m glad we managed to run into you.”

You know it’s not a dig at you, but you feel your cheeks flush with shame nonetheless.

“Don’t tell me the three of you haven’t seen each other since she left,” your mother gasps, sending you a look that tells you she is going to be wringing information out of you later.

There’s a slight lull in the conversation that tells you it’s your time to chime in. Before you can, though, Seokjin speaks— still with a smile, despite the slight bite of his words.

“Ah, yeah,” he says, shaking his head. He leans back slightly, switching his weight to the other leg and crossing his arms over his chest— you try not to look at the way it makes his chest and shoulders strain against the material of his button-up. “We wanted to write, or call, but we didn’t know where she was staying to send it. Made it a little hard to keep in touch.”

Your heart squeezes; that was a dig, that was definitely a dig. And you deserved it, but damn you didn’t realise it would hurt that much. And he hadn’t even said anything direct!

“Oh, well this is perfect then!” Your mother smacks you on the back, a little rougher than necessary, making you cough. “y/n is here for the week, why don’t you all catch up? Lisa’s engagement party is on Saturday so any day other than that should be fine— oh, you two should come, by the way! And invite your mothers too; it’s been too long since we’ve all sat down for tea.”

“That would be wonderful,” Namjoon agrees amicably, nodding his head to your mother. “I’m sure they’d love to take you up on that invite— I did get an earful about how lonely she was when I got home earlier.”

You have to fight a smile at that— Namjoon’s mother does have a penchant for the dramatics. You turn your gaze to the side to find Seokjin’s own already boring holes into you— it takes all your willpower not to jump. When he sees he has your attention, he smiles once more.

“We’d love to catch up,” he says, eyes still holding you captive. “How about dinner tomorrow, at Dana’s? I miss the burgers there.”

You catch Namjoon nodding from the corner of your eye, agreeing with the idea, and swallow your nerves down to flash a smile back. “Of course, that sounds fantastic.”

The two men nod, satisfied for now, and Namjoon pipes up once more as they take a step back.

“Well, we should probably get back— if we’re late for supper today we mightn’t be alive for dinner tomorrow,” he jokes, earning a laugh from your mother. His eyes flick to you, unreadable but holding such heat you almost gasp, “We’ll meet you there at seven tomorrow, y/n. I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“See you, boys!” Your mother waves farewell, jabbing you with her elbow until you join her. “Hurry home!”

They nod with a laugh, and you watch them retreat to their respective homes on either side of yours until your mother closes the door and cuts off your view, turning to you with a look that could mean a number of things. She’s distracted from unleashing a verbal flood on you in the next moment, however, when she catches sight of your feet.

“y/n!” she gasps, tone scolding. “Go put your shoes on! Walking around without them— this isn’t how I raised you, my goodness. You’re going to wear holes in your stockings! Go go go!”

Startled by the way she raises her arm in promise, you yelp and scamper away, back towards the stairs. “Okay, I’m going!”

You’re about halfway up the stairs, petticoat and skirt swishing violently from how fast you scaled them, when she calls after you.

“And don’t think you’re off the hook, missy! You and I are having a long, in-depth chat after dinner!”

You can only resign yourself to your fate.

x - x - x

“I’m in trouble, Mina. Oh, I’m in trouble.”

“It can’t be anything more than the trouble you’re going to be in for wearing holes into the hotel room carpet— stop that! You’re making me anxious!”

You halt mid-pace, sending your friend a pained look. She’s sprawled across the second bed in your hotel room, reading some magazine that touts the latest in makeup and jewellery from some of the more big-name brands.

“Please, just this once, let me be the one having a Diva moment,” you say, almost begging— to your own distaste. You just need someone to vent to, but she’s not exactly being helpful.

“What is this about?” she asks, closing her magazine to pin you with a borderline-grumpy look. “What has your knickers in such a— oh, I love those shorts! Are those new?”

“Uh, yeah. I bought them the other week,” you answer, looking down at the light blue shorts you’d slipped into for comfort’s sake this morning. They’re so comfortable, in fact, that you regret that you’re unable to wear them in public. You quickly shake your head when you realise you’re getting off-topic. “Hey— I told you what this is about! Did you listen to a single thing I said since I got back last night? Do I mean nothing to you?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Mina utters under her breath. “Yes, I was listening! I was just checking we were talking about the same thing!"

The look you give her is dubious at best, "Okay, then what am I talking about?"

"Those two hot cats you grew up with," Mina says, waving her manicured hand dismissively. "What about them is giving you such grief?"

"I ran into them yesterday," you say, eyes unfocused as you fall back into your thoughts once more. "They want to meet for dinner, to catch up."

"Oh, well that's fine," Mina says. "You don't have feelings for them anymore, so it should be alright, yeah?"

You bite your lip, wincing and giving her a look that could only be described as a mixture between sheepish and remorseful.

"Oh, y/n," She sounds a lot like your mother with the tone she's taken now, "Don't tell me..."

"I thought I was over it!" you say, wailing almost, as you throw your arms into the air. "They were already so distant before I left, you know? And it's been so long that I thought the feelings went away."

You huff, one hand on your hip and the other splayed over your face. "But then I saw them yesterday, and I think I nearly had a heart failure. I don't think... that those feelings went away."

When you manage to glimpse her way, Mina is wincing, teeth visible. She reaches up to scratch her hairline, almost dislodging one of the curlers she has wound in her hair. "Well, it's just one dinner... When is it? I'm sure you have plenty of time to get rid of those feelings before you--"

"It's tonight," you say with a certain level of resignation, walking over to your own bed and finally throwing yourself onto it in defeat.

"Tonight?!" Mina positively squawks, scrambling into a sitting position in her disbelief. "Uh, y/n, I do hope you haven't forgotten, but we have a show almost every night Saturday--"

"I know," you bemoan, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the odd marks there-- you don't have the brain space to wonder how they even got up there in the first place. "The dinner will be finished in time, I'm not worried about that. I'm just... worried about what will happen during, you know? It's kind of stupid but... what if they hate me now? I didn't even tell them when I left, didn't give them an address to write me or a number to call..."

"Yeah, that was kind of a rude move," Mina says bluntly, "But I don't think they would invite you to dinner to catch up if they hated you, y'know? They were your best friends, they probably missed the hell out of you."

You ponder her words, unable to pick them apart with logic. "Maybe," you mutter, picking at a loose thread on your blouse."... I did miss them."

"See?" Mina says knowingly, giving you a look before falling back on the bed and reaching for the chunky romance novel that she has perched on the headboard above the bed.. "And who knows— you're a hot catch, they might end up returning those feelings and you might come out of this a lucky woman! Well, probably a bit sore in certain places, but lucky nonetheless—”

"MINA!"

The pillow you threw smacks her square in the face, but does nothing to muffle the cackle she lets out after. God, she's not the first choice to come to for advice, but to her credit you do feel a bit better now.

x- x - x

Seven o’clock that evening finds you hovering nervously outside the doors to Dana's Dinery, hand outstretched to take the handle but unable to follow through completely with the movement. For the moment, you're stuck in your thoughts, and your thoughts are stuck on the same thing that had plagued them earlier in the day.

What's going to happen when you walk in there? When you're seated at the table with them and in the process of catching up? You shouldn't be as fearful of it as you are, but you can't help it. The evolution your feelings for them undertook a few years ago aside, they were still very much your best friends. Their opinion of you... well it sucks, but it still matters to you.

Didn’t stop you from doing what you did though, did it?

Huffing and deciding to ignore the nasty little voice that is attempting to make an already stressful night even worse, you force your limbs into action and simply resign to bite the bullet. If they are upset with you, then being late to dinner certainly won’t help things.

“y/n! Over here!”

With how quickly they spot you, mere seconds after passing through the doorway, a part of you wonders if they saw you hovering outside like a coward. Shame flushes across your neck and ears at the thought, but you do your best to remain at least outwardly unaffected.

Over in the booth at the very end of the diner, nestled against the window and the wall, the two men who have been haunting your thoughts for more than a day sit. You recognise the booth— it’s your Corner, you always sat there with them, to the point where if the staff saw anyone else sit there when they knew you were coming, they’d politely usher them to a new seat. It makes something shift inside you to see them there again. You don’t feel like you’re in school again, but something else feels akin to that time…

It’s probably the butterflies.

Namjoon is grinning at you widely, waving his arm; he’s ditched the leather from yesterday and is now donning a fitted black button-up that brings a nice contrast against the sun-kissed hue of his skin, though his hair is still swept into its style somewhat half-heartedly. Seokjin next to him is in a tan knit turtleneck sweater, glasses perched on his nose and hair attended to much more neatly than the man next to him. Both men are looking at you as you approach, but their stares (especially Seokjin’s) are a little too intense for you to handle, and you end up looking away as you take a seat across from them.

The booth is less squeaky than you remember, but somehow just as plush. You place your purse and cardigan onto the red leather next to you, clasping your hands together and offering a tentative smile. The soft rock tumbling from speakers around the diner isn’t going to fill the lull in conversation for very long. “Hey, sorry to have kept you waiting…”

Seokjin raises a brow, and you know in that moment that they did indeed see you hovering outside the diner. You don’t have time to process the embarrassment that follows that realisation, though, before Namjoon begins speaking with a warm smile.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t,” he informs you, eyes glimmering like he’s just happy to have you here. It makes something painful throb in your chest. “And loosen up, would you? You’re sitting like you’re at a job interview.”

To your embarrassment, a brief internal examination of your posture tells you that he is right. Sheepishly, you allow the tension to drain from your body, leaning forward onto the table slightly. “Sorry,” you mumble, offering a smile. “Guess I’m just a bit wound up from being home. I forgot how chaotic it is here…”

To your surprise, Seokijn snorts; your fears that he was truly upset with you are dispelled somewhat as a lopsided grin tugs his plush lips, eyes meeting yours levelly. “Tell me about it. My mother had my aunt and the cousins over when I got home. I haven’t felt as exhausted as I did after that night in, well, years.”

You don’t notice the smile Namjoon shoots to the man beside him when he first speaks, but you do notice when he lets out a laugh and beams so brightly that his eyes almost close and something you completely forgot about makes an appearance. His dimples have always been a weak spot of yours, and you’re slightly horrified to find that glimpsing them now has led to a skipped beat in your chest and a flutter in your stomach.

It’s not looking very good for the state of your old feelings right now…

“You never unwind properly,” Namjoon says, somewhat chastising despite his playful tone. He doesn’t pursue it further, though. Instead, he turns to you with a soft smile. “So, y/n, how was college? If you have replaced us as best friends, I will never forgive you.”

You can’t help the laugh that tumbles from your throat at both his words and his face, Seokjin chuckling to himself in the corner. Still smiling, you tell him that no, you haven’t replaced them, and sort through the events of your first year for something they’d like to hear.

Just like that, and definitely much easier and less stilted than you feared it would be, the three of you seem to sink back into something like the old dynamic you used to share, conversation beginning to flow and laughter beginning to tumble. There are some small differences, of course. Namjoon, who used to be much more clumsy and prone to blushing in his fluster, now seems to have come into his own and his presence commands your attention whenever he speaks or gestures, each movement sure and with confidence. While Seokjin used to be the more blatant joker between the three of you, now he seems to sit back a bit, observing conversation contentedly until he sees the perfect opportunity to chime in and elicit a few laughs.

And then, there’s you.

Well, you suppose you haven’t changed all that much. When Ms. Cara comes around to take your order (amongst gushing about how grown up and handsome and beautiful the three of you look), you still order the same thing from the menu, go about eating it the same way (fries before burger, being sure to leave some so you can slip them under the bun), and feel the same butterflies running amok in your stomach as you did years ago. You know that you’ve changed a lot, an almost scary amount, but sitting here in this diner with the two men who used to be your best friends, you’re only realising just how much of you is the same.

“I still don’t know how you can eat that,” Namjoon says, pausing in scarfing his own dessert down to judge you for yours. “You always used to get it— aren’t you sick of it?”

“Hey!” Seokjin intercepts, pointing his spoon at Namjoon. “The Fun Sized Sundae with the Triple Sauce Special is a respectable choice of dessert, and I won’t have you shaming it when you’re just sitting there with pudding and custard!”

You chuckle at Seokjin’s avid defence of your choice— the two of you were the only ones with a big enough sweet tooth to be able to combat the sugary monster that is your choice of dessert. He hadn’t braved it tonight, though, opting instead for apple pie.

“I actually haven’t had it since I was last here,” you say, without even thinking. Another spoonful is already on its way to your mouth as you continue, “It’s one of the things I missed most after I—”

You cut yourself off, realising your blunder too late. The looks in their eyes tell you they know what you were about to say. After I left. Ah, how could you forget? You’ve been here over an hour and this is the first time it’s crossed your mind since you entered. You left— you. Not them, but you.

Your appetite suddenly begins to fade, and you place your spoon down as gently as you can. It still tinks against the bowl, but does little to break the tension beginning to seep into the air.

You clear your throat, growing a little antsy in your seat. Even as you ask, you’re unable to meet their eyes, “Ah, what time is it? We— I got a little carried away…”

The question had mostly been to dispel some of the awkwardness, but Namjoon’s response had you shooting up ramrod straight. “It’s five-to-nine.”

“Oh, shoot,” you don’t even think about the words escaping your mouth, just that way more time had passed than you thought and if you stay any longer then you’re going to be bordering dangerously close on being late for your other very important commitment tonight. “I— I have to go. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise how late it was.”

You hurry to gather your cardigan and purse, starting to shimmy out of the booth, when Seokjin speaks up, “Is everything alright? Where are you off to in such a rush? If you need, we can walk you—”

“No!” you burst, regret swallowing you moments later when you see how taken aback the two men are at your sudden rise in tone. “No, sorry, it’s okay. I just, um… I just have to pick up something, for Lisa’s party.”

“At nine o’clock at night?” Jin verifies, brows drawing down.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, voice small as you manage to finally get out of the booth and stand somewhat sheepishly at the end. “I’m so sorry, it was so lovely meeting you two again and catching up. I’ll, um… I’ll see you, at Lisa’s party.”

You barely allow them enough time to bid their own farewells before you’re turning on your heel and hightailing it out of there before one of them comes to their senses and offers to walk you again.

You definitely do not need one of your old best friends walking you to the entrance of a club.

A fifteen minute cab ride is what you choose instead, and it isn’t long before you’re slipping into the building from the back entrance and dashing through the halls.

“FINALLY,” Mina erupts dramatically when she catches sight of you bursting into the dressing room, brows raising so high they almost meet her bangs. “I almost thought you were going to stand us up, Miss Luna.”

Your eyes sweep over her form, alarm filling you at the fact she’s already mostly dressed, from her netted stockings to the many fluffy and feathery layers that she’ll be discarding on the stage tonight. She’s currently sitting at the dresser, putting the final touches on her makeup with small detail brushes.

“That lip colour is too orange,” you inform her, hastily rushing over to the chest that you know contains your outfit for tonight. Mina halts in her motions, staring at herself in the mirror for a long moment before she tilts her head back and lets out a loud, torturous groan.

“I knew it! Momo, you lied to me! I asked you if this colour was too orange or warm and you said—”

You shake your head, slinging the clothes you retrieved over your arm and making your way over to the screen in the corner to get changed. You feel a little bad for the girl currently on the receiving end of Mina’s whines, but on the other hand you’re now free to rush about and catch up to the rest of your co-performers.

Within the next ten minutes you’re dressed and ready to go, dropping into a seat next to Mina and reaching to begin powdering your face.

From the tingle of excitement beginning to thrum in the air, you can only assume it won’t be long now before the show begins.

x x x x

Burlesque. It’s something that you know from experience, something you’d sadly gained before you grew more skilled at hiding your profession from the judging eyes of others, has some quite divided views and opinions. Despite how open-minded and liberal as your parents are, you know even they would struggle to come to terms with the fact that their beloved daughter had moved away for college and somehow come to perform in burlesque theatres on the side.

You don’t even have a clear explanation as to how or why you’d ended up down this path, just that you had. Contrary to what a majority of the population would likely hope, you aren’t ashamed, and you don’t regret it. This is something you love, and you think part of the reason you had been so drawn to it in the first place was the promise of power nestled within a certain kind of anonymity.

Your act, after all, is a masquerade performed beneath the security of an intricate lace and silk colombina disguise.

When you’d first left, you’d felt… well, there wasn’t any other way to put it but rejected, and abandoned. You might have been the one that left, and it’s something you regret now, but at the time it was Namjoon and Jin who had grown distant from both each other and you. Coupled with their increasing popularity and the way their lives seemed to be picking up speed in the direction they’d always dreamed of, it made you realise that their world was getting a little too big for you, and in the scheme of their lives you no longer held a starring role.

So you’d packed up and moved away, and in the midst of your aimless moping in another city, you’d stumbled upon this… and from the first taste of empowerment it gave you in the wake of all you had been feeling, you quickly decided you weren’t going to be letting it go anytime soon.

And now here you are; an act with such high regard and admiration that you had been called to perform it in other cities. It was a stroke of fortune that one of the stops was your own hometown, at the same time as your sister’s engagement party no less. You had wondered at the time what the catch had to be, and now, of course, you know.

It’s that in an instance of divinely aligned misfortune, the two people you’d planned to avoid indefinitely happened to be here as well.

It’s been a few days since the night you spent catching up with them, and there is enough distance between then and now for you to have calmed significantly when thinking about it. It had been kind of weird, sneaking away from the diner to come perform that night. Even though years have passed, you’re still so used to telling them everything whenever you see them, that holding something back feels foreign, and oddly enough… you feel a little guilty. The first excuse that comes to your mind in your defence is that ‘they wouldn’t understand anyway’. You know that is baseless, though. Both of them have become popular and risen to fame not just because of their natural musical talent, but for the topics that their music so brazenly broaches.

The truth is that you know they wouldn’t judge you for anything you do, and you’re not quite sure why you’re so resistant to them knowing. The human mind is a mystery, and yours is no exception.

A slow, smooth saxophone melody brushes your ears, a lower note capturing your attention and bringing you back to the present moment. Amongst the faint tendrils of smoke that reach you from the seating area, an itch rises at your brow and you fight to contain it, not wanting to rub off the thin arch you’d drawn on so carefully earlier. It was always like this; you always got itchy before performing, for reasons unknown to you. One of your friends had theorised that it was due to nerves, or something similar. It drove your manager mad, because you’d ripped your costume pantyhose a few times while scratching your thighs in the past.

Mina’s act precedes yours, usually, and tonight isn’t any different. She’s good, and you can’t help but marvel as you watch her. Her movements are fluid, full of a certain zest and allure that mix into a single heady cocktail that has the crowd enraptured as she allows her skirts to drop ever so slowly with each smooth swing and sashay of her hips. When the ruffled fabric hits the floor there are hoots and whistles from the crowd, and Mina’s beaming face peeks over her shoulder to deliver a wink. The room eats it up.

It’s a special performance, tonight.

Due to confidentiality, none of the performers had been told exactly who was attending tonight, just that they were Very Important People, and they were to be shown the best performance they would ever see in their lives. It was an ambitious set of instructions, but you know that both yourself and the other girls in the show are some of the best in the business, so you aren’t too worried about meeting expectations. You plan to exceed them.

You always put effort into your appearance, but tonight you admit that you did try the tiniest bit harder than usual. Your hair is pulled back from your face, twisted and pinned into curls at the top of your head; the rest of it you simply allowed to hang to its natural length and shape, though you took care to make sure it was soft and silky enough to gleam beneath the stage lights. At Mina’s insistence, you’d allowed her to pin a few small glittery ornaments amongst the curls, and as you peek out and see just how full the room is, you find yourself thanking her mentally. It’s the little details that really pull together a performance and hammer home the effect it has on the audience, and it looks like a full house tonight that you’re going to wow. Though, none of the faces seem to jump out at you so far— you still don’t know who tonights VIPs are.

Even though tonight is meant to be a big, important night — as it had been emphasised to you so many times — you still find your thoughts wondering back to a certain two men and the reappearance of the feelings you’d once harboured for them. You’re conflicted, as anyone might expect of someone in your situation, but you can’t say you’re very fond of the feeling. Hence, despite your best efforts, your thoughts just keep coming back to your current predicament. Lisa’s party is tomorrow, and you know from yesterday’s visit to your home that your mother had already extended an enthusiastic invitation to both families on either side of the fence. So you know that there is absolutely no way that those two aren’t going to be there, since even if they hadn’t already expressed their intention of attending, their mother’s would drag them over by the ear.

You’re not sure why you’re still worrying about this. You already met and caught up with them! And it went well… or at least it did, until the topic of your abrupt disappearance from their lives was brought up.

Perhaps that is why you’re so conflicted still. That is an issue that has yet to be resolved.

When you tune back in to the moment and catch your manager sending you a whithering look, you shake your head and decide to try and ground yourself so that you’re not off with the fairies by the time your cue to perform rolls around. You bring your gaze back to the stage, finding that in the time you spent in your own head, Mina had managed to strip down to just her shelf brassiere and the panties and baby blue garter belt with straps that stretched over her shapely thighs and attached to the top of her stockings.

You get lost in the moment, watching as the spotlight follows her across the stage and illuminates each small gesture she makes that draws the audience further and further under her spell. Her hair is perfectly curled and with each flick of her head and bat of her lashes, the strands slide over her shoulder and bounce against her back. As she reaches for her final garment to discard, it isn’t long before the light fades in tandem with the last note of her song, and the audience gets only the barest glimpse of Mina’s almost bare form before the stage is blanketed in darkness. Cheers and applause break the beat of silence that follows, and then Mina is hurriedly rushing past you, beaming with pride and holding most of her discarded skirts bunched up to her chest. Soon, the applause fades out, the hollers nonexistent, and the stage is cleared.

Now, it’s your turn to wrap the audience around your finger.

Taking a deep breath and revelling in the light fluttering of your stomach that never seems to fade no matter how many shows you perform, you listen for the first few strumming notes of the song that accompanies your routine. When the low, bass riff of guitar finally brushes the air, you make your way slowly onto the stage and let yourself fall into the familiarity of the show.

It’s kind of ironic, you can’t help but think to yourself. Considering the events of this week, the song you’d chosen to tailor your routine to is kind of funny. For the first few years of their careers, you’d seen Namjoon and Seokjin simply go their separate ways. You thought that would be it, that your friendship had broken up for good, but to your complete and utter surprise, at the beginning of this year there had been a new record to grace the radio and enrapture young fans across the country. An unexpected collaboration between two of the biggest figureheads of the rock and rebellion movement that had started to sweep through the youth.

When you had first heard the song, you’d done a double-take. It wasn’t anything like the rapid, upbeat rock that came to be synonymous with Seokjin’s name, or the heavier, laidback tune that usually accompanied Namjoon’s records. The beat that lay beneath the lyrics was sultry, deep and dark and made your heart skip a beat and your stomach dip. However when the lyrics registered in your mind, you’d had to fight the urge to cry. They weren’t strictly sad, per se, but to you… they had spoken a little deeper. It felt paranoid to think it, but a part of you had to wonder at how… targeted… the song had seemed to be—

Was it made... for you?

You wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it aloud to anyone or even yourself, but you liked to think so. It helped, when you found yourself missing them and yearning for the way things had been. It soothed the traitorous aching of a heart that didn’t seem to remember that the choice to leave hadn’t been theirs, but rather yours.

In the version that accompanies your performance, there are no vocals. Even so, the beat is easily recognisable and as it begins to play, an excited murmur sweeps through the crowd. Something about it is a little odd, but currently your back is turned to the audience, so you don’t get to investigate the feeling. Instead, you let each note that enters the air and brushes against your skin to soak into your being, closing your eyes for the barest second to centre yourself before you feel the heat of the lights begin to grace your skin, and you start to slowly swing your hips.

It is only instruments that brush your ears now, but you can hear the opening lines of the song so clearly in your head you can’t help but mouth them in time.

We're part of the moonlight, Ain't a fantasy...

Can't breathe in the sunlight, Gotta hide your heart...

Following the rise and fall of the beat, you turn your head over your shoulder to deliver a sly smile and a wink, moving your hips all the while— a round of catcalls and surprised murmurs results. You are the only one of the performers to wear a mask after all, so you’re not surprised by the response. Turning back around, your ease yourself into the familiar motions of your routine and let the song and atmosphere carry you away.

At any other time, you would probably find it funny how second nature stripping yourself of your clothes has become. The silky gown that drapes over your shoulders and ends in faux fur ruffles that trail across the floor is the first to go, revealing the entirety of your stocking-clad legs through a sheer petticoat, and the corset and cushioned bandeau that hides a sheer, cheekily embroidered bralette beneath. The audience eats the reveal right up and at the enthusiastic response, your chest swells with pride. You’re smiling, but with a flick of your wrist you snap open a fan and use it to cover the bottom half of your face, leaving only your eyes to peer out at the crowd from behind the mask. You’d discovered early on that a little bit of mystery keeps them intrigued a little longer.

You don’t pay much mind to the audience as individuals; more often than not, when you perform they become a faceless blur. But as your routine goes on and your body follows each sultry move to the beat, one item of clothing discarded after the other, you find yourself paying a little more attention than you usually would.

It’s as the top part of your corset meets the floor and your sheer bralette is exposed that your eyes sweep over a certain portion of the room, and you realise very suddenly and abruptly who the guests of honour are tonight.

And you cannot believe the atrocity of your luck.

Two familiar faces return your gaze from the centre-back portion of the room, in one of the deluxe booths. It’s a wonder you can recognise them through the haze of smoke created by cigars and cigarettes, but you think that you’d be hard-pressed not to, at this point. Seokjin and Namjoon sit back comfortably in the booth with two unfamiliar men on either side of them, their eyes lit with a certain kind of intrigue and focused solely on you. For a heartbeat, your chest feels so tight you can’t take in a breath, stomach fluttering. Just barely, you manage to maintain your face and stop yourself from stumbling in your routine. The beginning of panic begins to bubble beneath your lungs, but in a split-second it is stopped in its tracks as something seems to snap inside you and you come to a realisation.

You’re wearing a mask. They don’t know it’s you.

It strikes you again, the way they eyes are trained on your every move, and it knocks you breathless once more, though for a different reason this time. Exhilaration begins to course through you— you feel powerful. When you were with them the other day, the weight of the knowledge of your wrongs and your guilt held you on unequal ground. But now, here in the heady allure and smoky seduction in this room, you have them in the palm of your hands and the dynamic is switched, if only for a moment.

With barely a moment having lapsed since your initial realisation, you slip right back into the next move in your dance, each shift of a limb accompanied with just that little bit more oomph than before. This is their song, the song you suspect they wrote for you, and since you don’t think you will ever be able to forget it, or them, you will make sure they won’t forget this.

One fluid movement leads to the next, the beat picking up ever so slightly as you bend, legs straight and behind pointed at the crowd, before easing your way back up and unclasping the hooks that keep your corset together. When it falls, you turn and bend once more, this time facing the audience so that they see it when you push your breasts together and wriggle your shoulders, a cheeky wink accompanying the resulting jiggle of your chest.

More hoots and hollers, as expected of an audience that seems to completely consist of men tonight, and you’re pleased to see that the two guests of the hour aren’t completely unaffected either. Namjoon is leaning forward slightly, gaze intense, and Seokjin’s eyes have narrowed in focus as they follow you across the stage.

Following each note in the song, you strut across the stage, and when there is a pause before it picks up once more, you drop to your knees and reach forward to the floor, arching your back with your behind to the audience again. Using the strength you’ve built in your thighs over the years, you slide one leg up and turn yourself around, using the momentum to slip into an abridged version of the splits. While in this position you bend backwards, one arm reaching back to unravel the ribbon that keeps your flimsy bralette up. When you feel it come loose, you bring your hands to each piece and make a faux-shocked expression, ever so slowly peeling the sheer fabric down and revelling in the way the room is watching with bated breath.

Your breasts bounce as you yank the bralette all the way down, the tassels that were hidden beneath and keep the barest remainder of your dignity intact jiggling with the movement. Using the cheers that result as a distraction of sorts, you deftly remove the bralette with one hand and discard it slyly on the floor, bringing yourself out of the splits but moving to another position on your knees, sliding your legs apart. There are a few soft gasps and sharp inhales that echo from the front of the crowd, and you can tell from the way their eyes are focused on the inside of your thighs that they’ve glimpsed the pretty picture inked into your skin there. You don’t leave their gazes to wonder too long though, reaching up to pinch the dangling ornaments of your tassels and using them to lift your breasts. You ignore the low, pleasurable tingle that shoots through you at the sensation of tugging on your nipples, fighting to keep your legs open, and release the tassels from your grip. Your breasts bounce generously once more, cheers sounding across the room at the sight. You deliver a wink, before bringing yourself off of the floor in a fluid movement, hearing the final notes of the song beginning to play and a low, sexy saxophone drawl emerging to intertwine with the rest.

The end of your routine passes in a blur, your mind slipping into a haze as you simply move, barely aware of the way you dance and sashay across the stage. A feathery boa situated strategically to the side becomes incorporated in your final moves, allowing the audience peeks at what they can’t have and drawing them further and further in until the music hits a crescendo and with it, you fall into your final pose.

The last thing you see, as the lights begin to dim and the crowd erupts into applause, is the way Seokjin and Namjoon’s eyes are boring holes into you, transfixed on the place where your hip meets the inside of your thigh and the intricate depiction of a crescent moon and a rose that are inked into the skin there.

x x x

“...sweetheart? Is there a reason why you haven’t gone outside yet? Everyone is by the pool with those wonderful finger foods your Aunt brought with her!”

You startle at the sound of your mother’s voice, almost dropping the grape that had been en route to your mouth as you stared into nothing, rooted in place in the middle of the kitchen. The day of your sister’s engagement party has come, faster than you were able to prepare for, and now that you’re no longer on the stage staring down your two ex-best friends from behind a mask, you’ve lost a lot of your gall. In fact, it could even be argued that your spine had slipped right out of your body the second you stepped off the stage that night. It’s the early afternoon, and Namjoon and Seokjin have been here for about… perhaps half an hour. You don’t claim to be perfect, but the way you’ve been skulking about and hiding in the kitchen is pathetic even to you.

It’s just… how do you face them after that? They’ve technically seen you almost completely in the nude! If your grandmother ever caught wind of the fact that a man had seen you without clothes then she’d marry you off immediately— not to mention if she ever found out Seokjin and Namjoon, of all men, had seen you like that, she would have an absolute field day!

It was bordering on disheartening, but at this point, even after all this time, you’re pretty sure most of your family loves those two more than they love you.

“I, um… just wanted some grapes?” you blink, offering a sheepish smile that you hope your mother doesn’t find suspicious. That is quickly shot down when you see her brow raise and her bright cherry lips quirk to the side, eyes flicking to the empty glass by the grapes that reeks of gin. What can you say, you thought downing a glass would help you cope, but you’d been wrong.

“Uhuh…” Your mother says, folding her arms and leaning her hip against the bench; the fullness of her skirt swishes behind her in an echo of the movement. “Well, now that you’ve eaten half of the vine, maybe go outside? Mrs Kim has been asking where you are, I think she missed you almost as much as we did.”

Your brows furrow, “Wait, which Mrs K—”

“Off you go, sweetheart!”

You don’t even get to finish whatever you were saying because your mother moves into the kitchen solely to chase you out of it. You drag your feet as she herds you out— or at least, you do before she reaches for the kitchen towel by the oven and starts twisting it.

��I’m going!” you promptly flee after grabbing a handful of grapes to-go, holding up a proverbial white flag. Your mother is a little too good at turning mundane household items into a weapon. Now she’s put the fear of god back in you, you find yourself thinking that it’s no wonder your father has always been so well-behaved compared to the stories some of your friends would tell you about their own parents.

It’s a beautiful day, really. It’s part of the reason you were annoyed at yourself for hiding inside, even if it was only for about half an hour. The sun is out, the sky is clear, and while the sunlight warms your skin there is a cool breeze every so often that keeps you from overheating. Some of your younger cousins are in the pool, and have probably been there since around ten minutes after they arrived an hour or so ago. You’d barely gotten a hug in greeting before they were off, the backyard pool held a little more favourably in their eyes for the moment than their own flesh and blood.

They’re cute, though, so you decide that perhaps just this once you will let them get away with it. You’re going to rain down a storm of kisses on them before they leave, though. No one ignores you for an inanimate object and gets away with it!

As you exit the house and step beneath the sun, the skin of your arms and lower legs warming instantly, you just barely manage to dodge as one of your cousins comes bolting past you, followed barely a second later by his mother, your aunt, who is hotter on his heels than you might have anticipated for a woman her age.

“Jackson! You better get back here with those patties, boy, or you’re gonna regret it!”

You know you shouldn’t laugh, because it will encourage the bad behaviour, but the sight is so funny you just can’t help the way you burst into giggles, shaking your head and turning in the direction of the large gazebo that is rooted by the pool and is currently sheltering most of the guests from the sun. A quick scan also reveals that the lady of the hour, your sister, is over there too. Your eyes narrow when they catch sight of the champagne glass in her hand; hopefully she’s forgotten any and all things you’ve told her in confidence recently, or else they’re about to become public knowledge.

“Ah, y/n, just a moment!”

You pause in your steps, turning just in time to catch in your arms the plate of small pastries your mother shoves into your hold.

“Wh—” you don’t get to question her, as she simply flashes you a bright grin and nods her head to the table. “Take these over there, will you? And make sure Jin and Joon get some, I made their favourite!”

And then she is off, shooting back into the house and leaving you on the grass. At the delicious smell that wafts up to your nose, you send a cursory look down at the plate and hum in recognition,ignoring the way your mouth salivates. Ah, these are their favourites. This plate probably won’t last very long when you bring it over there.

You’re on your way once more, now with the plate of sweets in tow, and the closer to the gazebo you grow you catch the sound of the radio, on one of the channels most popular with the youth and playing one of Lisa’s favourite songs. She’s dancing, dragging her friend Rose with her, giggling like a madwoman as she does so. It brings a smile to your face without you even realising.

“Oh, y/n! There you are! Where have you been? We thought you might have gotten lost!”

Your attention is drawn to the side of the gazebo closest to the pool, where a few people are lounging in the chairs there, beers and glasses with clear, bubbling contents that you can only assume is gin and tonic on the table and in hand. The older woman who called you over with such a teasing tone is Mrs Kim— well, one of them. Both the Kims are here, and you realise belatedly that of course, their sons are too. It was Seokjin’s mother that noticed you, and as you make your way over you see Namjoon’s mother next to her, and the two men in question in the lounging chairs opposite. They seem to light up at your arrival, and you try not to think about the way their reaction makes your stomach flutter. You aren’t here for them, you’re here for their mothers!

“Sorry,” you apologise, leaning and placing the plate down on the small table in the middle of the seats. Straightening, you dust your hands against the patterned skirt you have buttoned over your matching swimsuit. “I did get a bit lost, there’s so many kids here right now I thought I might have turned up in the wrong house.”

Both women erupt into laughter at your words, and you take the opportunity to smile at Jin and Namjoon, offering a timid wave. They return it, before following your finger as it points to the plate and they realise you’ve brought them their favourite baked goods.

“Cinnamon scrolls!” Namjoon croons, material of his navy button-up creasing as he hastily leans forward to swipe one off the plate. “And they’re shaped like little fish, like she always used to do! I can’t believe your mother made them today.”

“Of course,” you say, snorting lightly. “She’d do anything for her two favourite sons. She made it because they’re your favourites.”

The two of them beam in pride at that, before proceeding to consume the plate of sweets.

“Ah, and she sent you too, sweet y/n! Our favourite daughter! And even more stunning than I remember, right Soo-ah?”

Seokjin’s mother, Jia, hastily reclaims the conversation and succeeds in making you flush pink at her words. Jisoo, Namjoon’s mother, instantly nods, her short curls bouncing with the action, and shoots you a devious grin.

“It’s been so long since we saw you last, y/n. You didn’t get a husband while you were away, right? We still want you as our daughter-in-law, you know.”

This time it’s not only you that feels the embarrassment heat your cheeks— to your side, both men choke on the mouthful of scroll they’d been in the process of devouring, Seokjin’s face going bright red as he brings his fist to hit his chest and attempts to dislodge the pastry. Amongst his own struggling, Namjoon reaches to smack his friend on the back, clearing his own throat.

“Ah, no…” you say, awkward and smoothing your skirt to distract yourself; it feels like the eyes of the entire party are on you, despite the fact you know better. “I’ve just been focusing on school…”

“Oh, tell me, dear, do you still do those wonderful paintings? I still have that one you gifted me for my birthday before you left.”

Namjoon follows up on his mother’s question, shooting you a smile that somehow is a combination of both bashful and proud. It makes a dimple pop in his cheek. “She still has it displayed above the dining table, actually. She nearly killed me when I almost knocked it by accident a few days ago.”

Jisoo doesn’t even bat a lash, smiling at you brightly— though a bit drunkenly, if the almost-finished glass in her hand is anything to go by. You’re surprised— you know from all the dinner parties your three families held over the years that despite their petite stature and classy, ladylike countenance, both Kim women can outdrink their husbands and your father. You wonder just how much they must have had already to have such silly grins on their faces.

“I do!” You answer, feeling your chest warm in affection. It was silly to have ever doubted it, but it made you feel somewhat eased to know that you haven’t lost your place in their lives despite your departure. “But, actually, while away I actually took up sculpting. I’ve been doing that a bit more…”

“Oh, are you talking about your works, sweetheart? Ah Jisoo, Jia— they’re absolutely wonderful! I have photos that she brought, here let me go get them—”

You feel heat flush to the tips of your ears, greeting the arrival of your mother with an embarrassed look. “Alright, let’s not bash ears about it—”

“Oh!” Jia and Jisoo perk up at your mother's exclamation, and you shrink into your seat as you watch her reach into one of the hidden pockets in her skirt and pull out a handful of small photos that you’d printed to show her. Your hubris seems to have come to nip you in the bottom. “I forgot I popped them in my pocket to show you earlier! Here, see— isn’t she just so talented? My baby girl must have been the absolute queen of her department.”

All three parents are oblivious to the way you’re shrinking into your seat in mortification, but Seokjin and Namjoon are anything but. They’re grinning at you, relishing in your discomfort much like they used to.

“Hey, y/n, could you get us another drink? I’d go get it, but your mother actually told me earlier I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen until she’s finished with the pastries…”

You shoot him a grateful look, shooting to your feet and slipping out of the little seating area. “Yup, doing that! Getting drinks! Be right back, don’t wait up!”

Though you doubt any of the adults heard you, they didn’t wait anyway. In fact, in the time it took you to head into the kitchen and bring back three drinks on a tray, your mother has since downed her glass and has started on another topic of conversation. Thankfully, the victim is no longer you.

“Oh, Namjoon, where are your peepers?!” Your mother gasps suddenly as you return, pointing at the man beside you. There’s the barest slur accenting her words, and you resign yourself here and now to a night of loose-lipped blabbering from both your sister and your mother. “I’m not goin’ crazy am I? You used to run into things all the time when you were a kid ‘cause you were blind as a bat!”

Namjoon winces, but Seokjin bursts into laughter. Glad for the conversational shift, you take one of the last remaining chairs and settle down, your own drink now in hand. Namjoon reaches for the refill you had brought him, using the opportunity to hide his face, and only when Jin has settled down does he manage to wipe his eyes and claim his own glass.

“I’m tryin’ out something new,” Namjoon answers after a hearty gulp, clearing his throat. He reaches to scratch the back of his neck bashfully. “Lenses, I think they’re called. They’re convenient, especially when I’m performing, but they’re expensive and so dang fragile I’m gonna need to take out insurance on them or somethin’.”

“Isn’t this your last set?” Seokjin queries knowingly, laughing as Namjoon grimaces. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in the peepers you know and love by the end of the week. If he doesn’t break them, he loses them.”

You half expect Namjoon to be irked but he just sighs with a small smile, apparently having made peace by now with the clumsiness and two left feet that have haunted him since childhood.

Your mother decides to tease Namjoon a little more, before she changes the topic and starts gushing about their career, and how she can hardly go a day or two without hearing one of their songs on the radio. All three women are beaming with pride, and though slightly bashful about it you can see Namjoon and Seokjin’s chests swell slightly.

Lisa, the star of today’s show, happens to walk by right when your mother is interrogating them about where they’ve chosen to settle down for the meantime, and eagerly joins the conversation.

“Ah, cool cats like you must be absolutely rolling in dough by now! How many mansions do you have already?” Lisa laughs, looking for a free seat and simply sitting on you when she doesn’t find one. She’s quite a bit heavier than you remember, and you feel your breath wheeze out of you at her abrupt drop onto your legs.

“Unfortunately, none,” Namjoon laughs, gesturing to his mother, “Though, the pressure is on. I think ‘Ma wants a nice place to retire before my career is over.”

Jisoo takes a sip to hide her sheepish grin, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing her skirt afterwards. Seokjin lets out a soft chuckle before he turns to your mother and answers the question she’d asked earlier.

“We have a sweet pad back in the fat city, actually. We both were leanin’ to the same penthouse with the best view but in the end decided to compromise and split it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” you mother exclaims, eyes alight. The last time she’d looked this excited was when you told her you were staying for the whole week. “It’s so good to hear that the two of you stuck together even though you’re such big news now!”

Guilt. You bring your glass to your mouth and take a large gulp in an effort to drown it, the tart fizz of gin and tonic barely disguising the familiar curl of guilt in your gut. Perhaps if you ignore it, it will go away.

“Oh, speaking of— that latest record the two of you released together, it really does razz my berries like nothin’ else!” Lisa gushes, throwing a hand out to wriggle her fingers for emphasis. “It’s real hip and different from all your other tracks. Trust you two to be settin’ trends!”

Starting to get slightly tipsy now from the generous downing of your drink, you can’t help how you chime in with little thought, “Oh, I really do love that one. It’s perfect to dance to.”

“A dance?” Lisa queries, turning to pin you with a confused look over her shoulder. You realise your slip up in that moment, when you glance to the side and see both men looking at you with unreadable expressions. “It’s a bit slow for a dance, I think.”

“You can dance to anything,” Namjoon swoops in and unknowingly saves you, shrugging nonchalantly. The expression that was present on his face earlier is gone now, but it takes a split second longer to fade from Seokjin’s features.

Sinking into your chair as much as you can with Lisa’s weight pinning your legs down, you bring the glass to your mouth once more.

Slip-up aside, you can only hope it won’t be as difficult to get through this party as you thought.

x - x - x

The day has progressed nicely and as daylight begin to bleed into night, your father emerged to help man the barbecue and dinner was served — it was a somewhat rowdy affair, given how much alcohol the party had consumed up until that point. After eating their fill, most of your relatives and small cousins went home — they have a strict bedtime to uphold, after all. You made good on your promise to smother the little ones in kisses as they left, and it was with pink cheeks and bright grins that they bid you farewell.

It’s getting well into the night at this point, and only a few guests are left. Lisa is inside with a cluster of her friends and her fiance, your mother and the Kims are underneath the gazebo with their husbands— this has left you by the pool with Namjoon and Seokjin. They’d gotten a little bold earlier and when you’d teased them about something, you’d had an unceremonious reunion with the pool. It was startlingly similar to what occured right before your mother took that photo hanging in your room, and made an odd mixture of affection, nostalgia, and something a little bit bittersweet settle in your abdomen.

Just as it had the other time you’d met with the two, any tension and awkwardness had quickly melted away as the evening progressed. A few drinks in your systems and anything and everything is now water under the bridge. All too easily the three of you had fallen back into the same comfortable, playful air that you’d always known—

That you’d missed so much.

You’re lounging now in one of the rubber duck-shaped floaties your mother bought recently (she’d made you blow it up, gushing all the while about what a bargain she’d gotten on it and the companion swan floatie). Your head is more than pleasantly fuzzy, and you decide as you finish this glass that perhaps you’re done drinking for the night. You kick your legs lazily, feeling the heavy material of your skirt swish in the water as you propel yourself around the pool. Normally, the skirt is meant to come off before you take a dip. However given the nature of your entry into the pool, you hadn’t exactly had an opportunity to discard it.

“No, no— I remember it cleary— clearly.” Seokjin waves his hand, finger pointing at Namjoon— the man in question is cackling in the deep end, falling off the swan floatie that he was attempting to climb onto. Both men are at the point in the night where they are beginning to slur their words, and to be fair you’re not much different. You’d lost count of how many times either of them have slipped up in their words. “It wasn’t me who fell and broke y/n’s coffee table. From what I remember, it was your buttocks that hit it.”

“But you pushed me!” Any attempts on Namjoon’s behalf to hide his grin and even pretend to be angry prove to be fruitless. He has the same dumb dimpled grin on his face that you remember from your teen years. “It was uncalled for, assault!”

“You!” Seokjin’s mouth drops open, his legs kicking in the pool in his outrage. Namjoon’s eyes almost disappear as he cackles, throwing his head back. It melds into the sounds of the festivities over by the gazebo, where the radio and Lisa’s own gleeful laughter echo into the night. “y/n can confirm, it was Joon, right?!”

You put your arms behind your head, pretending to lounge back on the floatie despite how tentative your position is on the slippery rubber. “I don’t recall, suddenly I can’t think.”

“Yah!”

Your jubilant laughter means that you don’t see it when Seokjin slips completely into the pool, diving beneath the water to where you’re lounging and coming up beneath you. A scream rips from your throat as you're flipped from the floatie, tumbling backwards and into the water with a hefty splash to boot.

When you come back up, gasping breaths above the surface turning into laughter, it takes a moment for realisation to reach you through the sluggish fog in your brain that your skirt has detached. Still laughing, you catch sight of it and reach for it where it’s floating across the pool, recognising the sound of the two males guffawing behind you. When you slip on the bottom of he pool for a moment and get water up your nose, you decide that perhaps it’s time for you to call it a night soon.

“Woah, bubs, are you okay?”

When you slip again, a strong arm catches around your waist like an iron bar, holding you to the surface. Blinking the water out of your lashes, you turn to see the owner; the breath is startled out of you as your gaze meet the dark depths of Seokjin’s own. His hair is still dripping, an inky wayward mess atop his head, and the t-shirt he’d donned as he first entered the pool so long ago is clinging to each line and plane of his body.

For a moment, yearning and a feeling all too familiar takes up the space of your lungs, and you find that you can’t breathe.

“I think… I think it’s time to call it a night,” you manage to say, a new kind of lightheadedness emerging to addle your thoughts. You turn, breaking the hold Seokjin’s gaze has on you to seek out the edge of the pool. You feel his eyes bore holes into you for a moment longer, before two hands come to grip your waist and he moves you through the water to the rim of the pool.

“Probably for the best,” Seokjin says, grip tightening in a split-second of warning before he heaves you up and onto the brick that lines the poolside. Off-kilter and unexpecting of the movement as you were, you have to balance yourself with your legs, which almost end up smacking Seokjin in the side. Through your inebriation, you don’t realise the way your thighs have parted in the process, the detached skirt in your hand doing little to cover you where it is laying sopping wet on the brick.

“You’re being almost as clumsy as—” You’re also so busy trying to quell the fluttering in your stomach and find your bearings you also don’t notice the way Seokjin’s eyes move unwittingly down your form, falling to your thigh at eye-level. “...Namjoon.”

You blink, eyes finally focusing but heartbeat still thrumming in your ears.

“I don’t know if I will ever be that clumsy,” you manage to say, as comprehensible as possible. Seokjin’s hands leave your waist as you stumble to your feet, wringing out your skirt before attempting to button the drenched garment back up above your hips.

“Hey!”

At Namjoon’s outcry, you grin and bring your hand up in a wave.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you drunkenly promise, completely forgetting that in a few days, you’ll be out of this town and out of their lives once more. “Goodnight, you two.”

They return the sentiment, and you grab a towel from one of the poolside chairs, wrapping it around yourself and making your way back in. You miss the way that their eyes follow you as you leave their sight and reenter the warmth and light of your home.

x - x - x - x

The night has drawn to a close, and the two men have long since climbed from the pool and dried off with the fluffy towels your mother so generously laid out for them before she got too tispy. A sharp look from their own mothers reminded them earlier that there are still plates to clear and things to tidy, so despite being guests they do their best amongst the alcohol-induced fog clouding their minds to help clean up the aftermath of Lisa’s engagement party.

As they do so, the same thing is true for both of them: there is a lot on their minds.

Seokjin had to turn to Namjoon earlier to confirm what he’d seen, and when he saw the man in question already looking at him with wide eyes, he knew he hadn’t just drunkenly imagined it. They both saw it, the glimpse of a strikingly familiar picture peeking from the inside of your thigh. They’d seen that very same tattoo in the very same place just a few nights ago, only last time the owner had remained a masked mystery. Now, they’d glimpsed the same image on the body of their childhood friend, the girl they’d both fallen in love with and subsequently drifted apart over only years ago because they were young and jealous and stupid. But, things are different now; they’re now only two of those things, and after they made up over a year ago their friendship is stronger than ever, in… more ways than one.

But despite how much has changed over the years, there is still one thing that has remained constant; and that is their feelings for you.

Truthfully, after not seeing you for so long, they had started to think perhaps they were finally getting over you. Impossible as it had seemed, considering how smitten they were. A cold realisation washed over them the second they saw you again, though, that those feelings hadn’t disappeared like they had suspected, but simply remained dormant. Seeing you at the diner and finally getting to catch up after being apart so long, missing you so much, had pretty much cemented that. When they’d returned to their hotel room after, they didn’t need to say a word and only shared a look to know they had both come to the same conclusion.

They were both irrevocably, pathetically, undoubtedly still in love with you, even after all these years.

Then had come the show.

It was the reason they’d returned to this town, technically. An important friend of theirs had invited them both to celebrate the success of their latest record and talk about future opportunities; the location happened to be a club currently hosting a highly regarded burlesque set. They’d felt the second the final masked performer had come on stage that there was something odd, something special about her. She had used their song, on her thigh had been a tattoo that tickled something in the back of their minds, and there was something in the way she moved that had been so jarringly familiar, but neither had been able to pin where they had seen her before.

Until tonight, that is.

It hadn’t been an intentional reveal on your part, but there on your thigh had been the exact same tattoo they’d glimpsed in the club, and they’d known the second they saw it that it wasn’t a common design. At first, on the night, Seokjin thought that it might have struck them because it was drawn similarly to how you always used to doodle moons on all of your schoolbooks, and now it all made sense.

The only thing left to consider is, what do they do now that they know?

“Oh, my boys— my precious, helpful, lovely boys!”

The two men turn in tandem, easily catching sight of your mother as she stumbles her way over to them. They were in the process of moving some of the plates to the kitchen before they heard her drunken cooing, and Seokjin finds himself thanking the heavens they’d put them down quickly because in the next second your mother is throwing her arms around them and they’re being yanked down to her height from the sheer strength of her grip.

“I missed you two, we all missed you two,” she blubbers, hugging them close like she’s worried they might slip away into the night the second she loosens her hold. A second shy of suffocating them, she finally releases her grip, and they straighten with warm faces. Namjoon knows without even having to check that he’s got a real goofy grin on his mug right now.

“We missed you too,” Seokjin says, and he means it. Your family and Namjoon’s family are both pretty much his own at this point, and he’d found himself missing every single member while he was away. Each time he returned home, he was sure to visit the other two houses at the end of the cul-de-sac, though the times he’d been able to actually make his way back to his home town were unfortunately few and far between. The same is the case for Namjoon, as he knows, except likely a bit worse since he knows Namjoon has always been a real Mummy’s boy.

“But I doubt it was as much as we missed you!” Your mother argues, and it makes both men smile. The next few words to escape her mouth knock the expression straight off their faces, though. “y/n especially. Oh, I remember she was so heartbroken when you three started growing apart. I think part of the reason she left was to get away from it. The way she used to talk about you boys…” Her gaze slips to the side, eyes slightly hazy in recollection. “I thought for sure that she was going to end up marrying one of you.”

They don’t even get a good second to unpack that, before the haze leaves your mother’s eyes and she is giggling, leaning forward with a cheeky glint in her eyes that they know for sure they’ve seen in your own. She brings her hand up to shield her mouth as she whispers in a voice that is not at all as quiet as she likely thinks it is, “It’s a bit improper, but I think she used to like both of you.”

Namjoon chokes on his own spit, and Seokjin’s mouth falls slack. “What?”

Your mother merely giggles, leaning back and spinning on her heel. “Thank you so much for your help, boys, but you ought to be on your way! Your mothers are about to head home and neither of them are walking in a very straight line.”

She halts, turning over her shoulder to shoot them a wide grin. “I’m glad you two came. Thank you.”

And then she is gone, and a blanket of silence falls over the kitchen. Seokjin and Namjoon turn their heads, locking gazes.

Well, at least now they know what to do.

x — x — x

You swear there is something odd in the air of the club this evening.

It’s something subtle, and none of the other girls seem to have noticed it; they continue as always, tittering away in the dressing rooms and giggling amongst themselves when one of them makes a joke that probably shouldn’t be repeated outside the room. It’s the last night you will be performing here, and also the last night you will be staying. You were planning on making a quick visit home tomorrow morning to say farewell to your parents and congratulate your sister once more, before being on your way. You hadn’t decided yet whether you were going to go out of your way to track down Seokjin and Namjoon to say goodbye to them as well, but the idea of it… well, it sets your belly alight with nerves. You have no idea what you would say, and you know — you know— in your gut that doing it would revive the elephant in the room that you’ve all been ignoring up until now.

But if you don’t, then you’ll be doing the exact same thing you did last time, and this time around you don’t know if you’ll get their forgiveness, let alone deserve it.

By this point in the evening, you’ve already slipped into your costume and powdered your face. Since you wear a mask while on stage, you don’t really need to apply any heavy makeup around your brows and eyes; you usually settle for accentuating them naturally.

Mina has disappeared since you last saw her, which is odd since she usually lingers to talk your ear off about any handsome faces she might spy in the crowd as the room beyond the stage begins to fill. You’d started to look for her earlier, seeking a distraction from the depressing inner monologue you have running, but hadn’t managed to find her. This means that for the past half hour or so you’ve been left to your own devices, fiddling with different parts of your dress and costume like a child twiddling their thumbs in the principal’s office. Part of that time, you spend trying to ignore the events of last night and any feelings that may have resurfaced as a result of your return to this town. For the rest of it, you attempt to think about what you’re going to do tomorrow when the rapidly-approaching hour comes when you have to leave again. God, where on earth did Mina get off to? You’re going insane here.

Oddly enough, it’s her that finds you a few minutes before the show is set to start. By this point, it’s a wonder you haven’t torn your hair out of it’s meticulous styling.

“Where did you pop off to?” you ask her before she even has a chance to say hello. She raises her brows, laughing at your rapid questioning.

“Big boss wanted me for something,” she supplies, cocking her hip and resting a hand there. “Actually, I was asked to pass on a message to you.”

The confusion must be evident on your face, because Mina is quick to wave her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad— though it is a bit odd. He just asked me to tell you to meet him in one of the private rooms in the VVIP section. I think it was the very last one…?”

That is odd, considering she’d apparently just come from meeting him. Private shows aren’t something you do, so you can’t think of a reason why the big boss would ask you to meet him there.

“Huh, ok. So soon before the show…?” you ask, just to be sure. You don’t have your mask on you right now, so you need to calculate how long it’s going to take you to return and get it. Mina shrugs, nodding.

“I suppose so. Don’t worry,” she smiles, something indecipherable yet oddly devious entering her gaze. “You won’t be there long enough to mess anything up. The show will go on, Miss Luna.”

You could almost swear there is something hidden in her words, but don’t have the time or the thought to dwell on it. Instead you return her smile and turn to be on your way; the VVIP rooms are on the other side of the establishment, and you don’t want to keep the big boss waiting. You’d only met him once, the owner of this club, and he didn’t strike you as anything in particular. The only thing you’d thought to note is that he smoked perhaps a few too many cigars, because his office was almost always filled with curling, coiling smoke that leaked into the hall each time you moved past. But he was quite mild-mannered and polite as far as men in this business go, so you’re not particularly concerned for your wellbeing as you make your way to meet him.

It takes a little longer than anticipated, since you ran into one of your co-performers and they cornered you for help with their outfit, but finally you’re arriving in the second-floor wing that houses the VVIP rooms. Instantly, it’s evident where you are. The carpet is a little more plush, the wallpaper a little more maintained, and the hall decorated a little nicer than the rest of the place. Spotting the room on the end, you make your way down there and knock on the door thrice before grasping the handle and easing it open.

“Mr. Leigh? What did you want to t—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat before it even has a chance to reach the tip of your tongue, feet freezing mid-step as your eyes fall upon the occupants of the room. For once, you don’t have any sort of instinct that kicks in to save you; you simply stand and stare with wide eyes.

“Took you long enough, bubs.” Seokjin straightens from where he had been leaning back against the plush crimson leather of the circular lounge. “We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

A myriad of thoughts suddenly flood the blank space in your brain, all in contention with each other. Oh no, they’ve seen you— no, you have a mask, they don’t know who you are— no, you don’t have your mask—

Dressed in your performing attire and standing before Seokjin and Namjoon, in one of the VVIP rooms in the club where they attended your show, you aren’t a faceless dancer. You’re y/n, and it feels like they can see every single bit of you there is to see.

You don’t even know where to begin.

“I…” You attempt to say something, anything, but your tongue has suddenly turned to lead in a pact with your stomach, sinking down and refusing to dance for your words.

It takes you a moment to realise as you watch them straighten, but neither of them look surprised. It leads you to believe that somehow they figured it out on their own, though you have no idea how. You don’t really have the presence of mind to ask them right now, either. In fact, it could even be argued that you’re almost panicking.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Namjoon speaks up, offering you a smile that holds neither judgement nor disdain. “We wanted to catch you before you inevitably skipped town without saying goodbye.”

That stung, just as much as the guilt that struck you for the truth of his words. You’d been contemplating it, leaning towards it even, but suddenly you feel you have to defend yourself.

“I hadn’t decided that yet,” you say quietly. You let the door fall shut behind you, silently acquiescing to the unspoken demand weighing heavy in the air.

“Don’t lie.”

Your eyes shoot even wider, if possible, at the sound of Seokjin of all people snapping at you. His tone was sharp, and you half expect him to look furious, but when your eyes flick to his face it gives nothing away. When he continues in the next second, though, you see it in the depths of his eyes. Hurt.

“We used to tell each other everything, back then.” It could have been a trick of your mind, but you swear you heard his voice break slightly. “I don’t want that to change. So no lies tonight, y/n. We’re going to talk as adults, openly and honestly.”

For reasons beyond you, something about the promise woven through his tone makes you nervous. A tremor fights to shudder its way down your spine; for a moment, you feel akin to a small, cornered forest animal, even though they are the ones sitting against a wall and you are in the open. You don’t know what to say.

Namjoon steps in, saving you from fumbling for a response as he always seems to do. “You don’t have to stand there, ready to bolt, you know. You can come sit down.”

You shake your head, suddenly recalling your commitments outside this room and feeling relief flood you at the realisation that you have an excuse to remove yourself from this situation you’d tried so hard to avoid. “I can’t. I have to go p—”

“We already talked it over with your boss, he was happy to take you out of the performance tonight. It’s okay, the others know too.”

You deflate, looking at Namjoon with a sinking feeling in your stomach. He doesn’t hold your attention all that long, though, before the sound of Seokjin’s voice brings your gaze to him once more.

“Why did you leave? Without even saying goodbye, or telling us where you went?” You feel rooted to the spot, pinned first by the weight of Seokjin’s gaze and then his words as they slam into you, unfiltered.

“Hyung.” You think you hear Namjoon murmur softly, giving the man next to him a pointed look. Seokjin is unphased, looking at you expectantly, “Be honest.”

It’s just as panic begins to seep into the bottom of your lungs that anger sparks and sets it alight, transmuting it to something red and hot in your chest.

“You want me to be honest?” you ask, heat beginning to colour your voice and sharpen the tip of your tongue. “I left because of you— both of you. I don’t know if something happened between you or if I just wasn’t enough, or you felt I was holding you back, but you drew away and you left me. You both left me before I ever left you.”

You see it the second your words enter the air like a whip, the hurt and guilt slipping across their features. Anger bubbles in your throat, stings your eyes, and urges you to let loose everything else rising to the tip of your tongue, “I left because I couldn’t handle the pain of my two best friends slowly easing themselves from my life, like— like I was old news. Like I no longer had a place in that shiny, brand new world they’d stepped into.”

More rushes to escape, feelings kept bottled up tight for three years suddenly flooding forth with the force of a tidal wave, but you bite it down, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath that rattles through your chest. When you’re sure you have a firmer grasp on your emotions, you allow yourself to speak once more. “If an apology is what you want, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I’m sorry for my part in hurting you. But you… the two of you hurt me, too. You meant the world to me and when you pulled away you made me feel like nothing.”

Your eyes remain closed, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you will yourself not to cry; silence sinks over the room, only broken as your ears adjust to the thin buzz of electricity thrumming through the walls. One moment, another-- you try and focus on breathing in, and breathing out.

“Something did happen between us, you know. We fought over you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto Namjoon. He stands, dusting his legs as he straightens and adjusts his jacket. Slowly, like he’s worried he will spook you, he begins to step closer. “I’m sorry, y/n. We never meant to hurt you, and didn’t realise the way our immaturity was hurting you, too. You took up such a big part of our lives, and after you left it was painfully empty… when we saw you again this week, it was the first time we’d felt whole in years.”

Stunned, you’re rooted to the spot and can only watch as he comes close enough to touch, hands reaching for your own; faintly, you register the sound of Seokjin getting up from the couch as well. When he reaches your side, you risk a glance to his face and are surprised by the soft, remorseful expression resting upon his handsome features.

“I’m sorry, bubs, for hurting you.” He lifts a hand, the warmth of his palm cupping your cheek. “You are irreplaceable to us, and we will always want you as a part of our lives. No one meant as much to us as you did then, and no one means as much to us as you do now. The two of you are my world, and I know the same goes for Joon.”

There’s something different hiding in the depths of his tone that makes your heart patter faster against the confines of your chest, something in the way they share a look so full of something warm that your own cheeks heat in response. Both of them… with each other, too?

“Why are you saying this?” Now, you meant to tack on. Why is he saying this now?

Namjoon’s eyes are warm as they meet your own. “Because we should have said it three years ago. Plus… we got a tip from an anonymous source that our feelings aren’t as unrequited as we once thought.”

You don’t even need to wonder who it was that could have exposed such a thing; your mother had been mysteriously avoidant of your gaze this morning, almost knocking a few things off the bench in the extent of her effort to evade meeting your eyes.

“If nothing else, please just tell us before you go,” Seokjin implores, voice a low murmur. “Whether it was true then, or....”

You have a feeling you know what he was going to say: or even now. You’d known it the second you glimpsed them back in this town that those feelings you’d harboured for years and years weren’t ever going away. Even seeing them a handful of times has made your heart ache with the revival of your love and the magnitude at which it had bloomed once more in the tender soil of your being. The words rush to the tip of your tongue, but even now when the two objects of your affection have all but confessed to you, fear barrs them from leaving your mouth. Because it’s not appropriate, a voice murmurs it’s familiar tune, It’s so unlikely— what if you are just reading too much into it and are mistaken?

Honesty, Seokjin had requested. You take a deep breath before admitting the words that will seal your fate, for better or for worse.

“I did love you, then,” you say, catching it as they both seem to tense. “I should have known better than to think those feelings would just go away.”

It takes a moment, but soon both men are erupting into bright grins. In his glee, Namjoon folds you into his arms, smacking a soft kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and finally your lips— the suddenness of the action brings a gasp to your lips, but you’re definitely not going to complain. Especially not when the way his mouth moves against yours lights something bright deep within you.

You don’t get to enjoy the sensations for longer than a moment before Seokjin’s voice is parting the air, a completely different tone underlying his words than what you expect from seeing his stupid grin earlier.

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, little miss. “ You meet his gaze over Namjoon’s shoulder and a shudder shoots down your spine at the look in his eyes. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for, wouldn’t you say?”

x - x

Barely ten minutes and a private car ride filled with scandalous touches and even more scandalous noises later, you’re being pressed against the wall in the bedroom of the penthouse suite in the most expensive hotel your town has to offer. Namjoon’s mouth is on yours with a kiss so impassioned that it pulls the air from your lungs and the strength from your knees; you don’t even realise that the lights hadn’t already been on when you entered and it was Jin responsible for illuminating your path into the suite.

A part of you expects some internal resistance — it had been three years since you’d last seen them, before this week — but instead you’re simply overwhelmed with how right it feels. Soft, fluttery warmth like sun rays on a winter’s morning fills you up to the brim, the feeling so foreign you’re worried your heart might actually burst.

Namjoon’s hands come to your hips, pressing them to the wall before sliding up to the dip of your waist. He isn’t overly bold in the way he moves his mouth against yours, but it makes a whine build in your chest nonetheless. A part of you disagrees with it, and when you recall that you’re still here dressed in the costume that usually gives you the power over men, you push back and turn the two of you around.

When his own back meets the wall, the softest gasp escapes Namjoon’s mouth and you swallow it down, your hands coming to cup his jaw. You take the lead in the kiss and he doesn’t put up a fight, grip tightening on your sides as he holds you closer.

“Ah-ah, bubs.”

An unwitting squeak escapes you as two large hands find purchase on your waist and you’re pulled apart from the man panting against the wall. You blink and before you know it Seokjin has you falling onto something so plush and soft you know immediately it’s a bed. Your eyes are quick to find Seokjin’s, and the raven-haired male shoots you a stern look that is only contradicted by the heady mixture of affection and lust in his gaze.

“You don’t get to call the shots tonight,” he informs you simply, striding closer to where you’re laying on the bed and tugging on the string that holds your silken gown together. It’s designed to come undone, and so it’s no surprise that at the lightest pull the silk is sliding off your body, revealing the outfit you’d paraded on the stage before them barely a few nights ago. Faintly, you register the bed dipping behind you, but your attention is otherwise occupied when Seokjin reaches for the bedside table and retrieves something long and black.

“Her wrists?” Namjoon asks, unknowingly answering the question you had forming in your head. Seokjin nods, tossing the tie to him. Your gown is slipped from your shoulders completely, sheer petticoat ruffling as you’re scooted backwards until you feel the firmness of Namjoon’s chest against your back and Seokjin is sliding between your legs, in the midst of unbuttoning his shirt.

“Do you know what you did to us when we saw you that night?” Seokjin asks, voice smooth as honey. It’s a struggle to remain focused on his words when Namjoon brings your hands together in front of you where you’re propped against him, beginning to bind them a little too expertly with the tie Seokjin had passed him. Your heart beats a little faster, thighs trembling as heady anticipation whirls within you. “What you do to us?”

“Just seeing you was already dangerous enough,” Namjoon murmurs, husky tone brushing the shell of your ear. “But you danced to our song, the song we wrote for you. It’s like you knew what it would do to us…”

It makes something swell in your chest, the confirmation that they had written that song for you. You catch something fond flick through Seokjin’s gaze before he tuts, shaking his head. He pushes your now-tied hands up and over your head, back until you feel the side of your thumbs grazing the back of Namjoon’s neck. Lips brush your neck, eliciting a shiver that Seokjin eagerly drinks in. Long, deft fingers work to undo the top part of your corset, the cushioned bandeau, and slip it from your form. You can visibly see it as his eyes darken, drinking in the sheer bralette barely supporting your breasts. You also know the second he glimpses the tassels pressed beneath, because his teeth sink into his lip and he takes in a sharp breath.

Namjoon’s wandering hands come to trace the underside of your chest, breath catching in your throat when he takes their weight into his hold and kneads. Warmth shoots to your core, the hints of pleasure curling your toes. You feel breathless as they work in easy tandem, Seokjin slipping your petticoat over your legs and Namjoon removing your bralette. You shiver once your chest is bare, not from the cold but from the intensity and the weight of their gazes as you feel them fall upon you.

“Leave her corset,” Seokjin instructs, flicking one of your tassels and eliciting a yelp. He settles back further between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs; his gazes falls upon the tattoo on the inside of your leg and the corner of his lips curls up.

The plush of his lips presses against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, the sensation tingling along your nerves. He doesn’t comment on the picture, but when his mouth touches where it is inked into your skin you feel your heart skip a beat nonetheless.

Your mind is pulled from the sensation of fingers slipping beneath the edge of your panties when Namjoon’s fingers play with the tassels attached to your nipples, tugging and pulling and eliciting all sorts of heady sensations that make your thighs shake. “Joon,” you breathe, something else resting on the tip of your tongue only to be replaced with a whine when Namjoon pulls a little harder, soft open-mouthed kisses pressed to the sensitive column of your neck.

It’s like all of your nerves are alight at once, each touch and brush of their skin against yours heightened and making your heart race and your breath come a little quicker. Seokijn quickly slips your panties off, but leaves the pantyhose and garter belt. His eyes drag a trail of heat up your body, halting where Namjoon has begun to suck marks onto your neck like an artist decorating a canvas. For a moment he is mesmerised, and you can’t help the words that slip from your lips.

“You like what you see?” You ask, curving your back ever so slightly to emphasise your position. Seokjin pins you with an unreadable look, jaw ticking for a moment.

“Very much so,” he answers, pulling away from you for a moment. He reaches behind him, retrieving something you hadn’t even noticed before now, and when you realise what it is he has in his hand you feel your stomach simultaneously drop and flip in excitement. His eyes meet yours for a moment, an unspoken question whether what he is about to do is okay, and had it been anyone else you know you would have refused, but you trust him. You trust them. You offer him a small nod and you receive the smallest smile in return before he is bringing the camera up to his eye and lining up his shot.

Flash. Click. The camera isn’t as bulky as you’re used to, and you figure it must be one of the newer models you are far too poor to afford. One picture seems to be enough for him for now, but you know as he places it well to the side that it won’t be the only appearance it makes tonight.

“Just in case you decide to fly the coop on us again,” he says, a sly look on his face. You scoff, knowing that he’s joking, and hold up your hands, still bound.

“Like this? Not likely.”

He chuckles, and you feel Namjoon’s chest rumble with a soft laugh against your back as well. The lighthearted moment is over as quick as it arrives as Seokjin settles back between your legs and hardly waits for you to orient yourself before dipping his head down and delivering a broad swipe of his tongue up your slit.

“F— Jin!” you yelp at the sudden shock of pleasure, wriggling in Namjoon’s arms slightly; he nips at your skin in light reprimand, and Seokjin lifts his head only for a moment to scold you with a cheeky gleam in his eyes.

“Careful now, bubs,” he cautions, delivering a small kitten lick to your clit between utterances. “We might have the penthouse but there are still people below us.”

Surprisingly— or perhaps unsurprisingly, when taking the rest of your life and profession into account — the idea of being heard has the opposite effect on you than one might expect. You bite your lip, tipping your head back as Namjoon’s fingers begin to play with you once more and Seokjin begins to bury his face between your legs in earnest.

It gives you a bit of whiplash, when you think about it; you don’t think you ever would have expected to end up here, in this situation. Crushes or no crushes, you hadn’t even expected to see them again let alone become the meat in a famous musician sandwich.

It’s almost shameful how quickly the heat and pressure builds within you, Namjoon managing to tug the tassels off completely to roll your flushed buds between his fingers. The noises that sound from Seokjin’s ministrations between your legs are so downright lewd you can feel your face flush with heat, your thighs trembling either side of his head. You attempt to keep your own moans and whines in until Seokjin delivers a smack to your thigh and sends you a warning look.

Just when you think you might be about to reach your peak, Seokjin stops, pulling back and licking your cream from his lips. The look you send him must be devastated, because he looks absolutely smug.

“Now, this isn’t just about you,” Seokjin says, carding a hand through his hair before he finishes undoing his shirt and slips it from his form. Your breath catches at the sight of his sculpted torso, and the ink that decorates it in pretty splotches of imagery. You feel so ridiculously naughty, finding the tattoos on him as attractive as you do, and you’re aware of the irony but you just can’t help it. Seokjin could manage to make a potato sack look good. “Hasn’t Joonie been good? Been making you feel so good, with nothing in return? I think we should pay him back.”

It’s all the warning you get before you’re flipped over, braced on your elbows and knees. There is rustling before something plush is slipped beneath you, and Seokjin lowers you down between Namjoon’s legs with the pillow propping your hips up for him to continue where he left off.

Dazed from the sudden shift and beginning to lose yourself to the feeling as Seokjin returns his mouth to your soaked centre, you tilt to meet Namjoon’s dark gaze and offer him a brief smile. You can’t deny, the angle you’re viewing him from is nice, especially as he wrangles his shirt off and you catch glimpses of firm abs and chest. Namjoon, too, has decorated his skin, and it’s somewhat ridiculous how viscerally you’re reacting to it but you really think you might be about to drool.

The pleasure quickly beginning to build in you once more from Seokjin’s plush lips and agile tongue leaves you no room for pleasantries, “Can I suck you off, Joonie?”

You hear his breath catch before he tips his head back and lets out a soft groan. “Do you even have to ask?”

His response only fuels your eagerness, mouth beginning to feel empty when your face is so close to his crotch you can feel the heat of his body. Considering the state of your hands, Namjoon makes quick work of his belt and slacks for you, shimmying them down with his briefs just enough to let his member spring free, almost completely hard at this point.

“Holy shoot, Joon,” you curse, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and lust. God, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anyone as much as you want these two men. Namjoon shoots you a cheeky, if somewhat dazed, smile that makes his dimples pop out.

“It’s not just me you have to worry about.”

Well that’s a condemning statement if you ever did hear one, considering how you’re hoping this night will go. One of the more open and liberal girls that worked the show with you had once said “god gave me two holes for a reason, girls!” and right now you find you couldn’t agree more.

You’re sick of your mouth being empty, you decide, and so you forego further foreplay and simply reach for his cock, taking the length into your hands and promptly enveloping his tip in the heat of your mouth.

“Fuck!” Namjoon swears loudly, thighs tensing against your shoulders. The yelp that escapes you as Seokjin smacks your ass melts into a moan that elicits a throaty noise from Namjoon, as well.

You press and drag your tongue along the underside of his length, gradually working your mouth lower and lower until your nose is brushing the dark patch of curls across his pubic bone, a surprisingly pleasant mixture of musk melding with his cologne and brushing your senses . Even without the pleasure flooding your nerves from Seokjin’s tongue and the way he latches his lips around your clit, the deep, throaty noises tumbling from Namjoon’s mouth are reward enough. Since your hands are bound, your mouth has to do most of the work; when you sink down enough that his tip bumps the back of your throat, you do your best to fight your gag reflex from kicking in fully.

Namjoon swears once more, just barely stopping himself before it gets too reminiscent of a sailor’s vocabulary. The sensation of your throat constricting around the head of his member makes his hips twitch and buck up ever so slightly, his hands winding into the hair at the nape of your neck. Struggling to keep on task through the haze in your mind, you do your best to build up a rhythm that has Namjoon’s abdomen trembling from the effort of keeping his hips still.

In tandem, the two of you seem to be rapidly approaching your highs— unfortunately for you, that same attention to detail that makes Jin’s ministrations so mind-numbingly good is what alerts him to that fact. Right when you feel yourself tense up in the prelude to your orgasm, Seokjin rips his mouth away, the bed shifting behind you. “Not yet, bubs.”

You can’t help the whine that sounds from your throat, the vibrations making Namjoon jerk.

“Fuck, I’m—”

Flash. Click.

Another whine, different in tone this time, escapes you at the knowledge that Seokjin has added another filthy memory to his collection.

“Joonie, you better not cum until I say so. y/n, off.”

Namjoons nails scratch lightly against your scalp, almost making your eyes roll back as he whines lowly in protest. You know you should listen and do as Seokjin says, but you can’t help but push a little, taking your sweet time as you pull your mouth slowly from Namjoon’s length, sucking all the while. The noises that tumble from Namjoon’s mouth as a result are incriminating enough, and even though you knew Seokjin wasn’t going to let it slide it still comes as a surprise when there is a sharp, painful smack against the globe of your ass. It’s hard enough and loud enough that your back arches slightly, mouth leaving Namjoon with a pop so you’re free to cry out.

“Jin!”

Seokjin’s hand is cool against the smarting flesh of your behind as he rubs soothingly over it, raising an eyebrow as you meet his gaze over your shoulder. “I told you off, bubs. Let’s not make me repeat myself.”

Somewhat petulant despite the giddy butterflies in the pit of your stomach, you allow him to grab you by the hips and yank you back with a pout, breathless with anticipation when you feel his fingers drag over the dips and curves of your body as though mapping them out. He makes you sit up, your back against his chest as he explores your front, drinking in each gasp and whine as he pinches and tugs your nipples and rolls them between the pads of his fingers. Down, down, down he goes— when his finger drags along your slit and slips over your swollen clit you cry out, unable to help the unwitting buck of your hips.

“After all the effort I went to to clean you up, you’ve gone and made a mess again,” Seokjin murmurs, pillowy lips brushing the edge of your ear. You quiver in his hold as he rolls a lazy circle around your bud, thighs threatening to close around his hand. You’re suddenly aware of how empty you feel, surprised that you’ve almost orgasmed twice without even being penetrated.

You try and cant your hips up, not above whining and begging at this point— if he denies you your high one more time you just might go insane. “Please, Jin, please—”

Namjoon, who had taken a moment to recover after almost blowing his load earlier, shifts forward on the bed to join the two of you. His lips find your neck, your jaw, until they finally meet your lips once more and he swallows your sinful noises down.

“What, you want more? You want my fingers? Look at you. You want to be filled so badly you’re willing to rock against anything with a pulse...”

Heat flushes up your neck to your cheeks, Namjoon’s kiss muffling your whine; you hadn’t thought you would be one to fancy this sort of thing, but if the wetness gushing forth at his words is anything to go by then apparently you do.

Namjoon parts from your lips, waiting until your eyes focus on him so that he can hold your gaze. “Baby girl,” he murmurs, voice rough. His hand slips down to join Seokjin’s, finger dipping ever so slightly into your slit. The true meaning of his question isn’t lost on you. “Who do you want?”

You feel almost unhinged with how much raw, restless desire is coursing through you right now— you couldn’t have stopped your answer even if you’d wanted to. “Both… both of you…”

There is a moment of silence following your response, but you don’t have time to wonder whether you said the wrong thing. In the next second Seokjin is swearing lowly under his breath, pressing his lips to your throat to hide his groan.

“Joonie, bedside table. You’ll have to prepare her.”

You’ve never seen Namjoon move as fast as he did the second Seokjin spoke, flying from the bed; he’s back within seconds after retrieving something from the drawers to the side, placing them on the covers. A small rectangular tin and a slim bottle.

When he sits, waiting eagerly with his cock still flushed and hard and bobbing from the movement, Seokjin turns you around in an abridged version of the way you were before. Taking note of the uncomfortable angle of your arms, he undoes the tie, but doesn’t discard it after slipping it from the reddened skin of your wrists.

With your ass now pointed in Namjoon’s direction, it isn’t long before his hands find purchase and your most intimate area is revealed to him.

“Fuck,” he swears, “You’re so wet, baby. We might not even need the extra help, hyung.”

“Use it just in case,” Seokjin instructs, before turning his attention to you. “Now, if you want to cum later I think you should earn it now, hm?”

Your hands were already moving towards his belt and fly before he’d started talking, but his words renew your vigour. When you free Seokjin’s crotch from the confines of his slacks and briefs, you quickly understand just what Namjoon meant earlier. Namjoon has length, but Seokjin is thick. You wrap your hands around him and can’t help but marvel at his size— you’re a little ashamed of how excited it makes you.

“Ah!” Your plans to engulf Seokjin’s cock in the heat of your mouth are interrupted by a sensation at your rear. You wiggle slightly, unable to help it. “That’s cold!”

Namjoon places a featherlight kiss to your cheek, thick, slippery finger beginning to ease into your hole now that it is sufficiently lubricated. Suddenly aware that your attention is in the wrong place, you do your best to hurry back to what you were doing before you earn yourself another smack.

“Perfect, bubs.” The groan that rumbles from Seokjin’s throat in praise is so raspy and low that it makes a shiver roll down your spine. As teasingly as you dare, you’re suckling around the flushed head of his cock, feeling it twitch and throb in your hands in response. It’s already a tight fit in your mouth, you can feel your thighs quaking in anticipation as you imagine what it would feel like filling you up. The thought takes you by surprise.

Since when did you start thinking like such a wanton whore?!

Well, you suppose, there is no time like the present.

Seokjin’s hand threads through your hair, his hips rocking ever so slightly; you watch the way the muscles in his abdomen undulate at the movement and fight to keep your saliva in your mouth as you begin to bob your head down his length. Considering his girth, it’s hard to keep your teeth tucked behind your lips, but you somehow manage; when the time comes that he reaches your throat you’re in a better condition than you were earlier for it, but it’s still a bit of a shock to the system.

“Oh my god,” Seokjin’s thighs quake for the slightest second against you. “Fuck. No wonder Joonie almost blew his load. Look at you. You do this often, huh? Look how well you swallow my cock…”

You moan around him, his words and the oddly pleasant sensation of Namjoon working his fingers in and out of your asshole melding into a pool of heat in your abdomen. Your eyes flutter closed as you try to focus on making Seokjin feel good, and you’re only distracted by a muted flash behind your eyelids.

Click.

Another shot saved. You take Seokjin further into your mouth, trying to go as far back as you can without gagging. He doesn’t seem to mind the way your throat constricts around his length though, if the noises escaping his plush lips where they part are anything to go by. Namjoon gradually adds one finger after another, making sure you’re accustomed to the stretch at least a little before the next joins. By the time he has squeezed in three fingers and scissored them a few times, you find yourself shaking a bit from the sensations. It’s odd, different to what you’re used to, but oh even with the light burn that accompanies each finger it still feels so good.

You’re so focused on the sensations that you don’t even realise the attention you’ve been giving Seokjin has strayed, lips sucking a little harder and your hand stroking a little tighter. The salty taste of precum coats your tongue and you have half a mind to be ashamed of the way it makes you long for more. It proves to be a little too much for Seokjin at once, though. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling you gently off of him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Not yet, bubs,” he says, voice rough. His eyes are like magnetic pools as they draw you into their depths, their hold only broken when Namjoon slips a final finger in and you shut your eyes on instinct, mouth dropping open at the sensation.

“Are you ready, baby?”

Namjoon’s voice makes your stomach flip, his free hand smoothing over the curve of your ass. You find yourself nodding before you even have the thought to do so, and with that Namjoon shifts on the bed behind you. Seokjin helps you move backwards, your eyes trained on his length somewhat longingly. There is the sound of something tearing softly behind you and you find yourself thankful that they took the initiative and you don’t have to ask them about protection.

You’re moved so that you’re straddling Namjoon’s hips with your back to him, still facing Seokjin. The two of them have since discarded their slacks and briefs and are now presenting themselves in all their naked glory. Namjoon mutters a tender warning, informing you it might burn a bit, and you’ve heard of that but aren’t about to turn tail when you also know it’s going to feel so good after. You feel his tip press against your ass, alarmingly bigger than his fingers, and Seokjin helps ease you down slowly, inch by inch, with a firm grasp on your hips.

True to the warning you’d received, it does burn; Namjoon had made sure there was more than enough lubrication for an easy glide, though, and by the time he has seated himself fully in you, you’re making noises you don’t think you ever have before. The line between heady pleasure and light pain is so blurred that you’re worried you might have fried your nerves at some point tonight.

“Oh—” you take in a shuddering breath, shifting your hips ever so slightly and moaning in tandem with the man beneath you. “Joon…”

“Ride him,” Seokjin instructs, hands leaving your hips to reach for his camera once more. “Let’s make him feel good, hm?”

Who are you to say no?

You pride yourself on having a lot of strength in your limbs, thighs especially, but still they tremble as you roll your hips up until just the tip of Namjoon’s cock remains in you, and then ease back onto him again. It takes a second before you realise the low moan you hear is coming from you, mind so addled with pleasure at this point you almost feel like you’re floating. Bracing yourself on your thighs, you do your best to set a rhythm and maintain it, ignoring the fatigue of your muscles and focusing on how good it feels and the noises tumbling from the man beneath you.

When there is a sly touch against your swollen clit, you cry out loudly— Namjoon almost shouts at the way you clench around him, his hands flying to your hips to hold you in place for a moment. You look to Seokjin with wide eyes, panting slightly.

“Didn’t you wanna cum so badly, earlier?” he queries, fingers slipping down to slide through the slick mess around your entrance. You moan as he easily sinks two fingers in, pumping lightly. “Don’t stop, fuck yourself on my fingers, bubs.”

It feels so good you think you might tear up; obediently, you resume the pace you set earlier, now riding both Namjoon’s length and Seokjin’s digits. Each time you sink down he curls them, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this out before your legs become too akin to jelly to support you.

The answer is: not much longer. Seokjin quickly grows tired of it when your movements slow, thighs trembling from the effort. With a hand to your stomach he pushes you back, shifting your legs so they’re folded with your feet flat against the covers. You scramble for purchase, Namjoon quickly supporting you from behind.

Seokjin tuts, muttering playfully about having to do everything himself, and it’s all the warning you get before he adds another digit and begins to finger your sopping entrance so hard and good that for a moment your vision goes white.

“S-Seokjin!” you drop your head back, nails sinking into the bedding as he begins to curl his fingers into that delicious spot inside of you with each pump. You had been slowly but steadily climbing back up to the precipice of your orgasm earlier, but now you’re heading there at breakneck speed. Before you know it the coil of pressure is snapping inside you and you’re shaking, pleasure numbing your limbs and making you whine.

By the time your high fades and you tune back in to the moment, you quickly become aware of two things— one, that you’ve somehow managed to coat Seokjin’s whole arm in your fluids, and two, that Namjoon has gone so tense and still beneath you that you think you might have almost killed him.

“Good girl,” Seokjin praises, sucking your cream off the tip of his fingers before wiping the remaining excess on your thigh so he can reach for his own rubber. “Do you need me to wait another moment?”

Assessing your current state, you find yourself shaking your head. You might have thought you would be too sensitive to continue, but Namjoon is still fully seated in your ass and now your pussy feels too empty for you to bear. Seokjin is only too happy to fill that void.

Nestled between your legs, when he lines his cock up at your entrance and begins to slide in, you all but lose the ability to think. You clench unintentionally from the sensation of being filled so completely, making both men groan and Seokjin halt in his movements. He waits until you relax again before continuing his motion.

When both men are fully sheathed inside you, you think this really might be what bliss is. Soft, panting whines and moans tumble freely from your throat as Seokjin pushes your thighs to your chest and begins to set a mind-numbing pace. It’s borderline brutal, the way he slams into you and splits you open so hard and good; each time his hips hit home you feel your whole body jostle.

“You can move, Joonie,” Seokjin somehow manages to articulate, sweat beginning to bead across his forehead and dampen the strands falling over it. You don’t know how he can talk, because you know if you tried at this moment you’d likely end up biting off your tongue.

You feel Namjoon shake his head, hair brushing the space between your shoulder blades. “‘m close,” he mumbles in explanation, a short moan following his words. “Wanna cum together.”

It’s such a sweet desire in the midst of such a lewd situation that you almost get whiplash between the swelling of your heart and the pleasurable ache filling your insides. You feel that he will get his wish soon, because despite your recent high you’re already well on your way to reaching it again— Seokjin’s hips have begun to stutter, too, and you know he isn’t far behind.

It all reaches its peak when Seokjin slips his hand down, following the angle of your hip bone to your core and rolling your bud with his thumb. It proves to be too much for you, because in the next moment you’re letting out a loud train of expletives and clenching tightly around them as pleasure floods your system once more, mind absolutely blank. The tightness of your heat around them is their undoing and barely a moment after you reach your high they follow suit, the sounds tumbling from them borderline sinful against your ears.

It takes a bit longer for you to come back to earth, this time. By the time you do, Namjoon is winding his arms around your waist and rolling to the side, taking you and Seokjin with him. You let out a noise of surprise that curls into a laugh, hands gripping his arms as you hit the bed; both men are still inside you, and while you secretly wish it could stay that way for a bit longer, you know you should probably clean up.

“No,” Namjoon says before you even go to move, a pout in his tone as he buries his face in the back of your neck. Seokjin nestles closer, pressing his lips to the hollow of your throat. “Stay, just a bit longer.”

That’s a dangerous request, especially considering the way your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy after the events of the night. For them, too, you can hear the way their breathing has already begun to even out. You couldn’t be mad if you tried, though, because just being here in their arms feels so right that you don’t ever want to feel anything else.

“I guess we can nap…” you say, sounding tired enough that it elicits a chuckle from Seokjin. You let your eyes close, nestling your cheek against the top of Seokjin’s head and enjoying the light scent of his shampoo and cologne. You let out one last warning before you let yourself fall into the abyss, though. Just so they know who’s boss.

“If I see those photos anywhere near my house, Seokjin, it won’t just be me getting disowned.”

The laughter that tumbles forth in response just adds to the warmth flooding your being, and you let yourself relax, contented and truly happy for the first time in three years.

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runtedfiction · 3 years ago

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nicer

day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021

ao3

* * *

Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.

* * *

The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.

“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”

Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”

“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”

“Princess!”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.

Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.

“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”

“Guilty.”

Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.

“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”

Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”

“Yes?”

“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”

Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.

She lies. “No.”

Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.

* * *

In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.

There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.

But all she wants is for Link to look at her.

He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.”

The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.

“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”

It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.

She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.

(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)

She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.

* * *

Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.

If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.

Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.

A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?

* * *

She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.

There’s no way she could summon him, but…

She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.

Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.

“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.

He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”

Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.

“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”

“The band is nice.”

She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.

“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”

He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”

“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”

He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”

“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”

She blinks. “What?”

He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!

“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”

She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?

They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.

How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.

Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.

Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.

They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”

She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”

“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”

She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.

“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”

The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.

“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”

“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.

* * *

When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.

“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”

“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”

She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.

This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)

The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.

“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.

“Great, how are you?”

“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!

He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.

She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”

“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”

She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s ok if it was.”

“No, no, you’re too kind.”

Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”

She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

Link clears his throat.

She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.

She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.

She turns around when they reach her doors.

“Tonight was fun,” she says.

He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”

This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.

“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—

“I think I have feelings for you.”

She blinks. What?

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”

What?!

She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.

Holy fuck. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.

“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.

He’s surprised. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”

“Really?”

She laughs. “Really.”

She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.

“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.

(She wants to kiss all of them.)

His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.

“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.

There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.

“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”

#zelink week 2021 #zelink #zelink fanfiction

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space-city-traffic · 3 years ago

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yet again im back on my bullshit so... (gazes with mixed feelings at the TV show Firefly) i could fix him.

my extremely long thoughts about my Own Personal Good Version of Firefly (with plenty of spoilers for the show and the movie) under the cut:

things that are getting axed first thing no question:

out with the whole “let’s add in a thin veneer of Chinese cultural aesthetics out of context for ~flavor~” deal. just no.

instead, let’s hire some actors from a bunch of different cultures and work with them to figure out how their characters would bring those cultures into space with them!! and also hopefully bring some experiences with immigration/alienation/travel into it, since the Whole Core of Firefly is about how humanity always brings our doomed and silly and stubborn and unique warmth with us even into the cold void where nothing is familiar or homey in the slightest.

let’s respect our sex worker character shall we?

i do appreciate that Inara’s work as a companion is described as legitimate and well respected in the show. however please stop having your captain and hero call her a wh*re every five seconds against her clearly expressed wishes and portraying this as just a totally acceptable thing

let’s be more respectful of our characters of color and also have some more diversity, shall we?

others have put it better than me but yeah, the way Zoe and Book are treated is very uncomfy, and the rest of the show is depressingly monochromatic. come on let’s do better.

stop the weird confederacy hat tips

again others have pointed these out with much more thoroughness than I could, but the names of some characters and locations, as well as some of the language used to describe the browncoats, has uncomfortably confederate vibes. instead i propose we very Clearly tip our hats to the Alliance equaling space capitalism instead! you can’t go wrong with space capitalism as a villain.

don’t! make! the! psychotic! character! violent!

listen i love River Tam with my whole heart. but you should absolutely not portray your only character with psychosis as violent because of that psychosis!!!!!!! and yeah, a huge part of her character is that her brain got fucked up by the alliance and so she hallucinates and is also a super ninja. but like. she doesn’t need to be a super ninja for her character to work, okay? the crew does not need to be scared of her for her character to work, okay??? more on this later bc it would take a lot of care and nuance to make her character work but i really think it can be done

things we are absolutely keeping:

found family tropes my fucking beloved

this should be self evident. this is why the show is as appealing as it is despite its flaws, at least in my eyes.

malcolm reynolds, the knight in dusty armor

there’s something so appealing to me about what Mal stands for. because at his core is this ridiculous, silly, stubborn, doomed devotion to what he thinks is important and right, a romantic idealism thinly covered by cynical cowboy platitudes that he thinks make his bleeding heart totally invisible. and he is so obvious and entirely incorrect. bless. this is a man who will do anything for his family, who charges into swordfights to defend his friend from a man who wants to turn her into an object despite having no clue how to hold a sword. at his worst, he starts brawls in bars just for the martyr’s thrill of being persecuted for supporting the right; at his best, he inspires downright religious belief from his crew because he represents a romantic and chivalrous and doomed dedication to the right thing over any practical concerns. and then he throws a “selfish” quip over it with 100% confidence that everyone fell for his clever distraction and believes him to be a dirtbag. he’s oblivious and ridiculous and god he makes me want to be a better person because he’s just so goddamned sincere. stupid, but sincere. 10/10 himbo. <3

Mal and Inara ultraslowburn friends to enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to friends to lovers to friends to...

there’s nothing i love more than a ship that’s just two people who know each other way too well, and they’re each the only one who knows the other well enough to call them out on their bullshit. the way Mal and Inara interact in the show sometimes makes me uncomfy but like. the core of their relationship has to stay.

space western aesthetic

i need the cows on a spaceship scene to stay like i need air okay

that sweet sweet religious shit

mal, who lost his faith in gd and a whole lot else during the war. who lost his faith in himself, and now feels he has to hide the part of him that still wants to be good, because he knows he can’t be anymore, and he feels like it’s embarrassing for a guy like him to want something so unattainable. who takes a preacher on board, and the preacher has lost something, too. the preacher has his own past, and his own questions. but not questions like the observant neurodivergent girl, the one who wants to interact with and understand this thing that’s so important to him, but it just doesn’t click with how her brain works and she feels like something needs to be fixed, either the Bible or herself. and Mal takes care of them all, and slowly, he begins to find gd again, not in a prayer but in humanity. humanity doesn’t need to be fixed, like the alliance thinks. the shining imperfect strawberry sweetness of it in his family’s smiles is something to be worshiped and served and devoted to. and he finds he has something to believe in again. (and his crew find that he’s given them someone to believe in, too. and maybe suddenly he’s a saint.)

and finally, my brilliant ideas as to what i would like to add:

TRANS WOMAN KAYLEE RIGHTS

listen her femininity is so important to me okay? it’s so thrilled about everything that’s pretty, from dresses to the spaceship’s electric innards, and it’s so non-traditional and grease stained until it’s not and it’s pink and ruffly and twirly, and she never sees any of it as a contradiction, because none of it contradicts, it’s all just her! her gender is warmth and love and prettiness, feeling pretty and appreciating the pretty and making her friends’ days pretty too.

i want us to find out she’s trans in that episode with the ball, and i want us to find out alongside Mal who just never asked or never realized. Kaylee gasps and squeals at the dress in the shop window and Mal makes an off handed, ill considered comment, and then... someone yanks him aside and hisses a few very significant words in his ear. and suddenly he remembers what the blue white and pink she painted all over the engine room means, and he knows he has something to make right. so he buys her that dress himself and lets her know just how pretty she looks, and when he walks into that ball with her displayed on his arm like something precious, he looks the proudest out of any man there. and she notices. for a few seconds, of course, until there’s chocolate, and ‘nara, and a chandelier—and some horrible girls, but she’s used to that, until—suddenly, she finds her people. a group of old men who light up when she jokes about compression coils and whack presumptuous boys who ask her to dance. they adopt her as a treasured granddaughter, and Mal is beaming at her like a proud dad, and she finds that one of her new elderly friends gazes a little too long at her bracelet, and so she gives it to xem and teaches xem a few new words, and... it’s a good day, huh? it’s a really good day. (of course, then the captain has to go and punch somebody in the face, but it was a real nice party up until then.)

also she and Simon are both transhet t4t im correct and you know it

time for a better River Tam

the first thing we’ve established is that this version of her is not unpredictably violent and the crew is not scared of her!!!! it makes no sense to take a kid who’s primarily brilliant, experiment on her brain, give her telepathic powers....... and tack on the fact that she also has super strength and speed and dexterity and what not, AND say that they programmed her to be super violent. no! no. not only is that extremely harmful rep, that’s also just stupid.

instead!! my version of River is in fact not terrifying to the crew, but is actually the one they feel safest around. River has always been totally blunt, she was one of those kids you could tell realllllly early was autistic, and she doesn’t like being disengenous at all. so you can always trust her to tell the truth and not play weird passive aggressive games or have any hidden agenda, which makes her just a really chill person to be around. also, one of her longtime special interests is music and dance, so whether or not she’s nonverbal on a given day, there will always be some sort of beautiful sound when she’s around. she does have the singing voice of a dying crow unfortunately but that’s ok bc Simon’s is even worse and they’re both incredibly competitive so you’ll at least get free entertainment out of the affair.

my version of River does have psychosis and hallucinations because of the trauma of the experiments, and they are really troubling to her. she and Simon work together to find ways to cope and meds that help, and it’s a process, but there are some things that help.

the only thing she gained from the academy was the ability to hear people’s thoughts and sense the future a little bit. and yeah, that led to her picking up a few spooky secrets at the beginning, which, yikes. and for a while, it was hard to figure out which voices were real and which were hallucinations. but around her friends, she always feels safe to ask “did you just think about triple cheese burritos or was that just a me thing?”, and they’ll always tell her the truth no matter how embarrassing their thoughts are, bc it’s important to all of them to respect her and help her sort accurately through what’s reality and what’s not. and bit by bit, she gets better and better at figuring out what kinds of things tend to be telepathy and what kinds of things tend to be psychosis, and that each one feels a little different. and because of the trust and respect and support of her found family she’s able to do that in a safe environment!!!

trans man Simon rights

listen i wanted to keep him as just a side note on Kaylee’s list but he is my son and he’s important to my heart so here goes

out on the outer rim where Kaylee’s from, gender ain’t much of a big deal, there’s an individualistic quality to life out there, and so if the trail you blaze is the trail of a woman or a man or neither or both, that’s respected even in the rare cases where it’s not outright encouraged. but in the inner planets, where competition and connections and public faces and family names are everything, you have to be what’s expected of you to survive. you can’t change your brand, you can’t be anything other than what your family planned for you since before you were born, it’s incredibly hard to survive in such a hyper competitive environment, and so your very identity becomes just a tool in how to market yourself for better success.

needless to say Simon (just as autistic as his little sister and also very trans) fuckin hated it there. but he was very good at it. correction: he was very good at his very specific field of STEM, good enough to where people stopped talking about how cute he looked in bows and started talking about how impressive his work was from a very young age. and his work had no gender. he could be whatever he wanted to in equations. so that was where he could express himself, and gd, he got so much praise for it, he never wanted to stop.

not until he discovered that his sister needed him, and ran away, and needed a disguise, and realized... suddenly, every stifling rule and prying eye was a million miles away. he was freefloating, freefalling, with none of the charted paths he’d been following all his life... so you know what? fuck it. he’s always enjoyed the name Simon. and since it’s not on any legal records, it’ll make him just that much more untraceable.

and on Serenity, starting over with new people who never knew him before his transition feels like an unbelievable blessing that just dropped right into his lap. he has to keep up the secrecy, he has to make sure they never find out who he used to be, because gd, it’s so nice when they look at him and say his name right, and he doesn’t know if he can handle losing that, not when it’s so new and so important to the person he’s finally becoming. but then one day, the unthinkable happens, the wanted posters for his arrest have an old name on them, they’re looking for the Tam sisters, and... nothing changes. the crew of Serenity could not give even a tenth of a percent of a fuck, and it doesn’t seem like they even know they’re supposed to. huh. that’s new. Simon could get used to that, he thinks.

i’m sure there’s more i could add, but it’s 4:30 in the morning now, so if more occurs to me, ill simply add it in a reblog tomorrow. if you’ve read down this far, i am in love with you. please let me know your Better Firefly ideas, too, bc im always down to yell about this show!!!

#firefly #Serenity #in which i choke out joss whedon with my bare hands and rescue his characters and give them better homes #ollies fix it series #malcolm reynolds #ollies personal good firefly canon

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yuujism · 4 years ago

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Sun and Night. (gojo satoru x reader)

Chapter 2: Need

← chapter 1 | chapter 3 →

| PAIRINGS: gojo satoru x reader; hints of getou suguru x reader x gojo satoru

| WARNINGS: ⚠️ SPOILERS FOR HIDDEN INVENTORY ARC ⚠️ suggestive language, toxicity, toxic gojo, toxic reader, angst, grammar errors

| WORD COUNT: idk lol i’ll count it later

| A/N: this is the second chapter of sun and night!! just didn’t want to make it into one chapter because personally i kinda get tired of reading ?? idk so i’m dividing into 3-4 chapters hehe!! so you can see where this is going with this chapter !! next chapter will have some smut so yeah 😎 hope you like it

summary;

You and Satoru were in love.

You were both so deeply in love, just not with each other.

Where you and Satoru found comfort in each other after the accident happened.

Chapter 2: Need

It was really obvious.

The way Satoru treated you was different since that day and everyone noticed it. You couldn’t bring yourself to care though.

Years passed after Suguru’s death, marking a before and after in both you and Satoru’s lives. Your mind and body grew tired of the mourning and the countless of lonely nights filled with tears and regrets, the whisper of your name coming to you like a fantasy. Like a memory that never really happened.

Satoru tried to get busy in an attempt to not think back at his best friend, getting into teaching and being a pain in the ass to the higher ups. It seemed way too Satoru-like: acting like nothing ever happened.

The hatred you felt towards the strongest sorcerer quickly became an envy you couldn’t hide.

You envied how easy it was for him to forget Suguru, remembering the way he couldn’t even tell you your first love died right in front of his eyes. You envied how strong he was and how different you were in every aspect of your life. You envied the way Satoru could just keep going with his life.

The both of you didn’t try to hide the bad blood between you, disregarding and ignoring each other outside the mandatory professional interactions you had. When asked about by your students, the same answer was given from the two sorcerers:

“We just don’t get along.”

And it was the truth. You didn’t get along.

Even when you tried to remember a friendly interaction between you and Satoru when Suguru was still alive, nothing came to your mind.

Satoru could’ve decided to hide his hatred towards you, he just didn’t want to. He didn’t even bother to hide the drop of his smile whenever someone mentioned you or whenever you entered the room. He still thought you didn’t deserve Suguru, not as much as he did at least. And that made Satoru’s blood boil.

He was the one who heard Suguru’s last words. He was the one who Suguru trusted in. He was the one. Enough said.

Of course you were aware of that. After all, they were both with and for each other. Even if it hurt your pride to admit, you were not stupid enough to deny the adoration those two had for one another.

You were just glad Satoru never brought the topic to the table and didn’t seem to have any intentions for it.

Or so you thought.

It wasn’t till the both of you were paired for a mission in the woods that everything started to go downhill for the third time in your whole fucked up relationship.

In the end, Satoru did most of the work. You really didn’t know why Yaga kept pairing you both when he knew Satoru was capable enough to take any curse by himself. It irritated you to no end how Yaga kept being a stoic asshole after all these years.

And Satoru knew that as well. You couldn’t even miss the cocky remarks he would do after every mission.

Unluckily for you more than for him, your patience wasn’t having it this time.

“Yay! Another job well done by me!” Satoru cheered for himself as he walked in front of you as he removed his blindfold to put his sunglasses on, raising his long arms in victory before turning back to face you, a sneer on his face. “Anyway, good job, I guess.”

Satoru wasn’t quick enough to turn around before he saw your whole cold facade crumble in front of his eyes, the words coming out of your mouth catching him off guard.

“Fuck, don’t you ever shut the fuck up?” You couldn’t stop yourself from gradually exploding, the fiercely murmur barely reaching Satoru’s ears who just grinned maliciously.

“Why are you mad? I just told you good job” His as-a-matter-of-factly tone didn’t help your anger, noticing how he also stopped in his spot to look down on you from afar. “You really get mad at everything. Not getting laid?”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, walking past him not really being in the mood to argue with a man hitting his thirties acting like an actual child.

God, you were better than this. Better than him in this way at the very least.

“Or still can’t get over your unrequited love?”

Now, Satoru knew that was a low blow, even for himself. But oh, how he hated you. How he liked to see your face twist into pain and anger because of his snarky comments. You deserved it. You deserved to be hated by him and he would show it any chance he got. Satoru was ready for your outburst, maybe expecting you to use your technique against him and show you how useless it was.

But what he didn’t expect was for you to stop in your tracks and turn around calmly, a lot more clam than what Satoru liked.

Your eyes locked on his for the first time since your first discussion years ago and Satoru tensed under your gaze. He didn’t want you to look through him again, but he knew you had already seen everything you needed to see.

A nostalgic yet mocking grin adorned your face, not quite reaching your empty eyes.

“Never thought it would be you to bring up these feelings after all this time.”

And, this time, it was Satoru’s facade that crumbled down.

Because it was true. Neither of you ever mentioned Suguru to each other or the feelings you both knew you had towards the deceased sorcerer. Because, unknowingly, Satoru just admitted how jealous he also felt that you felt the same for Suguru.

No, not the same.

“Feelings?” Satoru mocked you with a twisted smirk as he took off his glasses, eyes filled with a fire you couldn’t describe. “Don’t make me laugh. You didn’t have feelings for him. Suguru was just a whim for you!”

This was the second time Satoru yelled at you and it almost felt like a deja vu. You jolted, the tone of his voice reaching deep within you to light the same fire that was burning in those blue eyes. You were glad you were still in the outside where nobody could stop or hear you.

“You really are thick in the head, aren’t you?” You yelled back, walking towards him in an agressive manner. “A whim? A fucking whim?” You laughed painfully, stopping inches away from him. “I loved Suguru more than you could ever imagine. What? Too jealous you weren’t the only one down bad? Oh! Boohoo!”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” He bit back, throwing his glasses to the side to grab you by the collar. “You don’t even deserve to love Suguru! I do! He was my one and only, not yours. I did more for him than you ever did in your pathetic life!”

“Fuck off! Don’t you think I didn’t know that?!” God, you hated the way how your voice cracked in the end in front of him, tears creeping to your eyes as your hands flew to Satoru’s wrists. His infinity was surprisingly off. “I fucking knew it! God, the way you looked at him was enough for me to know you loved him just as much...” Tears started rolling down your cheeks, Satoru’s grip tightening. “I envied you for that. Fuck, I even envy how you don’t feel pain anymore.”

Satoru really didn’t mean to let this escalate this far, but what kind of bullshit were you spitting now? He was so angry, he didn’t even care about the fact your small hands and nails were digging into his skin.

“Are you dumb enough to believe I don’t think about what I could’ve done differently every day of my life?” Satoru’s tone was low now, blue eyes piercing into you with disdain. “I blame myself for his death. Do you? Tell me right now. Do you blame yourself?”

“Yes.” The lack of hesitation made Satoru let out a snort, and you didn’t let him interrupt you with his complaining again. “I blame myself as much as I blame you. While we were busy trying to get stronger after what happened with Master Tengen, he was suffering and we didn’t notice. We didn’t want to notice.”

Silence sourrounded you both, the grip on your collar loosening as the seconds passed by. You knew Satoru was having a hard time processing all this. The emotions, the discussion, letting out everything he hid for years and finally accepting your feelings towards Suguru. As if he was the one who decided on who could love him and who couldn’t.

His gaze never left your face, trying to deny the undeniable: all those times years ago, even when he thought he was doing a great job at hiding it, you could see right through him. You knew how much Satoru loved Suguru and you knew how he also swept Suguru’s feelings under the rug. You were just like him.

But, fuck, how he hated you.

How he hated your now soft eyes looking at him as if he was an injured lamb crying for help. How even if he towered over you as he had you in a strong grip, you didn’t seem to flinch over your next actions. Hated the way your hands made their way to the sides of his face, the coldness sending shivers down his spine as his breath hitched in his throat.

But what Satoru hated the most was the way he was probably feeling the same as you right now.

He wasn’t going to deny it anymore. At least, not this time.

“You know I hate you, right?” Satoru whispered, letting go of your collar to place his large hands on the sides of your neck, face a breath away from yours.

The faint brush of his lips against yours sent mixed signals to your brain. Don’t do it. This is a mistake. That’s dangerous territory. He’s literally Gojo Satoru.

But, holy hell, the way his hands travelled down your sides, reaching your hips after leaving a trail of fire on your skin, made you throw every worry out of the window. You needed this.

You both needed this.

“Yes, I know.”

And that was enough for Satoru to capture your lips in a feral kiss, the grip on your hips pulling you close to his body as your hands tangled in his white locks, pulling harshly as your tongues fought each other for dominance. You almost missed the way Satoru whined against your mouth at a certain pull on his hair, nails digging into the flesh of your hips as he grinded his growing erection against your stomach. And it really felt heavenly, having this anger come out through this kiss was the best option you could find.

But something was off.

Even if Satoru was the one kissing you as if his life depended on it, you couldn’t help but picture Suguru. His voice, his touch, his scent... everything was Suguru. A mere fantasy again and this time it hurt more than you think it would.

“S-Satoru, hold up.” You mumbled between kisses, trying to pull away by pushing him by his chest.

Satoru looked at you through half-lidded eyes, panting through parted lips the same as you as you stared at each other with guilt in your eyes. His hold in your hips released to place them in your cheeks, almost as if he was trying to make sure you were actually you. And that’s when realisation hit you like a truck.

“You...” You started hesitantly, looking down at your own hands on his chest. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

A second. Then two. Then a few other more passed and Satoru just seemed to have had a bucket of cold ice water thrown at him. It was almost as if you were inside of his own head. It was annoying.

“Fuck.” Satoru growled, finally pulling away from you as both of his hands ran through his hair desperately, turning away from your figure. “Fuck, I’m... I mean, yes, I was thinking of... Fuck!”

God, he was spiralling again. Of course he was thinking of Suguru. Satoru was thinking of your lips being Suguru’s, your touch, everything. Fulfilling the dream he could never live. And now you were probably going to have an argument again about how that kiss was a mist—

“Satoru.” Your hand on his back made him jolt, slapping himself mentally for not turning his infinity on after getting away from you.

He turned to face you, your features giving him a sweet smile as your other hand reached for the side of his face once again. Satoru didn’t like the way his heart jumped at your touch.

“It’s okay,” You murmured lowly, pulling Satoru close to your face once again as he calmed down. Your now warm hands reached behind his neck this time, his hands instinctively flying to your waist as your bodies got close to each other. Satoru was putty in your hands once again as he looked down at your parted lips.

“I was thinking about him too.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen writing #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru x geto suguru

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lilyrachelcassidy · 3 years ago

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Birthday Cake

A/N: Suprise folks!!! *me laughing maniacally* The whole scenery for this fic somehow appeared in my head and I just COULDN’T let it slip away, so... My biggest inspo for that was @drawlfoy!! Remember her posting the fic where Draco and Reader work at McDonald’s and are total suckers in their job (arguing with the customers; preparing wrong orders; etc.)? Dee unfortunately, deleted this precious, but it’s stuck to my head ever since (lol lol, it’s the moment where Dee wants to get rid of something, but I kindly remind everyone it existed). Therefore I present to you the next Draco x Reader fic related to our fav fast-food rest. This time, however, they’re not working at the same workplace but... I'm going to stop here cuz I don't want to spoiler :P

**The second thing that triggered me to write this fic is the YouTube video I recently saw with a lady who orders the 'specials' appearing to be out of the menu list of McDonald’s, through the Drive-Through. She asked for a birthday cake, was laughed at a few times, but eventually got what she wanted. Applause for the attitude!!

About the fic (context, my bitches): ofc it’s the modern AU, non-magical world. Draco’s the worst boyfriend ever but always manages to turn things into their righteous place.

Summary: The birthday is upcoming, and Draco is in a rush to think up an idea for a perfect gift. His ingenuity fails, however, and leaves Y/N very unsatisfied with a disaster that has been forged.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: my brain playing a total psycho, language, alcohol, sexual undertones/allusions to sex, Pansy being too much of her self... deal...

Tags: @drawlfoy @eltanin-malfoy

Such an unrestrained desire to strangle somebody you hadn't felt in a long time.

Really.

Today was your birthday, which you had been widely announcing for almost a whole month to people you might have accidentally forgotten about it. Having your boyfriend, Draco, on your mind in particular.

You doubted he would have the guts to omit your big day, though as repeatedly as he had done for a few years back. But something between foresight and the second sense of prevention told you to keep reminding him every day of the upcoming event, with a heap of birthday-themed emojis and uppercases in the messages.

Everything was planned out in your head: him picking you up from your house with the sharp-red cabriolet that he used only for special occasions; him driving the two of you to the fanciest restaurant he could find in town; him bestowing you with a nice-looking, golden necklace or a different piece of jewelry you had been suggestively pointing out in the store's exhibition; him booking up a hotel room for you two to celebrate.

Either way, that was much beyond your expectations, as it turned out. And now you were sitting in the front yard of your house, waiting for him to show up.

'If he was going to at all.' This thought invaded your mind for the last hour, try as might to subdue it. An hour you had been sitting tight, hoping it was only a delay caused by a traffic jam or other irrational explanation he could come up with. But you were deceiving yourself, you eventually presumed -- you had been checking up your phone every one minute, only to see if any message notification popped up on the screen, other than birthday wishes from friends who actually cared for you.

2.02pm: Nothing.

2.03pm: Susan 'Happy birthday bitch!'

2.04pm: Instagram notif. (Someone liked your photo, which you had posted before leaving your room, posing in front of the mirror in the best cocktail dress you could find in the wardrobe.)

2.05pm: Nothing yet again.

2.06pm: Still... Peace and quiet.

"Fuck it...Enough," you muttered under your breath, an annoying disillusionment falling like a heavy mile stone on your chest. Tears suddenly started sprinkling in your eyes at the regret, and you were very reluctant to admit that your friends were right -- Draco Malfoy was an egoistic, negligent, self-absorbed pri--

"Hi." You heard the raspy, panting voice says. "Sorry for the delay."

You blinked slowly, stupidly. You raised your head to assure yourself it was him. That his expression actually corresponded to his words and showed some kind of remorse for standing you up. But no... There he was: standing in front of you, plainly confident and unashamed, with his cocky smirk provoking you to slap him.

Oh, how much you craved to slap him right now. "Where to the fuck have you been?"

"I've tried to pick this up," he explained, simultaneously lifting up the paper bag he'd been carrying in his hand. The big, exclaiming letters 'McDonald's' with the brand's logo were printed on its exterior, and it was fully stuffed with something inside.

Not quite comprehending, you furrowed. You attempted to hide the venom in your voice, but somehow it found its way to leak out. "Couldn't you do that in advance?"

"Nope..." It was his turn to furrow, looking almost shocked with the question. And thanks to all those years of your relationship, you knew it was his piss-poor estimation of time taking over. "It was a last-minute surprise."

"Sounds like it," you commented irritably. "What's that?"

"Your birthday present, sunshine," he drawled happily, ignoring your remark. He sounded positively delighted and satisfied with himself at surprising you with that because he saw a slight crease of shock painting on your forehead. "Here you go."

You took his deposit out of his grasp, still quite unsure. What if his gift would only make a situation worse? Can it get any worse with Draco's total lack of tact? Yes. But it was only one way to find out.

Without even stealing a second glance at him, you ripped off all of the packaging that had been folded around, protecting the contents. You tried to do it carefully and without any impact of emotions revealing the way you felt inside, but your hands were shaking with rage, and you couldn't quite contain yourself. You had been highly aware you shouldn't have expected much from him, but still...

You wondered if the universe was playing against you.

There was a moment of tense silence as you struggled to deal with all the wrappings. Rather unfortunately, you wished you hadn't put so much effort in opening your so-called 'gift' because as you finally did, it only angered you more, seeing as the disappointment laughs at your face. And yes, as a matter of fact, the universe was against you today...

"Are you kidding me?" you asked in disbelief, fury reappearing in your eyes. "A birthday cake?! From McDonald's?" Ugly, little cake with the creepiest smiley face of a clown. It wasn't even fresh, you realized, when you smelled it and felt a musty reek of a freezer, it probably had been kept in. A confusing sense of sadness in your chest couldn't reach any higher at this point.

"Don't you like it?" he asked, detecting the wrath in your eyes. At that, you felt the dumbest urge to laugh and never stop. "I thought it'd be something original."

"Oh, I love it," you said sarcastically, a faint voice of hope telling you it was only a very bad joke was still lingering in your head. But it wasn't a joke.

"It's not just--" He struggled to form a coherent sentence. "I've been asking Blaise and Theo about any ideas. I told them, what you had said to me -- 'you didn't want anything fancy.' So we decided it's... something."

"Of course I didn't tell you I want anything, you dolt!" Your voice raised up almost two octaves, and the pulse sped up so fast it entailed a headache along. A neighbor from the opposite garden who was watering the flowers looked at you, startled, and eyes widened your exasperated tone. You didn’t care. "It's how it works: you don't tell other people you expect them to buy something!"

"But I'm your boyfriend. You shouldn't -- er-- feel uncomfortable to tell..."

"Exactly! As my boyfriend, you should have known!"

"Well... I didn't. If that's what's bothering you, we can...we can..."

"Stop." Listening to him and his pathetic excuses was the last thing you were going to do now. "What – why would you even – " You sputtered out, unable to process or express exactly what you were feeling. There was definitely anger and indignation. Curiosity, for another, as to why Draco would even fall for such foolish and ill-considered idea, and -- to the top of it -- hope it would make a good fit. And possibly, the last and most satisfying part, was the wicked impulse to throw the cake directly into his arrogant face, letting him taste his own medicine he had been serving you for years on each failed birthday.

"You know, for once, you could pay more effort and try doing something nice for me," you told him firmly, deflating to calm down your buzzing nerves.

"I've been tr--"

"Do you realize how much it costs me to pretend to be happy when you forget about me? Last year, I organized a big-ass party for your birthday, inviting over all of your friends and buying the best booze I could find to celebrate it properly," you said harshly and pretentiously, as you intended. "The best part is, you didn't even thank me." You stared at him, wringing your hands and expecting to perceive any trope of shame in his eyes. For the first time, you actually did.

"Listen, about that--" he calmly attempted to cut off your monologue.

"No, you listen..." Did you really want what was upcoming next? Maybe it was about time. "Today, I decided I'm standing up for myself. So, for the last time, get out from my porch."

He bristled, the thunderstruck air hanging around him. "Because of the stupid cake?"

"What?! No! It's just... I feel like you don't give a damn about me anymore." Gulp formed in your throat, and the tears finally left your eyes at the consciousness of what was happening. "I think we both deserve some time."

Your eyes moved to his, and you almost wished you hadn't looked. He was watching you, with pursed lips and a pure mixture of every emotion: anger, sadness, resentment, pretension, dejection. The faintest of his flustered blushes appeared on his cheeks, and you suddenly wished you could hug him. "So you are putting us..." His finger pointed at him and you as if expecting clarification. "...on a break? Is that what it is?"

You were truly torn, to be honest. Becoming single on your birthday was the last wish you had for this day, but you felt a strong sense of adequacy and pride for building up the boundaries of tolerance. Besides, seeing as it was heading nowhere, it was only a matter of time that your relationship came to an end.

Although, it hurt. A lot. "Yes."

You darted your eyes from him, not wanting to study his reaction in case it caused you to meltdown and jump to his embrace, apologizing endlessly for your words. You loved him. But you didn't regret what you had just said.

Something like a dry chuckle of disbelief escaped out of his mouth. "Is that what you really want?"

'No,' your thoughts prompted you instantly before you could even contemplate. 'I want you to say so many things you're never willing to say. But you don't know.'

So instead, you lied: "Yes."

All expressed, you spun around without peeking back and rushed into your room, already knowing there was no more sense in strives to make this day any better; all of it would bring only bad associations. It would be depressing, even more than it already was.

God, was it how the break-up pained? Because if so, you wanted to be deceased. The world spun suddenly, and you sank to your knees, shaking madly and doing your best to find your way back to your bed, located a few mere meters from you. Part of you felt numb, but your head was wide awake and alarming you that something in terms of a disaster had just happened. Because it did. The clutching in your chest was unbearable, and tears were dashing out of your eyes like a living waterfall, which made you bury your face in your hands. Never have you ever wanted to be so drunk before.

And so many questions rung up in your head at once.

Did you make a good decision? What if you are going to miss him, yet knowing you could never call? What about college -- are things about to get awkward?

No answers.

But you knew someone who would be able to reply to them.

With the blurred by tears vision, you struggled but managed to find your phone in the purse, and then clumsily scrolled through and tapped in your list of contacts before holding the phone to your ear.

Please answer, you begged. Please, please…

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Pansy's voice roared from the other side of a line, as always, enthusiastic.

"Pansy." You tried to sound less brokenly than you were, feeling marginally worse at the reminder of your birthday. "Is Daphne around?"

"Ouch, you're a really nasty bitch sometimes, you know. I'm not goin' to point out today, but since you didn't let me end my wishes, I'll note that for the future reference." You were sure she was grinning at the teasing, seeing as much as she liked that. Normally, you wouldn't mind, but... "How--"

"Pansy, please..." you sobbed out, almost desperate to have someone to consult and share emotions with. Daphne -- contrary to Pansy, who could be very judgy sometimes -- was someone you had especially on mind now. "I need to talk to her."

You heard her sigh; the kind of sigh she used to either prove her resignation or concern. But, as much as it surprised you, she suppressed her curiosity and, without a second word, obediently handed the phone over to Daphne. At least, that's what you assumed because you heard a pause and subdued mutters in the background.

"Y/N?" the milder tone spoke up, and you felt suddenly very strange as if submerged in water of relief; relief to hear the familiar voice. That released you from keeping a distant attitude, and yet again, a sadness washed over you, triggering a loud wail to come out of your mouth. "Y/N, is everything alright?"

"No..." you sniveled, unable to collect yourself together. "I-I... We br-brok-e up."

"You and Draco?" Daphne asked, astonishment evident.

You nodded but then remembered she couldn't see you nor read your expression. So instead, you forced your vocal cords to work again. "Mhm..."

"What happened?"

Restoring the story in your brain again, you told her everything, still tearfully but much more coherently this time. You avoided the details, briefly skipping from one utterance to another, as your conversations had gone, and you were very much thankful she didn't press for more information about the prospect of the situation. If it hadn't been her sporadic gasps or loud inhales of breath, you would have almost presumed she wasn't listening. However, she was, and as soon turned out, Pansy was as well.

"That's bananas!" Pansy shouted somewhere from the back as you had ended, and despite your gloom, you giggled quietly at her comment.

"Shush," Daphne tried to silence her, covering up the fact she had put you on the speaker. You didn't mind because you knew Pansy, who would definitely expect Daphne to cite the whole conversation if needed. But knowing Daphne as well, you could bet she flushed more than she would want to at that point. "So it all started because of the cake?"

"And the delay," you added. "But it's not just about that, obviously. It feels like... he completely stopped caring. And I don't want to be stuck in a relationship where everything is about sex and having fun only. Draco wasn't looking for a commitment, which..."

"Sucks,"ended this time Pansy unhesitatingly, who wasn't now screaming from the other part of a room but openly participating in the discussion.

"Yeah," you agreed.

"As for me, I think he might love you more than you know, Y/N." It was Daphne talking again, and she sounded positively convinced about her view as for someone who had hardly exchanged any word with Draco for the past few years. As if reading your thoughts, she continued. "I've observed you a lot. I know he might seem unemotional, but it's you who discovered him. That must require a lot of trust, you know."

You contemplated, and some of the memories and images from your first encounter run across your brain, try as might to suppress it: spotting each other at the party; binging some whisky shots together; flirty teasing; the very masculine scent of cologne; and then... more spicy recollections -- eager lips pressing against each other; against each others' necks; against other parts of the body; stripping off the clothes in the passionate haste...

Receiving a long moment of silence, Daphne took a second chance and asked. "And what's with you? Do you want to end it?"

It felt like standing before the oracle of truth. Therefore, you couldn't deny it in front of yourself. "No."

"So what're you still doing there?" commented Pansy impatiently, and you could imagine her rolling the eyes. "Get out and find him!"

She was right. You will.

XOXOXOXO

"I thought I'd find you here..."

No. Actually, you didn't.

You had tracked Draco's phone with your own one with some help of an app that, as the two of you had established still in the relationship, would be a good idea in case of an emergency. That in itself proved to be more than helpful, believing that your argument may be pinned as something in terms of an emergency, right?

So having access to his location, you had found out he was in the park where he had taken you on the first date, shortly after dinner, to watch the sunset that, as he had described, 'was a typical cliche from every romantic movie.'

But you had fallen for that. So much.

You hadn't been aware the place had actually some meaning for him until now, and that... God, that he had even remembered it. Time showed, however, that it indeed did, to which your heart reacted with a happy jolting. But also with a nasty sting of nostalgia following shortly after.

Yet, that only had encouraged you to make up your mind and go looking for him, which hadn't been such a difficult task per se. He was sitting on the bench, in the shade of a tree, and hiding his a little too delicate skin from the sun rays. As soon as he had heard your voice, his gray eyes flew up to see you standing a few meters away.

"What are you doing here?" was the immediate question that tumbled out of his mouth. He arched his eyebrow, and to your surprise, he didn't even look angry or sad with you. Nothing near the edge; actually, almost something like the amusement was painting on his face.

"Aren't you mad with me?" you asked intrigued, completely forgetting about his question.

He frowned. "Why would I be?" His tone was so mild that you weren't sure if he was referring to the double meaning; but then he smirked playfully and said, "Besides, I knew you were coming."

"Wha-- How?" you asked, eyes dilating a fraction, in shock.

He smirked, pointing at his phone in an explanatory manner. After a moment, you finally figured out what he meant: the app must have registered he had been tracked and that your phone was trying to find his. At this notice, you reacted with a wave of flush, suddenly regretting your previous lie. His smile only widened at your expression. "Wanna sit? It's plenty of room here."

"Mhm..." You nodded, pleased to accept his offer, and walked over to the bench, doing your best to hide the evident embarrassment on your face. You felt strange he had taken you with such ease, seeing as merely two or three hours ago, you had burst at him like a cram-full volcano of unspoken emotions.

Draco shifted a package from his side, making more space for you to sit, and it took you a moment to realize it was a McDonald's cake from earlier. Everything started from that -- a stupid, little piece of cake which stood up between...

You shook the thought away, taking a seat next to him, close enough to smell his sandalwood cologne. "You didn't answer my question," Draco reminded you. "What's so important to make you track my phone?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" You rounded your face to him, flustrated, leaning at the backrest of a bench. "That's why I came. I wanted to apologize."

"Oh... Couldn't you call?"

You sighed. "I figured you wouldn't want to talk to me after...you know... our quarrel," you said half-despondent, half-desperate, watching your feet as if it were the most interesting thing to peer at now. "I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"I know," he said. Out of nowhere, he was gently grasping your palms which forced you to look up directly into his intense gaze. His eyes were swirling like molten silver at you. "But I should be apologizing, love. I made a mistake, okay?" His hands traveled all across to your tense shoulders, squeezing them lightly. "I know I should be more... affectionate with you. And this was...dumb. A dumb mistake. With that cake. But I'll try to be better if you give it another shot."

He looked so serious that you instantly believed him. You wanted to actually, with all force of longing, which grew up too rapidly in you when he wasn't around. Draco was a fool, you could easily say. But he was your fool, which was a thing you couldn't be more proud of.

Peeking slowly in the other direction, you asked, out of the topic, "You remembered the place?"

"Of course," he puffed jokingly, smiling. "Our first date. Officially our place from then on."

"Right..." You smiled back.

Honestly, the mere fact that he had called this spot 'yours' warmed up your heart, and you felt yourself grinning at his never-before-discovered emotionality. To assure yourself you weren't the only one caring, it was all you needed to hear.

The whole moment was intense, and now, you realized, is when you should have hugged him. Kissed him. Said something back at his sincere endearment.

But instead, spotting plastic cutlery next to your 'gift', you asked, "So what's the taste of the birthday cake?"

And you knew he had caught the subtext of your playful inquiry. And you knew that soon you would work things out again. But, as for now...

"I thought you would never ask."

XOXOXOXO

A/N: Looooooool. Such a drama-comedy, right? And I could easily say It feels like 50% Draco-x-Reader / 50% Draco-x-BirthdayCake... But whatever (2am is working like a drunken bud, folks). Happy beginning of August :)

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j-amespotter · 4 years ago

Text

★ cardigan - s. b.

“i knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired.”

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

x. x. x.

Summary: Your relationship with Sirius is on the rocks, but you loved him and at the end of the day, he was always there. For your own happiness, something had to change.

Genre/Warnings: angst, alcohol, language, toxic relationship

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: this took a lot, and i mean a lot of energy. not sure how i feel about it (i am my worst critic) but i really didn’t want a pushover protagonist. ps... communicating with your partner is hot! let me know what you think (and if you think i should make a taglist) :)

masterlist

“Ravenclaw girl this time. Blonde… I think I recognize her. Couldn’t see the front of her robes, she might be one of the fifth-year prefects. You know I’m terrible with names. Ask James, he finds it hilarious.”

“You should work for the Prophet, Lils,” you said, without looking up from your toast, which was becoming more and more tasteless with every bite. “What were they doing?”

“Talking,” answered Lily pointedly. “He ended the conversation fairly quickly when he saw me looking, though.”

You sighed. This discussion was becoming too routine for your liking, most often with Lily, occasionally with Remus. “Well, if they were just talking, then I don’t see the issue. Lily, it is early. We have double Potions this morning. I really don’t want to deal with your weird suspicions about my boyfriend right now.”

If Lily sensed your underlying irritation, she chose to ignore it. “I just think you deserve better, that’s all. I mean, James–”

You finally turned and stared defiantly into your best friend’s vibrant green eyes. “Lily, I hate to break it to you, but James is the exception, not the rule. Just because he’s some angel on earth doesn’t mean all boyfriends are like that, and that’s not even considering the fact that he’s been hopelessly in love with you since second year…”

Huffing, Lily picked at the fruit off of her plate. “Okay, I get it. I won’t bring it up again.” It was sweet how much Lily cared. James doted on her day and night. It would have been easy to forget about her friend’s love-related quandaries. But that was Lily Evans – always considerate of others.

Truthfully, you were tired. You knew what ‘talking’ with Sirius Black entailed. It did not make you feel as secure as you indicated to Lily. As time went on, it was getting increasingly harder to defend Sirius’s overly-careless behavior. If he wasn’t chatting up girls in random corners of the castle, he stood you up on your scheduled study dates in favor of detention with James. There was only a little comfort in the fact that he wasn’t always like this. If he was, would you have even dated him? Deep down, you knew that as much as Sirius was a thrill-chaser, he was incredibly capable of being a loving boyfriend. For that reason alone, you bore the incredibly painful motions of being in a relationship with him.

He briefly reminded you of his better qualities when you opened your Potions textbook and felt a feathery kiss on your neck. “Guess who?” whispered Sirius sultrily into your ear.

You couldn’t help the automatic flush that made its way onto your cheeks. “Hmm… is it Remus?” you whispered back, stifling a giggle.

“Don’t tease,” he grunted before planting a swift kiss on your cheek. He plopped onto the chair next to you and faced you with a lazy grin. “You look disappointed, love. I’m afraid your usual Potions partner is a bit preoccupied at the moment.” He gestured across the room, where you spotted Lily practically hanging off of James’s lap, distracting herself until the start of her favorite class with his lips.

“They’re hopeless,” you commented airily, in an attempt to disguise your envy. You felt Sirius’s gaze burning into you. “Missed you at breakfast this morning,” you added in a casual tone.

“Oh, well, you know–”

“No, I don’t know,” you interrupted, bitterness leaking from your clipped voice. You always let Sirius off too easily. “But I certainly can’t wait to hear your ready-made list of vague excuses. Please, do continue.” There. He had it coming. He deserved for you to throw him off track.

“Baby, it was nothing,” assured Sirius rather predictably. “Just Pippa asking for help with Transfiguration. Honest.” He placed a hand on his heart in mock sincerity, which only angered you further.

Nevertheless, you chose not to argue. He was incredibly brilliant with his words. There was no way he would understand your plight. Instead, you absentmindedly flipped through your Potions textbook as Slughorn finally entered his unruly classroom.

Sirius seemed uncharacteristically bothered by your lack of response. With a half-glance at James and Lily, he entwined his fingers into yours. “They’re in their honeymoon phase, you know. You really can’t compare.”

“There is no comparison, Sirius. James prioritizes Lily. I can’t remember the last time you prioritized me,” you whispered. There was a finality in your tone that you hoped he would hear. It was the most you were willing to discuss the matter.

Sirius Black was a lot of things, least of all oblivious. He gently squeezed your hand. Silently, he slipped his fingers out of yours, choosing to follow your lead and not pursue the issue any further.

A part of you was proud of the fact that you finally found it in you to voice your concerns to him, but another larger part dreaded the irreversible distance it put between the two of you for the rest of the day. You weren’t necessarily avoiding each other. Though his smiles were significantly more tender, he seemed reluctant to talk, let alone touch you.

Sick of the mental torment you were subjecting yourself to, you stuffed your unfinished Charms essay into your bag and headed to your dormitory, choosing to retire for bed early. Mid-yawn, you spotted a single red rose on your unmade bed. You didn’t have to read the attached note to know who it was from but felt your heart thudding against your chest as you unfolded the small piece of parchment.

I’m sorry. I love you.

There was no signature, but you could recognize his meticulously-slanted script anywhere. You stared at the note adoringly before pressing your lips to the corner of the crumply parchment and marking it with the remnants of your lip gloss.

Suddenly, you were no longer tired. Skipping down the stairs, you found yourself wishing for a certain map that would tell you the exact location of the only person you wanted to see.

Fate seemed to be on your side when you saw him in the common room, his head bowed as if he was praying. “You’re here!”

He gazed up at you, his shoulders relaxing when he noticed the smile on your face. “I’m really–”

You didn’t let him finish. You kissed him hard, throwing your arms around his neck. You felt him smile against your lips. Reluctantly, you pulled away from him. “Don’t worry about it. I was being silly.”

Sirius’s grin widened. “You’re quite low maintenance, y’know. I thought it would take at least a week and a hundred roses. And if not roses, then daisies, sunflowers, peonies… I was ready to pull all the stops. For future reference, a good snog is all it takes to win me over.”

You laughed heartily, though you struggled to keep up with his train of thought. You always appreciated his good-natured ability to poke fun at the gravest circumstances. “I just missed you.”

“Me too, darling. I’ll do better this time, I promise.”

☆

True to his word, Sirius showered you with a level of affection that could rival James’s for Lily. He spent every spare moment with you in his bed, sneaking into the kitchen for secret dinners, and pushing you against bookshelves in the back of the library, homework-be-damned.

On Tuesday night, you sat on the Astronomy Tower. You glanced at your watch, realizing that Sirius was nearly an hour late. Your eyelids were drooping shut. It had been a long day. Everything in your brain felt scattered. You could’ve been catching up on the mounds of schoolwork you were now falling behind on. Sirius… Did he say midnight? Did you hear him correctly? Maybe he meant for you to pencil it in. Maybe he was hurt. Was it Remus? You stared at the sky, peering at the crescent shape of the moon. It taunted you. Stop kidding yourself. He’s not coming.

Just as you were about to call it a night, Sirius stumbled into the Tower and onto the floor. Startled, you helped him up. “There you are! Are you alright? I was so worried… Are you drunk?”

His grey eyes shone in the soft moonlight. The cloudy expression on his face paired with the sloppy grin he sent your way spoke for him. “Lost track of time… we snuck into Hogsmeade,” he slurred. “Rosmerta slipped us some firewhiskey. Here, I brought us a bottle...” He reached into his robes, only to come out empty-handed. “Uh-oh… finished it. Sorry, baby.”

You processed his words very slowly, realization dawning on you with the weight of heavy bricks. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“Hey! We’re all of age.” He threw up his hands in surrender and widened his eyes innocently. “Next time, darling. I promise.”

“It’s not about the fucking drink, Sirius! You’re here so you obviously haven’t forgotten that we had plans tonight! I don’t care if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade, but you should’ve told me. I’ve been waiting here like an idiot for an hour. I’m exhausted!”

“Told you,” he grumbled, now irritated, “we lost track of time.”

You stared at him, unable to comprehend his complete shift in attitude. “Whatever,” you said finally. “I’m going to bed.”

Spinning on your heels, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you prepared to march away from him with your chin up. Before you could take too many steps, however, a firm hand grasped your wrist. The intensity of the force pulling you back to him felt so otherworldly that you could hardly believe it was a wasted Sirius.

You had a fleeting thought of pushing him away but instead tilted your head so he could pepper kisses onto the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again, between his fluttering pecks along your jawline.

His lips found yours. His hand released your limp wrist as his fingers gently trailed up your arm. “So beautiful,” he murmured, gazing directly into your eyes. You practically melted as your body fell into his. Like always, his arms were ready to catch you, drunk or otherwise.

☆

“No Sirius yet?” asked your mother, sipping her drink cheerily.

You refused to look her in the eye in fear of giving something away. “No, not yet. Should be here soon, though.”

“Better be,” said your father, slipping away from a party guest. “He’ll miss cake.”

It was your parents’ twentieth-anniversary party, an occasion made doubly special as their one and only daughter was now officially a Hogwarts graduate. You had planned the party and made Sirius promise that he would not only attend, but also arrive early to help greet your guests as your boyfriend.

You knew that your parents did not initially approve of Sirius, but as your relationship strengthened, so did Sirius’s standing in your family. Now, post-Hogwarts, you were desperate to not only show your parents that the two of you were committed to one another but also feel yourself that your love would endure the many challenges of adulthood.

As the last of your family friends trickled out of your childhood home, you failed to hide your disappointment at his loud absence. Like many months earlier, your mind see-sawed between possibilities, some pathetic, others worrying. You were in the middle of a war, after all. You always believed Sirius’s recklessness would be his downfall.

Fortunately or unfortunately, your worries subsided when you saw him slip into the parlor with a present in hand and a sheepish smile directed at you and your parents. “Happy anniversary! Sorry I’m late, you won’t believe– hey, where’s the party?”

“It’s over,” you announced bitterly.

Your mum and dad sensed the tension and tactfully exited the room. “We saved you some cake, dear,” your mother said to Sirius, after politely thanking him for his present.

“So,” you started as you heard your parents’ footsteps fade away, “where were you? Actually, don’t answer that. Let me talk first. This was important to me, Sirius. You knew that! What will I say to Mum and Dad? Don’t I matter to you at all? Is it always going to be like this?”

“Slow down,” whispered Sirius. “I’ll explain everything – just listen! I was with James, okay? We were only mucking around on the bike. I was on the way, I swear! But then these Muggle Aurors – police, they’re called – they started chasing us! We were getting away but these three blokes – Death Eaters – caught up to us. Long story short, we got into quite a scuffle and…” He looked at you in an attempt to gauge your reaction.

Your mouth hung open as you absorbed his story. Regardless of your anger, he presented a legitimate case for himself that you could not quash. “Death Eaters? Thank Merlin you’re alright. How on earth did you get away?”

“I’ll tell you everything. Your mum mentioned something about cake?”

You stood on your toes, wrapping your arms around his waist and laying your head on his chest. “In the kitchen,” you answered softly. “I wish you would be more careful.”

He kissed your temple. “Don’t worry,” said Sirius dismissively, “I handled it, didn’t I?”

☆

“So, what do you think?”

You and Sirius were standing in the middle of his new studio flat. Primely-located and newly-furnished, it was the picture-perfect bachelor pad. Sirius now had a place to call his own, thanks to a bountiful inheritance from his Uncle Alphard. The walls were bare and the lighting dim, adding an overall sensuality to the atmosphere.

“It’s nice,” you remarked sincerely, smoothing his plain black bed sheets. You peeked into his wardrobe, smirking to yourself as you noticed it was half-empty. “Lost the rest of your clothes, babe?”

“No,” answered Sirius quietly. “It’s for you.”

“What is?”

“The closet space. It’s for your clothes.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“For when I come to visit,” you amended automatically.

You turned to see Sirius scratching the back of his head. “No, for when you live here. With me.”

“W-What?” Your mind was reeling. You leaned against his side table to steady yourself. “Me? Move in with you?”

“Well… yeah,” said Sirius as he slowly regained his signature confidence. “We’ve been together for ages, seems about right. Besides, James and Lily are getting a place together.”

You did not understand why you weren’t over the moon. It was what you always wanted from him – a tell-tale symbol of his otherwise-flaky commitment to you, a sign of your sparkling love. It was the beginning of the next chapter of your lives, and you were meant to start it together. On paper, it was perfect. There was no explanation for the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Suddenly, the words that would never come were on the tip of your tongue. The answer was clear as day. “No.”

“What?”

It was an extremely difficult task to catch Sirius Black off-guard, a feat you used to motivate your argument. “No, Sirius. I won’t move in with you.”

Shock was written all over his face. “What the hell? Why?”

“Because… you didn’t even ask me!”

Sirius stared at you blankly for a long moment before bursting into laughter. “Alright… (Y/N), will you please do me the honor of sharing an address with me? Is that it, then? Shall I get down on one knee?”

“No, Sirius. That’s not the point,” you said firmly. “The point is that you didn’t ask me. You just assumed that I would say yes – don’t interrupt. I know we’ve been together for years, but can’t you see? You make me so incredibly happy and yet, so unbelievably unhappy at the same time. You’re so good to me, and then so horrible, and then amazing again… I can hardly keep up anymore. I’m a fucking doormat and I’m sick of it! It’s humiliating. I’m tired of feeling humiliated in front of people I care about. It’s starting to become too high a price of being in love with you.”

You ended shakily, afraid to look at him. When you dared, you saw him wearing an unfamiliar expression. The silence washed over you both for an eternity. You had the horrible thought that perhaps this was it. Perhaps, you crossed a line. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how broken you both were, how broken you were, and now… well, he couldn’t unsee it now. You were over. Without a word, you headed for the door with your head down.

“Wait,” shouted Sirius hoarsely. “Don’t go. I-I’m not sure what to say to make you stay.”

“Try being honest,” you whispered weakly.

He swallowed nervously. “Okay, here goes. I know that I haven’t put enough effort into this relationship… I know that. I realize that I take you for granted and that you deserve better. I don’t blame you for thinking that. I would never have blamed you for thinking that. But here’s the truth – I am so far gone when it comes to you, you have no idea. I am so in love with you. I think about you morning, noon, and night. And the thing is, here we are, fighting for Muggles and Muggleborns and the good of the world… but above all, I am so utterly afraid of losing you. I think that’s why, actually. That’s why I keep you at arm’s length. I don’t think I mean to, but it just happens. Because I’ve never met anyone who loves me as much as you do, not even my mother. Especially not my mother. I’m torn between keeping you close and pushing you away because the truth is, you’ll always deserve better than me. And I’ve always been afraid of you realizing that.”

His truth was careful but sincere. Your hand slipped off the doorknob. Still, it was not the first time Sirius had rendered you speechless. “How do I know you mean it? That it’s more than just words to you?”

“Let me prove it to you,” he said meaningfully, grey eyes glistening.

You took slow steps toward him, and he embraced you with the hope of filling all the gaps he may have left open. “Okay,” you said, your voice muffled into his shirt. “Just… leave the closet half-empty for a little while.”

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wille-zarr · 4 years ago

Text

The Mandalorian: “That’s My Girl”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Nine ~ “That’s My Girl”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; smoking; violence; mild descriptions of wounds; mild sexual themes; angst

word count: 14.4k

chapter summary: heartbroken and grief-stricken, you do everything within your power to stay hidden away from danger… and din djarin. but when plans go horrifically awry, you have no choice but to face down a ghost from your past.

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: @sana-katarn suffered and nearly died for this chapter. give her a follow as a thank you from me. (though she’ll also happily accept pictures of cassian andor in her inbox instead.)

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Nine: “That’s My Girl”

“Mando can’t kill us if he can’t find us.”

“Pablo,” Cara snaps. “We can’t just-”

“It’s not our fault the Mandalorian’s ‘girlfriend’ ran away.” Pablo scoots forward, a scowl etched deep on his face. “But he’s going to shoot us when he finds out-”

“Shoot you, maybe.”

“Pardon? If memory serves me-” Pablo waves a hydro-spanner at her- “we were both left to look after Mando’s precious little sunstar.”

“Get that thing out of my face.” Cara swats at the hydro-spanner, ignoring Pablo’s curse as it flies through the air.

Maker. She can’t believe she’s been stuck alone with Pablo for three whole days. The man is-

“Hey!”

Cara twists, watching as Peli stomps around the side of the Razor Crest, barely visible even with the moonlight.

“I can hear everything you’re saying! You’re not about to run away-” Peli juts a thumb at her chest- “leaving me with the fallout!”

“Oh, come on, Ms. Peli.” Pablo flashes her a cheeky grin. “You have 4PO to protect yourself, right?”

“4PO!”

-Crash.

“Oh, Maker’s mercy!”

“4PO! Get off the ground, for land’s sake!” Peli growls. “Pick yourself up!”

…

“Oh, kriffin’ hell.”

…

“Well…. Anyway… you can’t expect me to handle an angry Mandalorian all by myself!” Peli squawks, shoving at Pablo’s shoulder. “I swear, I’ll have my droids strip every last-”

“We aren’t leaving.” Cara shoots Pablo a pointed look.

He throws his hands in the air, avoiding meeting both their eyes.

“I’m watching you,” Peli grumbles, jabbing a finger at Pablo as she walks away. “4PO! I swear- get UP!”

Releasing a pained sigh, Cara begins going through the motions of loading and unloading her weapon, a distraction against the apprehension, the concern for you beginning to weigh heavy in her chest.

Sure, you might be impulsive, reckless even, but Cara knows you aren’t stupid- far from it, in fact.

…

But damn it if you aren’t being stupid right now.

Just… up and running away? No goodbyes? With bounty hunters- Mandalorian bounty hunters- trailing after you?

…

You won’t last long, and Cara knows it.

And you had to know it too.

“Such, a rash, senseless move. We could have helped her,” Cara mutters, rubbing her brow. “I just… why did she up and leave like that? She’s going to get caught within days.”

Pablo stops spinning the hydro-spanner long enough to chuckle. “So-” he quirks his brow- “you have no faith in that bewildering brain of hers?”

…

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Cara slaps hand against her thigh. “Blast! I just wish Din would get his ass back into town… Maybe I should take out a bike, search for him in Mos Pelgo.”

After all, every day that goes by… Maker, you’ll be only that much more impossible to track. And while Cara respects your independence- your freedom to choose to play the part of the sacrificial hero, in turn sparing your friends from further threat, she also knows-

Din’s… not going to take this well.

“If we couldn’t find any trace of her after three days of searching-” Pablo leans forward, resting his forearms against his thighs- “what makes you think he’ll have better luck?”

Silence.

“Pablo-”

“Oh, I know, I know. He’s an ‘elite bounty hunter,’” he mocks. “Deadly, efficient, blah, blah, blah.” He leans back with a sigh, stretching out across the crate.

“And you ought to know it.” Cara bites back a smirk.

Does she really want to get him going…?

…

Yes.

“After all, Pablo, you’re personally well acquainted with the Mandalorian’s hunting techniques.”

He shoots straight up. “I almost got away from him!” he snaps. “If it wasn’t for that Carbonite, I would have-”

“-Oh, here we go…” Cara chuckles, covering both eyes with a hand. All too easy.

“It’s true!” he barks, throwing both hands in the air. “If Mando hadn’t flung me into the freezing bay, sealing me within that cold, dark, terrifying… tomb of, uh…um… C-carbonite...”

Silence.

“Hell, Cara!” Eyes blasting wide open, Pablo leaps to his feet. “I’m getting the kark outta here!”

“Hold up.” Cara’s hand lashes out, grabbing a fistful of Pablo’s shirt and yanking him back. “Just you calm down- I’ll keep you safe, Babycakes.”

He huffs. “The hell?... Babycakes?” Stuffing both hands in his pockets, he faces away from her. “Uh, love you too, I guess? ... Um, anyway- I still don’t know how he’ll track her if she’s already left the system.”

“This is why you’re the scheming con artist,” Cara sighs, shifting forward to stand, “and he’s the bounty hunter.”

“I prefer the title ‘opportunistic entrepreneur.’”

“Charlatan, swindler, cheat-”

“Now kriffin’ look here-”

“HE’S BACK!” Peli yelps somewhere in the distance.

Cara’s heart squeezes.

Din.

Thank the Maker!

A wave of relief washes over Cara… immediately replaced by a tidal wave of dread. Cara knows he’s probably going to ask for you right away-

Shit.

“Cara!” Pablo hisses, rushing to stand beside her. “What’s the plan? Plan, Cara?!” He twists his eyes to stare out across the hanger. “Do we have a plan? What do we say?”

“Stay calm and shut up!” Cara jumps up, foisting Pablo back down into his seat, ignoring his yelp of protest. “I’ll tell him.”

“Just remember-” he lifts his finger, a brow quirking up- “I’m Babycakes. Don’t let him hurt me.”

“Oh, Maker,” she groans, burying her face in the palms of her hands.

“QUICK!” Peli screeches, dashing around the back of the Crest, flapping her arms in the air. “Act natural! SHOO, go away, droids! Maker, can’t you see we’re in a crisis right now? I swear!”

Peli slams rear-first into a chair, the seat shooting back a few feet against the momentum of the action. Pablo, equally as jumpy, begins fiddling with the random pieces of mechanical junk surrounding him.

“Oh, stars, you both look so suspicious- uh, Mando!”

There he is.

The Mandalorian is frozen beside the Razor Crest, the soft moonlight casting a hazy glow against his Beskar armor. Resting across his back, a bar strung up with gear and supplies weighs his shoulders down low.

He doesn’t move. He just… stares, angles his head to the side.

Oh, great. Just great.

He had to of heard all the yelling- he knows something’s wrong.

“Din?” Cara rises to her feet. “What- why are you carrying all of that? Here, let me-”

“No.”

The curt reply slaps her hands back.

“Well, someone had a lousy trip,” she mutters as she moves to sit back down. Even with her fatigued sigh, she’s unable to keep a slight smile from slipping onto her face at sight of the baby- only the tips of his ears visible from satchel resting against his father’s side.

The Mandalorian lumbers forward, each step slow, weighted, the clank-clank of his Beskar and blaster-casings the only noise reverberating throughout the hanger.

“…Sorry,” he mumbles, barely audible through his helm’s vocoder. Ducking his head away from Cara, he gently lowers his gear, resting it down against the hanger floor. “It’s… been a long couple of days.”

Even with the burden of his gear now lifted from him, his shoulders remain slumped forward, exhaustion, weariness tattooed on every square inch of his frame. The stance is completely unlike the ordinarily deft, foreboding Mandalorian- abnormal enough for concern to take root in Cara’s mind.

“What happened to you?” she snorts, raising an eyebrow at his languid, fatigued walk forward. “What- hell, Din, what’s that… green goop all over your armor?”

He doesn’t answer- just dips his gloves into the satchel wrapped around his torso, hauling out the sleepy-eyed, listless child. Peli- without waiting for permission- takes the baby from his hands, tucking him against her chest.

“You have a lot to learn about raising a young’un,” Peli grumbles, stroking a finger across the child’s left ear. “He’s too young to be dragged half-way cross the desert on some- some fool’s errand.” She glares at him with the word “fool.”

Din reaches a gloved hand out, his hand cradling the side of his son’s face.

“I know.”

Cara lowers her brows, concern and anxiety for you squeezing in her chest again, only building with every moment that passes.

“Oh, lookie here! He brought meat!” Peli interrupts Cara’s fretting, lifting up a corner of burlap with her free hand to peer beneath it. “DROIDS! Pull out that- no, stop! We’ve gotta cook- no!”

Cara smiles wearily as Peli bounces away, shouting demands at her droids. But Din stands still, unmoving, visor trained on the ground beneath his feet.

“Well, damn, man-” Pablo reaches down into his shirt pocket, pulling out a cigarra. “You look beat to hell.” He reaches up, lighting the cigarra. Pulling it away from his lips, he cocks his head to the side. “Oh, oh shit, what is all that green stuff?”

“Krayt Dragon stomach acid.”

…

“Kriff, man. Well… I guess that’d do it.”

The Mandalorian bends his knees, sitting down with a pained grunt. He sighs, deep, heavy, his head tilting forward to stare at the dirt.

“Sounds like a party.” A smile quirks on Cara’s lips. “Should have invited us.”

He grunts.

“On the way back, a group of mercs tripped my bike.” Leaning forward on his thighs, he glances back up. “Destroyed it. Had to walk.”

“Kark, they are after the chip again?” Cara growls, clenching her fists. “Just great. How’d they even find you?”

“I don’t know.” The Mandalorian shakes his head, his voice slowing with every word. “I… eliminated them before they could be questioned.”

“Damn!”

…

“Hey, so just to clarify, that’s dragon meat and not merc meat, right?”

“Pablo-”

“Just making sure!”

“Well, this little one would eat either!” Peli snorts, walking up the child, who’s beginning to fuss and whine in her arms. He pushes against her chest, motioning to be let down. “Alright, alright.” Peli coos, setting the child back down on the ground.

The child bolts straight for Din, a long, high-pitched whine erupting from his tiny frame. The Mandalorian obliges him, hauling him up into his lap.

“He’s been-” he pauses, staring down at the child in his lap- “…irritable since we left.”

The Mandalorian begins shifting side to side, almost nervously, in his seat. Setting the child against his hip, he leans forward with a grunt and stands.

“I-” the Mandalorian rasps, stealing a quick glance over at the open ramp of the Razor Crest. With a small groan, so small that Cara almost missed it, he tears his visor away from the starship. “I think he’s been missing… the girl.”

He turns.

“I… he misses the sound of her voice… her… laugh.”

…

“Uh oh,” Pablo mumbles under his breath, shoving the cigarra back in his mouth and turning his body away. At the same moment, Peli- taking Din’s words as her call to action- rips the child out of his arms, muttering under her breath to him as she practically flees from the scene.

The Mandalorian stares at the Razor Crest, oblivious to everyone’s discomfort.

“Is she inside?”

His tone is soft, affectionate…. Damn, there’s… just no easy way to do this.

“Mando-”

One word gives it away.

…

“Where is she?”

…

“Where’s the girl?”

“Din, it’s-”

“Now.”

Din isn’t speaking.

This is the Mandalorian.

“She’s… gone.”

“What do you mean-” his voice tightens- “she’s gone?”

“She ran away, man.” Pablo pulls the cigarra from his lips. “Lost to the force.”

“Pablo!” Cara barks. “Stick a sock in it.”

“We-” the Mandalorian drops to his seat- the word barely a whisper- “…we had words, argued, but-” He leans forward, visor piercing, burning the ground.

“Tell me what happened.”

His voice is hard- the affection, any hint of weariness, stripped from his words.

“I think she thinks she’s protecting us,” Cara sighs. “…From bounty hunters.”

The Mandalorian shakes his head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. We’re both involved with the Taek-”

“The same day you left for Mos Pelgo, she had a conversation with Karga.” Cara stands, frown deepening on her face. “He told her that three bounty hunters had approached him on Navarro, asking for information… about her- not concerning the events on Taek. About something else entirely. She thanked Karga; told him she would take care of it. And then she just- slipped away without a word to us.”

The Mandalorian just stares- stares straight ahead as if Cara had never spoken a word.

“…Din?”

“Shit…” he breathes, clenching his hand into a fist. “Shit.”

“Din?”

-slam-

“-Kark, man!”

Din lifts his fist from the crate, ignoring the crack he left behind. “We have to find her.” He shoots up. “We have to find her first.”

A noise- Pablo clearing his throat.

“Cara forgot to mention something.” He takes a puff of his cigarra, disregarding Cara’s warning glare. “The hunters searching for Sweetheart are Mandalorian.”

…

“Damn it,” Din hisses- a sharp rasp of breath through his modulator.

“Well,” Cara grumbles under her breath, looking down to tighten the holster against her thigh. “What’s the plan-”

“Connections,” Din snaps. He spins around, stalking straight for the Razor Crest. “We’ll track down her connections on Tatooine.”

“How do we do that?” Cara sprints to catch up, their footsteps clanking against the metal ramp of the ship. “We don’t know a thing about her, not even the name she went by here.”

The Mandalorian does not speak- does not answer. He merely reaches forward- slams his hand against the control panel for the ship’s Holonet display.

“Din?” Cara prods.

“‘Damn best racer.’”

She lifts a brow. “Pardon?”

“‘Damn best racer,’” he repeats, typing orders into the system. “A speeder bike race-” he lifts his helmet, the words from the Holonet display reflecting off of his visor- “she won one. On Tatooine. Years ago.”

“Ah,” Cara nods her head, beginning to catch on. “Find the race, and you find her connections, her sponsors. Sponsors she might have recently contacted for help.”

Din doesn’t respond, completely engrossed with the display before him.

“Hey.” Resting a light hand atop his vambrace, Cara forces her voice to soften. “You know, if you do find her, you can’t… force her to stay under your protection-” she pulls her hand back- “if she doesn’t want to.”

…

“…I know.”

He stops- stops typing- dips the edge of his helmet against his chest.

“I just… want to talk. Make sure she has a plan… Credits.”

He resumes typing, punching demands into the Holonet.

“…Make sure she’s… safe.”

With a heavy sigh, Cara stares into Din’s blank, unreadable visor.

Unreadable, yes. But that didn’t matter.

The frantic clank-clank-clank of fingertips pounding against search keys told her everything she needed to know.

-------------------------------

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t react to Cara’s grumble- just keeps his head pointed forward. But the curl of his gloves; the clench of fingers against his holster told her-

-He agrees.

A flash of sunlight grabs at her attention, drawing her eyes to stare at the gleaming marble walls- a stark comparison to the dry, arid sands of Tatooine rolling just outside the building’s walls. And she ought to know- they just spent the last blasted hour traveling through a relentless sandstorm to reach the compound’s gates.

“Hey,” she calls, attempting to catch the guard’s attention. “Where exactly are you tak- oh!”

Two double doors burst open- revealing an enormous, palatial… dining room?

If you could even call it that.

Art museum might would be a better descriptor.

“Ah, it’s true- a Mandalorian!” booms a voice that practically shakes the ornate chandeliers hanging from the rafters.

“Now, I knew you couldn’t all be dead.” The voice, a Cathar, stands up from his chair at the head of the table. He shoots his fur-covered hand out to the side, his embroidered sleeve swaying as he beckons them forward. “After all, if you were all dead, you actually made terrible warriors, you know?”

Cara glances at the Mandalorian-

Uh oh.

Shoulders tight- fists clenched against his thighs- he steps forward-

“-Aric Thall!” Cara barks.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me!” Thall bares his fangs in a… smile? “This should be interesting. Please, sit. Join me in my dinn-”

“We’re here on business, Thall.”

The air stills.

…

The Cathar sinks back into his chair.

“Ah,” he sighs. “So, you’re here on… business. Disappointing. Well, you’re not here to collect me, I hope?” the Cathar grumbles, glancing over at his guards. They stand with weapons drawn- ready to take the threat- Din- head on at Thall’s first order.

He flashes another fang-filled grin. “I’m innocent, I swear. My cousin’s the dirty one.” He flops back and sighs, letting both his arms hang off the side of the chair.

Cara rolls her eyes. “Oh, kriffin-”

“I’m here for information.”

The Mandalorian’s tone is hard- grit and warning dripping from each of his words.

“…About what?”

“A race,” the Mandalorian snaps, taking a broad step forward.

“Oh, be specific- I’ve held thousands!” Thall flips like a switch, his persona flooded once again with jubilancy and charm. “But you have certainly piqued my interest.” He holds out a hand. “Please, continue, Mandalorian.”

Your Tatooine name- the one discovered after hours of careful research- drops from the Mandalorian’s vocoder.

“Oh. Oh,” Thall groans, squeezing both eyes shut. “Oh, don’t remind me! Wild little thing-” he presses against his temples- “she left me holding the bag with the Hutts when she disappeared after winning the Boska Springs Classic. Valen’s doing- no doubt. Her grandfather had no imagination.” Thall opens his eyes with a sigh. “When she wasn’t racing, she was giving me a headache.” He leans forward to take a sip from his glass, wiping his mouth with a napkin before continuing.

“Still, so much wasted potential,” he sighs, staring at the glass in his hand. “The girl was karking nuts. The only racer batshit crazy enough to cut a route through a Rancor’s den as a shortcut.”

Cara can’t help but smile.

Well, hell yeah, kid.

Her eyes drift up to Din, who’s now standing a few feet in front of her. Both of his hands are latched on his belt- his shoulders rising ever-so-slightly in… pride? Respect?

Perhaps both.

“You’ve not been in contact with her recently.”

The Mandalorian states it as a fact, his tone even, indifferent. But she- his friend- heard the disappointment layered in between his words.

“I didn’t say that,” the Cathar purrs, folding his fingers together.

“…Has she been in contact?” The Mandalorian slowly, carefully stalks closer. “Answer me.”

Thall chuckles.

“Depends on why you’re asking, Mandalorian.”

Silence.

“Or more importantly-” the Cathar stands, strolling forward, pausing in front of the Mandalorian- “what are you willing to give in return for my information?”

Cara can’t help but notice Thall’s eyes… drift across the Mandalorian’s Beskar.

“I’m not making any deals-” Din steps forward, closing the distance between him and the Cathar- “until you answer my question.”

“Fine. Fair enough,” Thall sighs, folding his arms behind his back. “She was here not that long ago, looking to reconnect with some of her old friends.”

“Where-”

“She’ll have left the planet by now.”

…

The Mandalorian’s shoulders tighten.

“But-” the Cathar throws out a hand dismissively- “I know how you can find her.” He grins and takes a step back. “My question is, again, what are you willing to give up in order to find that information out?”

…

“How much do you want?”

The Mandalorian’s words- dry, hoarse- linger in the air.

“Your Beskar-”

“-is not up for trade.”

“Ah! Fine- I have a… much more profitable proposal to offer you. Profitable for me, at least.” Throwing his head back, Thall grins at the ceiling- chuckles.

Oh, Dank Ferrik.

Cara knew she had a bad feeling about this.

“We’ve had a bit of a-” Thall spins his hand around- “let’s say, entertainment drought since the fall of Hutt control. We’re desperate for a good show- good excitement. A reason for a little friendly… betting amongst friends.”

“How does this concern me?”

Din’s patience is wearing thin.

“How does it concern you, Mandalorian?” Thall chuckles. “Well, you’re walking, talking entertainment!”

…

Dank Ferrik. He couldn’t mean-

“I don’t want your credits, Mandalorian; I want everyone else’s credits!” Thall holds up three fingers. “Three fights, starring you, my friend, as primary challenger. I intend to make a small fortune off ticket sales, and the betting?” Low whistle. “Credits galore!”

The Mandalorian tilts his head- staring straight at the Cathar- silent, unmoving.

“You’ll never find her,” Thall says through a clenched smile, “without me.”

“Mando.” Cara steps up right behind him, keeping her voice low. “I don’t think this is a good idea. He’s leading you on. He doesn’t know anything.”

“If he does?” The Mandalorian pauses, angling his head back. “…I’ll take that risk.”

He turns away.

“Do you agree then, Mandalorian?” The Cathar grins, already sensing his answer. “You’ll fight?”

…

“…I’ll fight.”

“Fantastic! I will jus-”

“But just know, if you don’t follow through-” the Mandalorian slowly, deliberately places a hand against his belt- “the last thing you’ll remember is regret for this moment.”

Thall slaps a hand on the Mandalorian’s back, grinning as if Mando hadn’t just threatened to kill him. “Understandable position!... Then let’s lay the rules out…”

Cara grits her teeth.

Oh, here it comes…

“You win two of three fights… and you get the information you seek.”

The Mandalorian turns his helmet, glaring at Thall.

“But you lose two of three fights… or die-” he smiles- “and I keep your Beskar... These are the conditions- I will not budge.”

The Mandalorian huffs.

“… I don’t plan on losing.”

------------------------------

You’re about to commit a murder.

“Curse me out one more time-” you bare your teeth at the Ortolan- “and I’ll stomp you into oblivion.”

The Ortolan just… screams.

“Fine! Fine!” you grumble, taking a step to the side. “Look, I’ll just leave the box over here-”

"-M, m buoou!”

“Okay…. here?”

“Daneeveo dueenboomo!”

…

“…What the hell are you saying?”

“Leeela duundao m…..” The Ortolan whines, yanking on his nose in clear distress.

Oh, to kriff with it.

You knew this was a bad idea.

But beggars can’t be choosers. This Ortolan crew was the only one which offered you a job as a mechanic, for that you are grateful. So, as long as you didn’t start a fire like the last repair you attempted, ultimately leading to your unceremonious marooning on Taek…

You’ll be… just…uh, fine!

…

Yeah.

Either way, you’re willing to take that risk. Anything’s worth it to get off Tatooine as soon as possible. Every minute lingered… stars. You’ve already stayed much, much too long… After all, who, at this point, isn’t trying to find you?

The Mandalorian bounty hunters- you… you don’t want to think about them; what- what they might do on his orders…

Kriff.

Next in line to destroy your life, there’s the Nar Shaddaa hunters. You’ve already been karkin’ stabbed by one. You don’t exactly want to make it easy for them to finish the job.

And then there’s…

Din.

Mandalorian, friend, protector…

…

A good man.

And maybe you are just- completely delusional… But he… cares a lot about you… Then again, the way he spoke to you- the things he said just before leaving-

…

Does he?

…It doesn’t matter.

“J-just,” you push out, rapidly blinking as you look away from the Ortolan. “Let’s agree to move on, start fresh? Otherwise-” you force a tight smile, waving your hand at the starship- “this will be a long, long trip to Nal Hutta.”

Kriff this.

Kriff all of this.

You- shit.

Shit!

Squeezing your eyes tightly together, you spin away, placing your back between you and the Ortolan crew. Damn it- it’s been three days already! Why do you still feel- feel this- this..?

…grief?

You open your eyes.

That’s what it is, isn’t it?

Grief.

You can’t help but snort, almost… relieved at the realization. After all, if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s suppressing kriffing grief. Should be simple enough- no one’s even died this time, an overall improvement, you think.

You inhale deeply, pressing a palm to your cheek. Stars, this is going to be- KRIFF!

A hand on your arm-

You spin-

Hand to your belt-

Grab at the staff-

“Whoa! Wait! Hold on!” A hand grips your wrist. “Hey, wait!”

“Screw off!” you shriek, using your free hand to punch at the man’s chest. “Get away-”

“-I’m not trying to hurt you!”

…

You gawk at the man’s face.

Green eyes.

Sandy hair.

Tan skin.

Crooked nose-

-because you broke it years ago.

“Tesen!” you gasp, leaping into his arms.

“Hell!” he grunts, taken aback by your sudden shift in temperament “Kark, thought you were about to break my nose again!”

“Weeping Womprats, Tesen!” You grin, pulling back from the embrace. “Hell, I’ve missed you like a Hutt misses dinner!”

“Well, kriff then.” He flashes you a shy smile, diverting his eyes to the ground. “Didn’t know you felt that way.”

“You always were my second favorite guy-” an impish grin stretches across your face- “after Gavon, of course.”

“Oof-” he clutches his heart- cringes- “Damn, you haven’t changed, I see.”

Pulling him in for another hug, you can only laugh. “But you were my first favorite mechanic.” You bury your face against his chest. “Only one I’d trust to work on my bike.”

He tenses- then there’s a gentle -pat- against your back.

“Yeah...”

Glancing up, you can only smirk- his cheeks are tinged with warmth, eyes darting everywhere but towards you.

“Don’t blush on my account-” you laugh at his groan and pull away- “I’m not worth it, trust me.” You glance away, your eyes catching the Ortolan crew, just blasted… staring at you.

“OH, so were you lot just going to sit there?” you growl. “Let me get kidnapped?”

…

One Ortolan shrugs.

“Oh, fine,” you sigh. “Well, what do you do these days, Tesen? Still a mechanic?” you ask, your lips sliding into a smirk. “Still working with the racing circuits?”

“No, I work here now.” His own smile quirks at his lips. “Cargo inspector for the planet’s administration.”

“Oh.” Twisting back to glance at the ship, your eyes widen. “Um, I… uh.”

“Don’t worry-” he winks. “I know this ship is carrying… hyperdrives.”

You blink.

“…Sure.”

He laughs, giving a quick nod over at the Ortolan captain. “Let’s just say I have an… understanding with a few of the cargo captains.”

Ah.

No need to say a word- you just return the grin.

“So hey,” Tesen clears his throat, breaking from your gaze. “How’s your old man- Valen?”

…

“He’s, uh… gone.”

“Blast.” Tesen’s voice softens. “I’m… sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You slide the toe of your boot across the ground and shake your head.

Hardly…

He’s dead because of you…

“It- it happened a long time ago. Um, anyway… blast. You have no idea how badly I needed to see you again.”

Tesen smiles, his voice perking up. “Oh, yeah? I heard you had been in town, but I never thought I’d run into you like this.”

-Stop.

Your breathing stops.

…

“Wh-what… what?” You stumble back. “How… how did you kn-”

“Aric Thall?” Tesen raises an eyebrow at you. “You… don’t know? About the Mandalorian trying to find you?”

…

Mandalorian…?

…

Trying to find you.

…

Oh.

…

Well.

…

Guess it’s time to fucking go-

-a hand grips, holds you back.

“Let me go, Tesen!” you shout, shoving against him with both hands. “I- I can’t stay- need to- let go!”

“Hey, hey! What’s wrong?”

He releases your arm- touches your face.

“What do you kriffing think?” You slap his hand away, your voice rising, straining against the fear and panic and anxiety bubbling up your throat. “…Bounty hunters? They blasted hunt! What? Did you think they wanted to propose marriage to me?”

“Dank Ferrik,” he whispers under his breath. “You need to get out of here. Aric Thall- he’s helping the Mandalorian find you.”

…

Shit.

Shit!

Hands grip, squeeze your shoulders.

“I- I have no idea how they tracked me here!” The words tumble from your lips, your palm slapping across your eyes. “I- oh, Maker!”

“What in the galaxy did you do?” His eyes widen. “You always did have a penchant for trouble. You sure pissed someone off.”

You grit your teeth, choosing to ignore his blatant prodding for information.

“Tell me, Tesen.” Both hands shoot up to your hips. “Everything.”

Tesen shrugs and turns to sit down. “My cousin told me the Mandalorian cut some sort of deal- I don’t have the specifics. But he’s entering Thall’s fighting rings in exchange for information.” He raises a brow, leans forward. “On you.”

You blink.

“Wait… what?”

This… doesn’t sound right.

Tesen shrugs again. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“I’m-” you stare at the wall- “so confused?”

“Yeah, me too.” He scratches his head. “Thall told him you visited, but that you had left the planet. That’s why I was surprised to find you here.”

“…Blast.”

You can’t help but chuckle.

“Then the lurdo is lying to a Mandalorian.” You shake your head. “Thall is going to get killed.”

“Good.” Tesen glances away, the hint of a small, timid smile on his face. “He… he deserves it- for betraying you.”

Returning the smile, it grows with the warmth crawling across Tesen’s cheeks.

“One thing I don’t understand-” you sit beside him- “I- I was told three Mandalorians are hunting for me.”

“Maybe so, but only one made a deal with Thall- along with some tough looking woman.”

…

You blink.

Oh… no.

“…The Mandalorian- did your cousin happen to… describe him?”

“Tall. Scary. Big cape. Big rifle.” He scratches his face. “Um…”

“Color, Tesen.” Your voice lowers. “…What color was his armor?”

“Silver. Pure Beskar.”

…

“Is he INSANE?”

Your outburst flings Tesen backwards.

Hands hurling into the air, you release a guttural growl. You- You’re going to kill him- Din Djarin- kill him!

“Whoa- wait-”

“Is he crazy? He’s insane! INSANE!”

You march back and forth, back and forth-

“A few days without me, and he’s already kronged things up- trusting Thall?”

“Hey,” Tesen butts in, waving his hands. “Clue me in here!”

“Tesen!” You stop stomping around long enough to glare at him. “The Beskar- Din- he’s… my friend! I- oh, shit. It’s… complicated. Super, stupidly complicated.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Thall- you know Thall. The man plays dirty.”

“Yeah, so? Everyone knows that.”

“Except my friend!” You moan, leaning up against the hanger wall. “Thall…. SHIT!” You slap both hands over your eyes. “Beskar! Kriff! Thall wants his Beskar! He- you know his fascination with- damn it! Din’s in danger!”

“Wait, what are you going to do?”

“Come with me to Thall’s.” You slap both hands against your hips, your voice taking on a demanding edge. “I need your help.”

“I- I- you know I would,” he sputters. “But I can’t leave my post or-”

“Fine,” you grunt, spinning on your heel. “Then I need to go find someone.” You march towards the hanger doors.

“It was great seeing you again, Tesen!”

“Wait, it’s not safe for you-”

“Goodbye, Ortolans!” You throw a hand in the air as you stalk past their ship. “It’s been fun, but I’m afraid you’ll be needing a replacement mechanic.”

Their cheers are cut off by the slam of the door.

------------------------------

His words are cut off by the slam of the door.

-Knock-

“Talk to me, Darling.”

“Just- just leave me alone!”

You sink to the floor, sobs rocking your body as you bury your face in your lap.

“I’m not a mind-reader, little one. Tell me what you need from me.”

-Knock-

“Let me in, kid.”

Grandpa’s husky voice is muffled, barely audible from behind the door. But his words were calm- always so calm.

“Stop shutting me out.”

Always so damn calm.

“I don’t need or want anything from you!” you yell, wiping away your tears with a dirty sleeve. But it’s no use- new tears just roll in to take their place.

“P-please leave me alone! I’m t-tired of you always telling me w-what to do!”

Silence.

"You go out of your way to find the most damaging, dangerous…” You hear him pause- sigh.

You know he’s lighting his pipe.

“Would you rather I left you to self-destruct?”

You only sob harder. “Y-you ruin… e-everything!”

“…I’m trying so hard to keep your head above water-” pause- “but it’s impossible when you are so determined to drown.”

You lift your head- his words beginning to ease your heart- soften your temper like they always do…

“You’re just so…” his voice cracks- “young, little one.”

Your heart shatters.

You’re so kriffing… selfish.

“I can’t control you,” he continues. “I… know you’ll keep running away… searching for whatever it is you’re missing.” His voice grows hoarse, pained with every word. “All I ask is, please, promise me….”

-Pause.

“Please, always come back. You’re… you’re all I have left.”

Footsteps.

He’s walking away.

You slide the door open.

Grandpa is standing by the fire, pipe in his mouth, flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. He turns to give you a tentative look. “…I’m sorry, Darling,” he says, voice rough with his failure.

You don’t speak.

-You bolt forward.

His brawny arms open, receiving you in a tight embrace. You hide away, bury your face in his chest-

-and weep.

------------------------------

There he is.

Pablo- leaned back in a chair, faced away from you, smoking that stupid cigarra of his- oblivious that anyone even entered the hanger much less walking up behind him.

“Pablo!” You yank on the back of his chair with a jerk.

“SHIT!”

He flings backwards along with the chair, crashing- hard. “Don’t shoot!” He rolls to the side- stops- freezes.

“Princess?”

He blinks- tilts his head.

“Well, hello?”

“Hello, yourself.” You raise a brow.

“Where have you been?” He leaps to his feet, staring into your eyes like he still couldn’t believe it’s really you.

“I went to get bantha milk. Look, we don’t have time for this-”

“Like hell we do!” Pablo catches your wrist. “Now you just slow down a minute-”

“We don’t have time!”

“You had time to run away-” he drops your arm- “leave everyone worried about you-”

“Yell at me later.” You lower your brows, matching his glare with equal force. “You have to help me.”

“Help you? What, run away again? No-”

“Listen, stop arguing-”

“What if I like arguing?”

“Maker’s mercy, will you shut up and-” you freeze. Glancing up at the sky, you swallow the curses bubbling up your throat.

“Let’s try this again.”

He crosses his arms.

“Fine,” he sighs, shifting his weight to the side. “Okay, Miss Runaway, what the kriff are you doing here?”

You open your mouth, but no words exit.

A thought.

“Wait. Where’s…” Biting your lip- you turn, glancing around the hanger. “Where’s the baby?”

Pablo’s demeaner shifts- relaxes. “Peli has him in the ship.” His voice softens with every word, the anger, frustration draining from his face. “Little green kiddo really misses you, Maker only knows why.”

Kriff.

-a stab

-a lurch in your chest.

Damn it… you’re abandoning a child, exactly what you fought with Din over- he’s alone- alone and-

-stop.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your force your mind to refocus… just refocus.

“Keep your voice low.” You pry your eyes open again- shame and embarrassment bleeding along the edge of your heart. “I- let’s not upset the kid. He… it’s best he doesn’t know I’m here.”

…

“What? Why?”

“I’m not staying.”

Pablo blinks.

“I’m- I’m really confused right now. You’re not back to stay?”

“Pablo!” You knock your hat back, placing a hand on your hip. “Maker, can you please keep up? I’m a ticking time bomb!”

You step forward- Pablo steps back.

“I’m. Not. Staying.”

“Relax, relax!” He holds his palms up. “Just start from the top. Kriff, Sweetheart.”

Grabbing his hand, you peer at Pablo from beneath your hat’s brim. “Din- the rusted tin head- is mixed up in something extremely dangerous. He’s got to get out of there- now.”

“Oh, man. Stinks for him.”

“And I have to go warn him-”

“Oh, for sure.”

“-with you.”

…

“No. No.”

He turns- practically runs away from you. “No, no way!”

“You dirty- Pablo!” you bark, stomping after him. “Stop! This is important! He will- kark- Din could die! Please, come with me- we have to get him out of there!”

Growling under your breath, you continue to chase him down. “I can’t let this happen to Din, especially when he’s doing it to find me. Blast it, that’s why I left- so he and the baby wouldn’t be hurt.”

Stars!

Why the hell did Din agree to this- all just to find you? Did he think about the kid if he were to lose, to die? Did he think about any of that? No, of course he didn’t. He has some nerve lecturing you for your impulsion- yet here he is making the decisions of a karkin’ brainless Gundark.

…

He… he must really care about you.

The guilt, the shame that washes over your body distracts you from Pablo’s irritated grunt.

“Sweetheart,” he huffs. “Need I remind you that your precious Mando had me frozen in Carbonite- mailing me, postage paid, to my death?” Pablo throws you a look across his shoulder and keeps moving forward. “So, what makes you think I’d take any risk for him?”

“Pablo!”

“I don’t even like any of you!” he shouts, stuffing some of his possessions into a bag. “No, I’m out. I’m running away too.”

“Please!”

Silence.

“Please… then don’t do it for him.”

You grab his arm, trying to meet his eyes, but he refuses.

“Do it for me.”

He still won’t meet your eyes- but if you know Pablo- his silence means you’re making progress.

“I’m scared to do this alone.” Your voice drops, a mere whisper. “With all the hunters out there- I’m… afraid to go in without you, as much as it pains me to admit.”

“I need you.”

…

He throws his head back- groans. You bite back your own smile.

“Well-” he flops his head to the side- sighs- “I guess it’s nice to be needed. That’s certainly a first for me.”

You grin.

“Pablo, for once-” you give him a peck on the cheek- “I’m actually glad I saved your life.”

“Then-” he smirks- “I think we’re making progress.”

You giggle and slap a hand on his back. “Then let’s get going!”

You start walking forward, eager to get to Thall’s arena as soon as possible- but movement catches your eye.

You glance up.

Inside the cockpit- two little green hands are pressed against the glass-

Air catches in your throat.

You blink- then a hazy voice…

…

“…Mama, up! Up!”

Her little hands tug on the edge of your cloak.

“Okay, little one-” you smirk, hefting her up to look out the glass. “Dang, girl-” you draw her close, painting her cheek with kisses- “you’re growing like a weed. You better stop, or I’ll send you to live with the Lothwolves.”

“There! Look!” she giggles, pulling away from you to press two little hands against the glass. She looks up, shooting you a bright, toothy smile. “Shiny men, Mama! Shiny men!”

“Yeah.” Your smile fades, dread beginning to swirl at the base of your spine.

“Shiny men…”

…

“Hey.”

You jerk around, staring at Pablo.

He nods his head. “You ready?”

You turn back.

The little green hands are gone.

“Let’s go.”

------------------------------

“Hey, hold up- excuse me, sorry!”

“Pablo!” You glare down at him from the top of the staircase. “Get your sequined butt up here!”

You suppose there really was no use in glaring at him... After all, your entire face (glare included) is completely hidden by your vocoder mask, the same kind worn by the arena’s singers.

“Now, look here, yipe!-” he leaps aside, avoiding the crowd of spectators storming down the steps- “I didn’t come along just so you could bully me- arg!” He is knocked into the rail. “Oof- no, excuse you, sir!”

Pablo stomps up, pausing just in front of you, a scowl etched deep on his face. “I hate everything,” he grumbles, wiggling the collar of his jumpsuit.

“Keep up,” you sigh, turning on your heel.

“Look, I know we’re disguised as performers-” he grabs at the sequined fabric stretched across his rear- “but did you have to steal me a jumpsuit two sizes too small?”

Rolling your eyes, you scamper up the next flight of stairs. “Oh, you look fine,” you bark back. “And it’s all I could find in the basement!”

You don’t have time for this- Pablo’s grumbling.

Din’s first fight could be- stars!- any moment! You have to find him or Cara immediately… which is easier said than done. Thall’s arena is packed- crammed to max capacity. But you know this building like the back of your hand- if Cara is anywhere- if Din is anywhere- it’s Thall’s skybox.

…If they’re still up there.

“Pablo, I- oh!”

“Whoa!” Pablo’s arms wrap around your waist from behind, preventing a nasty tumble down the stairs. “Easy- those heels aren’t exactly made for racing, you know?”

“Dank Ferrik!” you hiss, allowing Pablo to lead you to a nearby chair. You release a heavy sigh. “I’m ashamed of myself.” You glance up at Pablo, a rueful smile on your face. “Heels and dresses were like a second skin to me on Nar Shaddaa, and look at me now, tripping all over myself.”

Stooping down, you adjust the strap on the shoe, allowing for easier movement, and you can’t help but sigh. “I might feel nostalgic if I had the time.”

“Well, speaking of time-” Pablo turns- catches a passerby- “Excuse me, do you know when the first fight starts? Uh, with the Mandalorian?”

The man chuckles and gives Pablo a curious glance. “Son-” he slaps a hand on his shoulder before turning to leave- “why do you think everyone’s yelling?”

You blink.

No…

…

BLASTED STARS!

You burst up from your chair- flying down the hall- Pablo’s shouts licking at your heels. “Dank FERRIK!” you bark, just before diving into the sea of bodies pressed against a viewing window. You try elbowing through the crowd- but no use. Sinking to the floor instead, you crawl under legs, desperate for even just a peek through the viewing window.

“Ouch! Get off my- oh!” Your hand slaps across your mask. “Din!” you hiss, eyes blasting open at the sight below.

Gleaming Beskar- surrounded by pools of blood and corpses… And one colossal, drooling, slashing…

-Rancor.

“Kriff! KRIFF!” Your screams drown in the sea of spectators. “Damn it, Din! KILL IT!”

This can’t be happening- this can’t be happening.

You’re too late- you’re too late.

“Just- blasted kill it! JUMP!” You slam both palms of your hands against the glass. “I can’t- OH- WATCH OUT!”

The Rancor cries, roars against Din’s flamethrower, lashing out with a swing of its claws. Din propels backwards with his jetpack, narrowly avoiding the slice, but he, in turn, loses precious ground to the slobbering beast. The raw stench of burnt flesh wafts through the halls. You slap a hand across your mask, trying to suppress the bubbling bile rising up your throat.

Damn it.

Damn it!

Your fist crashes into the glass.

You swear on your life, if your Mandalorian dies because of this- because of you…

-you will burn this whole damn place to the ground.

It seems the flames only enraged the creature- saliva and bile raining through its teeth as Din turns- reassess his position. Your heart squeezes- aches- he’s cornered- cornered in. And-

“Din!”

He flings into the air- flames cascading down in a golden waterfall, temporarily blinding you. You squeeze an eye open- watching claws and teeth slice through the fire-

-SLAM-

The floor quivers beneath your knees as the creature smashes its fist straight into the side of the arena’s forcefield.

“Dank Ferrik!”

“Holy shit!”

“Did you see that?”

“Best show in years!”

You sneer at the jubilancy surrounding you. To hell with this! You’re not going to sit here and watch your Mandalorian turned into monster chow!

You flip around- scrambling on all fours to squeeze beneath the sea of legs. Stumbling up to your feet, you twist your head- frantic to locate Pablo.

You pause- blink.

“Pablo!”

There he is- down the hall- losing his absolute mind along with the crowd.

“You Nerfherder! Stop cheering!” Slapping a hand on his shoulder, you struggle to pull him away from the viewing window. “He’s going to karkin’ die!”

“Stars!” he groans, relenting to your hold. “But I just put credits down!”

“They better be on Din,” you yell over your shoulder, sailing down the closest flight of stairs. “Or I’m never blasted speaking to you again!”

“That’s not a threat, Sweetheart!”

“Carbonite man,” you growl under your breath. Well, he had better keep up because you aren’t waiting around, even if it leaves you unprotected. You don’t care. You don’t care.

You’re not even sure how many flights of stairs you’ve flown down- all you know is that with every thunderous cheer, with every whoop of the crowd- Din is one step closer to the end result of the fight…

Whatever it may be…

…Oh stars.

Once you reach the ground-level, your instinct, your memory takes over, leading you with straight towards the secured gate that opens into the arena. You cut around corners- heave past crowds- barrel down to- ah, there!

There! The gates!

“Shit!”

You freeze- legs tangling up at the sudden stop, nearly hurling you to the ground. Your eyes widen, staring through the bars of the gate, eyes glued only on him.

Din.

Smoking blaster- his armored chest heaving-

-and dead Rancor pinned beneath his boots.

He gazes down at the creature as if completely unaware of the wild, raucous applause ripping through the building. Re-holstering his blaster, he flings aside his cape, turns, and drops several feet to the ground. Shoulders rolling back in complete and utter ease, he hooks his fingers in his belt.

You smug bastard. A lop-sided grin stretches across your face. You absolute show off.

You blink, the smile wavering on your lips.

Maker, that stance- he- he’s… dang. Really kriffing sexy.

Kriffing sexy… and alive! You- you can’t believe-

“Din! DIN!”

You grab ahold of the gate, bouncing up and down on your toes. “HELL YEAH!” Throwing your head back, you burst into wild laughter. Maker, you’ve never been so damn proud of a man in all your life!

“That’s my Mandalorian!” you cackle, beaming ear to ear. “Din! Over here- wait! No, wait!”

But it’s too late. There he goes, blasting into the air with that stupid jetpack of his.

“Dank Ferrik!” you growl, pushing back against the gate. “You tin-head! You did that on purpose-” you fling both hands into the air- “to make me keep running after you!”

“HEY!”

“Pablo!” you shout back, turning to race down the corridor.

Panting heavily, he catches up to you with a few long strides. “Corellian hells!-” he reaches out to touch your shoulder- “don’t do that again!”

“Do what?”

“I couldn’t find you,” his voice strains. “I was worried you might jump into the ring- try and choke out the Rancor.”

“I would have-” you spin on your heel, squeezing through a large crowd of Twi’lek and human performers- “if I had a shockstaff.”

“Then you’re never getting a shockstaff.”

“Try and stop me.”

You can only smirk at the string of grumbles that fall from his lips.

“Come on-” you grip his hand- “he should be in one of the private rooms in the back. We can slip in and-”

“Hey, you!”

-you freeze.

An elaborately dressed woman rushes forward, snatches Pablo’s hand from your own. “You should have been in section four thirty minutes ago!” she snarls, tugging at his arm. “We have one final dance rehearsal before the performance!”

“…Dance?”

Pablo’s head whips around- staring, pleading with you for help.

“Sw-sweetheart-”

“NOW.”

All you can do is watch, slipping him a pitiful shrug as he is yanked away to Maker knows where… You snort. You sure hope he’s as talented at dancing as he is spinning tales, or he’s in some serious bantha poodoo…

-----------------------------

Ah, here we go!

It took longer than anticipated to locate the corridor housing the private suites, but after a bit of frantic searching, you’ve finally located it. Unfortunately, you still have no idea which room Din could be within… Maybe the grand suite? Or the one overlooking the main entrance?

Well, you’ll figure it out, even if you have to knock on every last door to find him.

You have to admit, you can’t wait to see him again…

Stars! A grin bursts across your face, and you struggle to suppress a giggle. You also just can’t believe he did it! Hell yeah!

He killed a Rancor.

…

…for you.

To find you.

Oh Maker… You don’t deserve him.

You clasp both hands together, laughing under your breath. You’re just so… so damn proud. The second you see him, you’re going… to… to…

You freeze- the air squeezes from your lungs.

…

Well.

You…

You found Din Djarin.

Down the hall, entering his room-

…

-with two women hanging off his arms.

You just… stare, blood throbbing in your ears as they disappear from view. The slam of the door shutting behind them rushes down the hall- ramming into your chest like a punch.

Then-

-silence.

You clench your trembling hands into fists, your nails digging, cutting into your palms.

…

Well.

Guess someone’s having a little celebratory fun… What the blazes do you do? Go knock? Interrupt… whatever?

…

No. You know what?

Kark him.

You press both hands against your thighs, flames beginning to tinge along the edge of your vision. Clenching your jaw, you throw back your shoulders, spin around, and march down the hall.

Why- Maker!- what’s wrong with you? Turn around- go bang on his door- get him out of here. That was the plan- stick to it!

But you…. you’re-

-ridiculous.

The fire scorching the edge of your vision is extinguished by a watery flood. You reach up to wipe your eyes with a glittery sleeve, but- kriff!- the mask prevents it.

Maker above! Karking crying? Damn, you’re embarrassed on behalf of yourself! Why do you care so much what he does? Stars! He’s free to do whatever damn thing he wants… the lurdo.

You’ve never even seen his face! How kriffin’ old is the Mandalorian anyway? Stars, he- he probably just sees you as some stupid girl who can’t stay out of trouble without him! Killed a Rancor because he feels sorry for you!

After all, if there’s one thing you’ve learned about the Mandalorian since the day he pulled you from the sands of Taek, it’s that he has a penchant for collecting friends, pathetic rescues- pathetic rescues like yourself.

That’s all you are to him.

Your lower lip trembles- whether in furor or dejection, you aren’t certain.

…Kriff him!

You grind your teeth, forcing your lip to still.

Stop. It… doesn’t matter what he does.

Your… your feelings for him aren’t… real. You’ve always known that- acknowledged that. You know you’re susceptible to silly daydreams; you’re desperate for attention- a home- a family…

And Din Djarin gave you all of that.

So, no- this burst of emotion? These karking tears?

You clench your hands into fists.

They mean nothing.

Just… manifestations of your loneliness.

But- but still… you had always thought that… his feelings were real…

…

But they’re not.

Which is… good.

If the Mandalorian had real feelings for you, the moment he learned what you’ve done, who you are... No, you were right to run away the first time, for more reasons than one. You- you have to stick to that plan.

It… is what it is.

…

But damn, do you hate him right now.

----------------------------

~I can’t let the way you are influence me~

Shut up, Din.

~You make rash, impulsive, emotional decisions~

Shut up! Maker, just shut up!

~We’re done here~

“Yeah,” you growl aloud, trailing behind the flow of people filtering into the arena’s entertainment hall. “We are done, Din Djarin.”

Your first step into the arena’s entertainment hall is a time machine, spinning you back to a time and place you thought you’d never relive. Yet here you are- in the room from your memories- only this time you’re back to search for your dumbass friend in a sparkly jumpsuit.

Maker!

Your eyes trail upwards, following the natural light. Ah, there’s balconies you’d jump from with the crew! And the- you sniff the air- heavy scent of roasting meat still lingers, hovering in the air. The reverberations of booming laughter and mirth twist, meld together in the air. The echoes rise, just barely kissing the ceiling, before slipping out through the open windows and into the sunlight above.

You can’t help but smile softly.

But reminiscing is not the goal for today.

You’re leaving. Getting the kriff off this planet.

And Pablo has to stay and warn Din for you… if you could just blasted find him! Pablo- stars- the man is impossible! You take him on a field trip, and what does he do? Disappears.

Arg! Where the hell is he? Your eyes sweep the lines of entertainers, the tables of special guests- but no Pablo. Hell, did he elope with a Jawa and leave? This is the perfect chance for him to talk with Din! You swear, if he left you-

You gasp- Cara! And… You clench your teeth, biting back an audible growl. Karkin’ Aric Thall- the lying sack of Hutt excrement. There they are- sitting up on his favorite platform, the best view in the house.

You- you have a good mind to march right up there and- and-

“Where’s the Mandalorian?” Thall rises from his chair, standing at the edge of the platform. “Is he in medical? Surely he’s not snubbing my hospitality!”

The crowd murmurs.

-slam-

You spin around- Din! He’s just… standing in the doorway, both hands pressed against the frame.

A cheeky grin begins to stretch, beam across your face, until… you remember what he was doing the last time you saw him…

“There he is!” Thall chuckles, sitting back in his seat. “Come.”

Din remains motionless, silent- and the air thins, as if one wrong move could shatter it into a thousand gleaming shards.

“Uh oh,” you groan, wrapping both arms tightly around your body. You know the Mandalorian- he’s pissed.

In the flick of an eye- he’s moving, sweeping forward through the room- paving a direct path for Thall.

“Stars!” you hiss, moving forward on his mark.

You can’t hear a word of their conversation- but Din is none too happy. If you had to wager a guess… um, well, Din’s probably not amused by the Rancor addition to the fight.

Something tells you that wasn’t part of their original agreement…

Standing as close to them as you can without raising suspicion, you turn up the dials on your mask, amplifying the sound.

“Come on-” Thall’s voice cuts through your mask- “a true Mandalorian can handle any little surprise thrown at them.”

“A Rancor is a little surprise?” Cara butts in.

“Yes!” Thall laughs, swinging his arm to the side. “Surprise, it’s a Rancor! It’s good for business.”

Din tilts his head to the side. “No more surprises.” His voice is low- so low you almost can’t hear him even with the dial turned up.

“Understood?”

Thall just laughs. “Come on! My reputation is built around surprises!” Lacing his fingers together, he throws a leg up and over the arm of his chair. “You handled it like a Mandalorian ought to have. So, what’s the problem?”

“We had conditions,” the Mandalorian growls, taking a step forward. “See that you stick to them.”

Thall’s eyes widen in mock concern. “I have, haven’t I?” He glances at his guards before turning back to the Mandalorian. “You had a fight. You won the fight. So, you win the next fight, and you learn how to locate our... friend.”

Our friend?

Hell no. I think not.

It takes all of your resolve to keep from marching forward, ripping your mask off, and revealing what a blasted liar Thall is.

“You never explained, Mando,” asks Thall. “I hope you don’t seek her for a bounty. As many headaches as both she and Valen caused me, I do still have fondness for her.”

Ha.

Liar.

More like fondness for the cash you drew in.

The Mandalorian is silent, still, then steps forward-

“My reasons are my own.”

“Well,” Thall sighs. “It must be important to go to all this trouble.” He slaps his hands on the arms of his chair, leaning forward. “Who hired you? What did she do? Tell me- I am dying to know.”

Silence.

“Ah! So unnecessarily dramatic,” Thall grumbles, flopping back in his seat. “Fine! We’ll change topics!” The tips of his fingers bounce rapidly against his leg. “Sooo.... we’re excited to have a Mandalorian visiting here again! It’s been a while, am I right?” Thall’s voice booms at the last few words, seizing the crowd’s attention. In a mixture between slurred cheers and boos, the crowd erupts, encouraging Thall to continue.

“I know!” Thall springs from his seat, staring down at the Mandalorian. “Why don’t we switch things up here, and you entertain us!”

Cara’s laugh is a bark. “Killing a rancor wasn’t entertainment enough?”

“Oh!” Thall chuckles, shooting his guards a knowing look. “I know! How about blade throwing? Or sharpshooting? Mandalorians are supposed to be good at that, right?”

The Mandalorian keeps his voice even, but his irritation is not veiled.

“I’m not interested in your games, Thall.”

Of course, Thall pretends he didn’t hear that. The man always was-

“Oh! Yes! Yes, yes!” Thall’s words burst through your thoughts. “I have an even better idea!”

Kark, what now?

You watch, anger only rising in your chest. Thall sweeps his eyes across the room, across the sea of faces-

-stops.

…

You.

Oh… Force.

He’s staring at you.

No.

Oh no.

"Put the dancer against the wall.”

…

Oh, FORCE.

A hand clasps your arm, and you instinctively resist- yanking against the hold. “What?” you hiss. “Wait!”

The guard lugs you forward, pulling a squeak from your lips. Oh stars! What do you do? What’s happening what’s do you do oh stars, stars, stars!

“Move. Now.”

You hiss. His claws dig, cut through your sleeve, into your flesh.

You… you have to stay calm.

You… can’t blow your cover. Stay calm.

…Oh stars.

With one final thrust, you are heaved forward, and you hit the wall with an audible oof through your mask’s vocoder. Sucking in air through your teeth, you fling around, pressing your body flush against the wall, the roughness scraping your exposed back and legs.

You blink.

Din.

He’s just… staring at you.

Unreadable as always.

Blast! Panic nips at your heart. Does he recognize you? Seven Corellian hells! Do you reveal yourself- risk a fight breaking out? Oh kark, your plan was to sneak out. Arg! What do you do?

You clench your hands into fists, resisting the urge to groan.

Hell. The things you get mixed up in…

Wrapping your anxiety up with a bandage of confidence, you lift your chin, awaiting Thall’s next move.

The Mandalorian breaks from his trance.

“What are you doing?” He dips his head back to Thall.

He flashes the Mandalorian that old familiar, no-good grin…

Oh dear.

“You’re going to show us your blade throwing precision skills-” Thall motions a guard, carrying a set of blades, forward- “with a live target.”

....

Live-

OH FORCE.

“If Mandalorians are as good as the legends say, she’ll be just fine.” Thall has the audacity to wink at you. “Or if you inadvertently kill her, well-” he waves a hand- “I have plenty more.”

…

The Mandalorian does not move- does not speak. His blank, lifeless visor is focused only on you.

And you only on him.

“Well?”

…

He shifts- glares at Thall.

“No.”

“Fine…” Thall purrs. He glances over at his guards- raises a hand at them.

…

“Then kill her.”

…

Kill? …Wait-

DANK FERRIK.

“OOF!” You are flung against the wall, a hand pressing, locking you in place. “No, no, stop-”

You freeze- eyes blasting open-

A man-

Blade extended-

Stepping forward-

-BLAST-

Burnt flesh pierces your nostrils.

“Bloody seven hells!” you warble through the modulator, gawking down at the lifeless body mere inches from your feet- the second body also much too close for comfort. Your head shoots up, your eyes widening.

The Mandalorian is facing you- smoking blaster in hand.

“Yay!” Thall’s voice pierces the tension, his claps echoing throughout the silent room. “Excitement already!”

This is the flick that switches the crowd- their shouts and cries swirling together to birth utter chaos.

The guard steps up to the Mandalorian, offering him the blades. He stares down at them- to you- to Thall.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Thall purrs.

You groan. Holy Maker, you knew you should have sent 4PO in your place…

Squeezing both eyes shut, you swallow back your dread. Dank Ferrik, how the hell do things always go so blasted wrong? Should you reveal yourself? Ah, no, no, then a firefight would break out- he- Din- could be killed- or you- or-

“Don’t move.”

Your eyes blast open.

The Mandalorian- he’s… leaning over you- so close you can feel his warm, protective aura wrap around you like a cloak.

“Understood?” He shifts closer, his voice all but a rasp. “Don’t move.”

Well, damn it if you won’t obey him, but all you can muster is a pitiful nod in response.

He returns the nod, turns to leave-

“I trust you.”

He freezes at your words- turns to stare at you. His dark visor bores into your mask, as if he could sear straight through to metal- past all the wiring- and see only you.

But then he’s storming away again, palming a blade in his gloved hand.

You press your head back. Uh, wait- is this really happening? Kark! Well, you suppose you were going to get yourself killed eventually… Might as well be at the hands of a friend, right?

Right…

He stands at a distance- angles his head to the side, the blade firm in his grip.

Silence.

He pulls back-

Your eyes widen. Holy k-

-Slam-

You turn your face ever so slightly to the right, the ice-cold metal of the blade jutting from the wall a chill against your skin.

Your mouth drops.

Did… did he mean to get that close?

His voice hisses in your mind.

“Don’t move.”

-Slam-

Two.

-Slam-

Three.

-Slam-

Four.

You flinch with every landing, eyes squeezed as tightly closed as physically possible. Stars! How many more-

-Slam-

You hiss, and crack an eye open, glancing down at the blood pooling, dripping from your right hand. You moan, and tuck the hand behind your back, hoping no one noticed the graze.

The crowd bursts into cheers, the tension and silence eradicated by the Mandalorian’s final blade toss.

“She lives!” Thall’s voice cuts through the ruckus. “I get to keep my dancer!”

Flopping your head back against the wall, all you can do is groan. “Dank Ferrik,” you warble, pressing your left hand against your chest.

Hell, first he stabs your heart, then he slices your hand. If you weren’t about to run away again, you’d stay and kill Din Djarin.

A flick of movement draws your eyes forward. There- the Mandalorian- Din- he’s making a path straight for you, seemingly blind to the room, the chaos surrounding him.

You blink and watch him approach. You know it’s tempting fate, but… you can’t resist.

“Not bad,” your modulated voice mumbles. “Could use a little improvement.”

Din pauses just before you and leans his head forward.

“You’re not dead, are you?”

Your smirk is hidden behind the mask. “No-” your hand grips the handle of a blade, and with a tug, you yank it from the wall- “I’m alive for now.” You stretch your hand forward, offering him the weapon.

Silence.

You think he’s grabbing for the weapon, but he grabs your right hand. He stares down at his glove, your blood black against the leather.

“L-like I said,” you stutter, biting your lip- “uh, you could use a little improvement.”

His visor is glued to your hand, to your blood. Then, his head trails up… to your masked face- along your sleeved arms- down your torso-

Oh kark.

You rip your hand away, stumbling off to the side.

You don’t say a word- you just run.

------------------------------

Step- step- swing to the left.

Twist- twist- spin.

Left- left- shake your body.

Thrust- thrust- pose.

Stars, thank the Maker Thall’s dancers are performing to standard Nar Shaddaa choreography. The last thing you need is to stand out even kriffing more than you already do… You know this dance, this song like the back of your hand.

You follow along with the line of dancers, your muscle memory taking over as the lights dim further- dipping the room into a neon glow. The bass throbs in your head, preventing you from doing any coherent thinking. So, you flip into autopilot- taking this opportunity to glance out at the crowds for a sign of blasted Pablo.

You gaze out- (spin, spin, to the left)- eyes sweeping across the neon faces- (thrust, thrust, kick your leg)- but it’s no use- (swing, swing, release the pole)- there’s just too many karkin’ faces!

As much as you enjoy dancing, this is a waste of time- (kick, kick, spin around).

You scowl out at the crowd, and your breathing stops.

Din.

Leaning up against the wall, both arms crossed, his visor is trained- unmistakably trained- on you.

Stars!

How long has he been watching you? Or rather… why is he watching you?

You twist your head back and forth with the music- catching Din out the corner of your eye a second time.

-Still staring.

Maker!

You rip your eyes away, your heart fluttering in your chest. Oh hells, now you wish you had never noticed his attention- you can barely remember the choreography much less focus on trying to find Pablo in the crowd.

You hiss, fumbling with your rhythm.

Blast him- the Mandalorian’s ruining your performance.

You grit your teeth, seething. Doesn’t he have his own entertainment to get back to in his quarters? You might would be flattered by the attention… if he knew it was you. But he can’t possibly know it’s you. He… he thinks you’re… someone else.

You can’t help but growl.

Kark him!

Not that you’re jealous…

Right…?

…

Kark him.

…

Ah! There!

Your eyes catch a flash of white light- a door opening and closing just to the side of the room. This is your best opportunity. You slip from the performance, fleeing through the door and down the side corridor.

Thankfully, the crowds are thinning out now, which should make the building easier to navigate- easier to locate your sequined companion. You continue running down the corridor, keeping an eye open for any good hiding spot.

“Pablo!” you hiss, ducking your head into an open storage room door. “You there?” You swear, if he’s been hiding this entire time- you’re going to kick his- YIKES!

A steely grip pulls, yanks you away from the door and straight down the hall.

“W-wait!” you squeak, stumbling over your own feet.

Your eyes shoot up-

Din.

…

Oh…. shit.

His glove is locked around your left wrist, dragging you behind him as he stalks down the hall. Stumbling against his pull, you squeak again, but he does not slow his pace.

“Wh-what are- urg!”

You nearly crash into his back at his sudden stop. The door to his quarters flies open, and he pushes you forward. You stumble into the edge of the bed- collapsing onto it with an oof.

Then the door slams shut behind you.

…

Footsteps.

…

Oh kriff.

You spin around to face him. “I- I can-”

The mask rips from your face-

…

His chest heaves.

His visor- frozen- on your eyes.

Oh…

…

Oh stars.

You stand- hands raised.

“D-Din… I- I ju-”

He grabs your wrist-

-yanks you forward-

-his arms crashing you against his chest.

…

Safe.

…

You’re safe.

…

“Dank Ferrik,” you groan, burying your face in the fabric just beside his pauldron.

His arms tighten at your voice, squeezing you even closer into him.

“You left.”

His voice is rough, strained.

You shove on his arm. “Technically,” you mumble, face buried in fabric, “you left me first.” Peeling away from his armor, you glance up at him.

His helmet dips down, visor trained on your eyes- your face. His arms relax, dropping to the curve of your lower back.

“But at least I had a good reason-” you pout your lips in playful contempt and jab a hand into his side- “unlike you… uh-”

You tense.

The cool of leather brushes down the side of your cheek- curves around your jaw. It stops- pausing just beneath your chin-

-and lifts.

“I-It’s good, um-” you force a grin- “to… see you, Din.”

Leather dusts your ear.

“Ka’r’ika…”

…

Damn, damn it.

That’s it-

You’re done for.

“I- uh- I…” you fumble, flicking your eyes to the floor.

Oh, Dank Ferrik.

You reach up, gripping his wrist. “Come now, Din.” Pushing his arm away, you take a step back- space to think. “Don’t get all… uh, sentimental on me.” Your forced smile tightens. “We- we can talk about things later, once we’re out of here.”

He, too, steps back, and dips his head at you.

“Talk.”

Crossing your arms, you can’t help but snort at his brevity. “Well, I came to save your rusted ass, Mando… Thall is a creep. He lied about knowing how to find me so he could con you into fighting.” Rubbing your temple, you can only sigh.

“Trust me, all he wants your Beskar.” You throw out a hand- smacking it against Din’s armor. “You flashy show off.”

Oh-

He’s caught your hand, holding it against his armored chest. His hand is warm, firm above your own.

And he isn’t letting go.

“We… need to leave,” you whisper, tugging against his grip.

He frees your hand- angles his head to the side.

…

“Come.”

His voice is soft, gentle.

…

“I’m taking you home.”

…

Oh.

“S-sure-” you clear your throat, eyes flicking away from him- “I just need that mask… wherever it flew, aha...”

Swooping to the side, you reach down, scooping the abandoned vocoder up off the floor.

“Hells,” you grumble, snapping it into place. “Um, hey, we’re twinning, Mando!”

Hooking his fingers in his belt, he just flops his head to the side.

Grinning ear to ear, you pull the mask away to shoot him a pointed look. “Tell me,” you ask, “how’d you know it was me?”

“Who else but you-” he takes a lumbering step forward- “would say she trusts me to throw a blade at her head?”

He has the audacity to reach up and tap your nose.

“Din Djarin!” Crinkling your nose, you take a swat at his hand. “I didn’t exactly-” you stick your tongue out- “have a choice.”

…

-a stab in your chest…a thought.

It’s petty, but…

“Oh, but I bet one of your companions-” you lower your brows at him, resentment resurfacing on your tongue- “from earlier would have also trusted you.”

…

“…You saw that?”

He stills- fingers flexing by his side.

“They… were in a bad situation,” he mumbles, barely audible through his vocoder. “…From which I helped them escape.”

…

“Oh.”

…

“So… you weren’t-”

“No.”

“…Oh.”

You blink.

“Not that I kriffing care what you kriffing do, Din Djarin.”

He just… stares.

Maker.

You want to die.

You just… awkwardly glance around.

…

“I… recognized the scar on your hand.” His voice is quiet, hesitant. “Kept an eye on you since.”

“Oh. Kark, of course.” Stretching your fingers, you glance down at your hand. “Mmf, got this my first week on Nar Shaddaa- a homecoming gift, I suppose.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you grimace at the scar.

“When we first arrived on-world, the lower level was the only place we could find work.” You flop your head back, groaning at the memory.

“And, just my luck, my first employer was raided my fifth night there. Out of nowhere.” Rubbing your temple, you release a heavy sigh. “Those were… hard days. But- stars- I… I schemed, I plotted, I learned the game as fast as I could.”

…At a price.

The bed dips down beside you, ripping you from your thoughts. You turn, meeting the Mandalorian’s neutral stare.

“…And I made it-” a smirk twitches at the corner of your lips- “I clawed my way into the city skylines, upper-level opulence.”

He chuckles.

“Well now…”

Leather brushes against your neck.

“That’s my girl.”

…

Oh Maker.

…You hate he saw how you grinned at that.

“Here-” his glove drops, motioning for your right hand- “that cut needs to be cleaned.”

“Making fun of my doctoring?”

He grunts, focused only on inspecting the wound.

You roll your eyes. “I just went and-”

Oh.

He’s… tugged his glove off- tossed it aside.

“Here.”

His hand- his human hand- his tan, big, warm human hand- oh stars, oh stars- reaches for yours-

Blast it- stop.

It’s a damn hand, for Maker’s sake!

“Are you hurt elsewhere?” he snaps, oblivious to the turmoil his kriffing hand is inflicting at the moment. He dabs a wipe across the wound. “Have you been eating?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you chirp. “Fried up a womprat leg in the desert for lunch.”

…

“I’m kidding, Din.”

He blows a puff of air through the vocoder, and you can only grin.

Stars, he’s just too much fun to mess with…

“Blast! I told you- nhg- that you needed a little- ah- improvement-” you cringe, forcing your eyes away from the wound.

He makes a noise- continues his task.

“I might be the better blade thrower,” you snort, continuing to ramble. “But, damn, you killed a whole ass Rancor!”

“Well-” he shoots a quick glance up- “I couldn’t kill just half its ass.”

…

He has a point.

“I know! You should teach me Rancor fighting!”

“No.”

“Please? I want to try taming one- ride it through town.”

You hiss- he’s pressed a bactapatch against your flesh.

“That’s beyond my paygrade, Ka’r’ika. I’ve only ever killed one. Taming-” he looks up at you, tilts his head to the side- “…taming is substantially more difficult.”

“Are you talking about me now?” you tease, crinkling your nose at him.

“Your words-” he quips, his tone deepening- “not mine.”

You chuckle, your lop-sided grin only growing.

Blast it.

You’ve… missed this… missed him.

“Well, anyway” you huff, shoving against his shoulder with your free hand. “I still think you’re a banthabrain for even considering Thall’s deal.”

Silence.

One, two, three short tugs, and he’s finished wrapping your injured hand.

“…I’d fight a second Rancor-”

His visor lifts.

“…If it meant finding you.”

…

You blink.

Oh.

Watching as naked skin disappears within the sanctuary of his glove, a… thought occurs.

“Well,” you mumble and stand, flicking your eyes north to his helm.

Oh, hell.

Just do it.

You whirl around, positioning between his legs. He jolts back- startled- as you slap both hands atop his pauldrons.

“…You found me.”

You lean forward- plant a sharp kiss against his visor.

A catch, a hitch in his breath-

-and he leaps to his feet, spinning you aside.

“We… we need to go,” he rumbles, stalking straight for the door. He stops beside it, fumbling with his belt.

“Fine,” you sigh, snapping your vocoder mask back into place. You saunter to stand beside Din, who’s still fiddling with something on his belt.

Throwing both hands on your waist, you jut out a hip.

“Well, you ready, Mando?”

The door snaps open.

And then he’s gone- ducks right out the door, cape swooping around at his heels.

You can’t help but chuckle under your breath.

Okay, so maybe you’ll never tame a Rancor in your lifetime…

…but you think you just tamed your very first Mandalorian.

------------------------------

“Just keep an eye out for lime green sequins.”

At your words, Din angles his head back at you, his silence speaking a thousand words.

“No, we shouldn’t leave Pablo.” You shake your head, glancing down each hallway you pass. “I think he has abandonment issues.”

Din just sighs, resting a hand behind your back to push you forward.

“I’ll tell Cara where to meet us.” The Mandalorian’s voice is all business. “And Pablo- we’ll… find him.”

“Don’t sound so depressed.” You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “He’s starting to grow on me.”

Din makes a noise- then pulls you close.

“Stay with me,” he rumbles. “Don’t say a word.”

“Lips? Zipped.”

He glares at you- and you can only smirk.

Ah, ahead!

The entrance to the entertainment hall…

Upon re-entering, it’s pretty much exactly how you left it- loud and chaotic. As you blink up at the flashing lights, you feel a tug on your arm.

“Keep up.”

The Mandalorian’s voice is hard, a warning.

“I told you that you can’t use that voice on me,” you hiss under your breath. “I’m not afraid of you.” You shove a hand into his back as if to prove your point.

“Aye!” you growl. “Din!”

“Quiet.”

“Don’t pinch me.”

“Quit being a brat.”

Thank the Maker you wear a mask- you’d hate to give Din the satisfaction of your stupid grin.

“Din,” you whisper, tugging on his arm. “Maybe we coul- OH!”

-an eruption, a burst of curses and shouts and chaos.

Your eyes blast open-

“Pablo!”

There he is- arms pinned behind his back as a group of performers trail behind him. There’s… blood dripping off the side of his face-

-and he looks pissed.

“Sir!” one of the guards shouts.

Thall just sighs. “Oh, what is going on? Interrupting my party…”

“An intruder. This man was pretending to be a performer, and he refuses to explain himself.”

“This man is lyin- oh OUCH.” Pablo’s head jerks to the side. “Was that necessary?”

“Ack,” Thall huffs, waving his hand aside. “I don’t care. I don’t care who he is. It isn’t important.”

“Thank you-”

“Just kill him.”

“Wa-wait WHAT?”

You slap a hand across your mouth, but before you can react- Din is blazing past you- straight for the crowd.

“Din!” you hiss, panic welling up in your throat.

Oh stars-

“Stop.”

The Mandalorian’s voice commands the room.

“Yes, stop!” Pablo laughs at Din’s appearance. “Maker, man, I’ve never been so-”

“He’s with me.”

Thall just… leans forward.

“Is there-” his voice is hard, cool- “a reason you have a spy in my midst, Mandalorian?”

Oh… kriff.

You begin pushing forward.

“He’s a friend,” Cara’s voice interjects. “Not a spy.”

“Were we-” Thall chuckles- “plotting something behind my back?”

The room freezes- stills-

-ready to shatter.

Thall- kark!

He’s been waiting for a reason to do this!

…

He’s- he’s going to kill Din for his Beskar.

Thall just… smiles.

…

“Kill them.”

The room erupts-

Bodies racing- blasters flying- shrieks-

Everyone is either fleeing-

-or joining in on a fight.

You scream, ducking behind a table to avoid a flying chair. “Kark!” You reach down, lugging your heels at a passing guard.

“You bunch of creeps!”

But your voice drowns in the ocean of pandemonium.

“Blast it, oof!” you growl, racing past several men wrestling each other. “You’re all idiots!”

Shit, shit!

You- you can’t see any of them!

“DIN?- get back, you- MOVE!”

You shove past a stampede of screaming dancers, spying-

-Aric Thall.

You bare your teeth.

You look to Thall- look to the wall.

An idea.

“Oh, just kill them,” Thall yells, stepping back behind his wall of guards. “Just blas-”

-SLAM-

A collective gasp-

The room crumples into silence.

…

You stand firm atop a table, pointing a second blade at Thall.

“ARIC THALL!”

You reach up- rip the mask from your face- smash it to the floor.

“Fuck you!”

Not the best choice of words, perhaps…

Thall just stares at you.

“Uh…” He casually glances at the blade jutting from the wall… mere inches from his head. “Do I know you?”

Karkin’ hells, you’ve got to be kidding…

You shout your name, rage bleeding through your words.

“Oh, Maker help us! It’s you!” Thall gasps, clutching his temples. “I should have known I had a headache for a reason-”

“I’m going to give you more than just a headache-” you jab the blade forward- “you greasy furball!”

“Ack!” Thall flops dramatically back in his chair. “If you were anyone else, I’d have you blasted for that.”

“You liar!” you shout. “You lied about finding me-”

You pause.

-a voice.

-your name.

Your eyes trail downwards.

Din’s pressed up against your table, inches from your feet, his hands held out for you.

“Ka’r’ika, come down-”

…

You turn- reject him.

You… you know what you’re doing.

…

Din has to trust you now.

“You know, I’m truly sorry our reunion had to be this way,” Thall laughs, flopping back in his seat. “Look at you, all big and grown and bossy. And violent. Valen must be proud.”

Your resolve wavers at his name.

“How is Gramps?”

“None of your concern.”

“Oh, so he’s dead.”

“I’m not here about him,” you growl, throwing your hand to the side. “You lied to the Mandalorian about the conditions of your agreement.” You clench your teeth, forcing an authoritative persona. “You had no information on me. Therefore, the agreement is void, and we will be going now. Thank you, and goodbye.”

“Ack, now, I didn’t lie,” Thall replies. “I just… mistook another for you! My eyes are really getting bad.”

“You need glasses, sir.”

“I know!”

“Uhg,” you groan. “Thall, you’ve not blasted changed a bit.”

“You neither!” he chirps. “And you aren’t going anywhere, isn’t that great?”

Furor threatening to boil over, you rush forward, stopping just at the edge of the table.

“You OWE me!” Your voice strains. “You were nothing but a flea-bitten scrap pile to the Hutts until I-” you jab a thumb at your chest- “came around- until I convinced my friends to give you the time of day- race under your banner.”

“You over-estimate your influence, I think.”

Then he- he laughs at you.

Red flashes, pulses in your eyes.

You- you want- you’re going to-

“Mandalorian.”

Thall crosses his legs, smiles at Din- now standing just behind you on the table.

“You can try and leave, but you-” he throws his hands up; makes a face- “will not make it out alive. Sorry!”

Oh-

That’s karking it-

You start forward. “Thall, I’m going to break-”

“Don’t hurt her.”

The Mandalorian yanks you back- pushes you behind him.

“…Our deal is still on.”

…

“I will fight.”

“Din!” you growl, grasping onto his cloak. “No- you stupid metal-”

“Hurt her-” he steps forward, pushing you back- “…and you’ll beg for me to kill you.”

Thall huffs.

“I don’t kindly to threats, Mando…”

Your eyes catch movement- Din’s hand… hovering above his blaster-

Kriff… No!

You lunge forward-

“A RACE!”

…

Thall tilts his head at you.

“Uh…Care to explain?”

You… you have to do this.

Din…

You can’t let him fight.

“Credits- you’ll have all the credits you can imagine, Thall.” You force your voice to steady, neutralize your waver. “You can advertise it as a big comeback of a… a legend that disappeared. Think- think of the gambling, the ticket sales…”

“Ka’r’ika-”

“I’ll race again, you slimy piece of filth.” You leap down from the table- the clomp of Din’s boots stomping just behind you. You pause beneath Thall’s platform. “And then we’ll go free… unharmed.”

…

“I used to make you a lot of money, Thall.”

“You certainly did…” Thall purrs. “And… an event such as this… would be worth much more to me than… a simple fight…”

“We had a deal.”

Din storms forward- the guards shoving him back.

“Din!” you hiss, shaking your head at him.

“This is more desirable to me, I’m afraid, Mandalorian.” Thall grins. “But on one condition-”

“Here we go,” Cara growls, stepping up beside Din.

“If you win, you all go free. But if you lose-”

Thall throws a leg up and over the arm of his chair.

“You’ll stay and race under my banner… for an entire year.”

…

Oh, hell…

“Ka’r’ika-” a hand wraps around your arm- “let me figh-”

“Deal.”

You lift your chin.

“We have a deal.”

“Ah, excellent! Just like old times!” Thall cheers, claps his hands. “She really cut you a good arrangement, Mando. We were just going to throw you in the Sarlacc for your next fight!”

“Thall,” you snarl. “You blob of-”

“-But you spared him!”

A harsh grip spins you around.

“What are you doing?”

Din’s voice is low- measured.

“Saving your ass.”

His hands just… drop to his side.

“Don’t worry so much, Din. Besides-” you force a grin- “If I lose, the hunters will be on me within a week… so there’s absolutely no risk of me having to stay a year!”

…

“Damn it…”

The curse slips beneath his helm.

“Hey-” you reach out- jab his arm- “you’ve not seen me at full capacity yet.”

The Mandalorian shifts… touches your face.

“I’m the damn best-” you lean into his touch- “remember?”

-a puff of air through his vocoder.

…

“Trust in me, Din. For once, trust in me.”

…

The cool of Beskar kisses your brow.

“...I always have.”

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

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the reblog)

a/n: Thank you SO MUCH for your patience.

My dudes, I’ve spent an EMBARRASSING amount of time on this chapter. I wrote and rewrote chapter 9 more than any other previous chapter. I just wanted it to be perfect- and between health and personal issues- I’m very proud that I was able to pull this chapter together in a way that exceeded my expectations!

Your beautiful comments kept me going! And, trust me, I savor every last one! I recognize regulars, and I think about the things you’ve commented while writing. They even inform how I write at times! (To the commenter who said they looove when Din hooks his fingers in his belt, I hope I checked that checkbox for you in chapter 9 lollll.)

Chapter 10 will pick up right where we left off here- but the second half of chapter 10 will be much different than the first half- and that’s all I’m saying…. Actually, I will go ahead and say we will be getting a LOT of angst and straightforward answers to Ka’r’ika’s/Reader’s past in chapter 10…

Also, I thought I would share a link to the FANTASTIC fanart a reader of In Fields of White @styxxus drew! It’s AMAZING! (Click here- Note that the images my look a bit squished on desktop. Just ‘right click’ the image and select ‘open in new tab’ to see the full artwork.) If you happen to create anything based off this fic, I’d LOVE to see it! Just head on over to my personal tumblr page! :)

Next, I am shamelessly plugging my new series, Auriga Hills, a Narcos fanfiction. The summary is as follows:

Javier Peña- brash, arrogant, a real jerk.

And now he’s your damn husband.

Allured by the prospect of mischief and money, you consent to marry Javier Peña to assist him in his undercover mission for justice. You’re only in it for the fun, nothing more, nothing less. But traveling together in close quarters on a train bound for the West Coast comes with some unexpected ramifications- you’re actually beginning to like the damn idiot.

(A 1930’s Enemies to Lovers AU)

#din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #willezarr #in fields of white #wille writes #chapter 9 #ifow

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