#that he would pass me on sheer effort (i was spending hours at the end of every school day in that wretched classroom. to no avail)

[vampyroteuthid]

i'm so remarkably bad at math that when i took the college math placement test (which i had to take due to failing algebra 2 in high school) i managed to fail the arithmetic half and scrape by on the algebra/trig/whatever else half. then after retaking and passing that i spent maybe a week in the college algebra class constantly on the verge of a numbers induced mental breakdown before i went to my advisor and got changed to the easiest possible math for dummies who have no aspirations and just want the bare minimum degree. so that's why i didn't do something useful like the chem/physics heavy pre vet track or a cool degree like neuroscience or astronomy because i am allergic to math

[sergiovinazzi]

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Three)

3.9k words - Rated M (language)

Here it is, my most favourite chapter to date, I hope you enjoy!

You smooth the skirt of your soft, black-linen sundress with shaky hands and pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re regretting not packing anything warmer than the denim jacket currently wrapped around your shoulders when you’re interrupted by the disgruntled sounds of your father calling your name through the phone speaker.

“What?” you ask, exasperated. “Sorry, I got distracted for a second.”

He repeats himself in annoyance, “I said, are you okay with staying at the hotel and ordering dinner for yourself?”

Staring at the restaurant in front of you, you debate whether or not to explain your situation to him. You realise, however, that he probably has enough to worry about after today’s events at Silverstone, and his daughter being out to dinner with another team’s driver probably won’t go over well.

“Yeah,” you lie. “I could use a quiet night in. Will you grab something to eat for yourself on your way back?”

Your dad hums, and you can tell that once he heard the confirmation that he didn’t need to get dinner for you, he lost interest in anything you had to say after the fact. It’s not difficult for you to understand why. Still, the lack of a verbal response worries you and you find it hard to evade the thoughts about Max and the accident. To most, the fact that he got out of the car and could walk was a good sign, but you’re still plagued by the various possibilities of what the hospital tests will conclude and just how bad the damage really is.

“Will you let me know if he’s okay?” you ask quietly, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing the phone closer to your ear, as if you could hone in on the doctor’s discussions in the background to find out whether Max was going to be alright.

Your dad simply hums again. “I’ll text you when we know more, but I’ve gotta go. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, dad,” you murmur.

His quick Bye, love you is rapidly replaced with the end-of-call dial tone.

You slip the phone into your jacket pocket and take a deep breath, preparing to head inside the restaurant. You couldn’t help but clock the bright orange McLaren already stationed in the parking lot when your Uber arrived. You recognised it from a picture in the article you read when you first learned of Lando’s incident at Wembley. You’re thankful for the sign that he’s already here and you dredge up the remaining ounces of fake confidence left in your body, making an effort to quickly smooth down your hair before you open the door and enter the restaurant.

You’re immediately overwhelmed by the sheer atmosphere of elegance. Hand-painted horizons adorn the walls, encapsulated by swirling silver frames and accentuated by the small lights stationed above each piece of artwork, their job for the night to highlight the colours and shading the artist undoubtedly spent hours perfecting.

The savoury scents of garlic and soy originate in the kitchen and permeate across the premises with ease, challenged only by the rousing aroma of the stunning frangipanis adorning the entrance.

A woman you guess to be around your age approaches you with a notepad and pen in hand. She’s dressed in a black bodycon skirt with a hem that scrapes the top of her knees; her matching coloured button up shirt is tucked in smoothly. “Hi,” she greets with a small smile, “Would you like me to show you to the bar?”

“Oh, I’m actually supposed to be meeting someone here,” you tell her, eyes scanning the room for Lando.

You see him before he sees you.

He’s tucked away at a table in the corner, his brown curls peaking over the top of the large menu he's studying.

“Found him, thanks,” you tell the waitress and she returns to her station as you make your way across the restaurant towards Lando.

He looks up from the menu as your figure appears in his peripherals and he shoots you a wave when you’re a few metres away. You return his gesture with a small laugh and he stands, walking to the front of the table to greet you.

“Hey,” he says, enveloping you in a one-armed hug. “Glad you could make it.”

“Me too. I hope you weren’t waiting long,” you tell him, noticing the almost empty glass of beer in front of him as he returns to his seat.

“It wasn’t too long, don’t worry,” he reassures you.

The reality of the situation fails to present itself to you until you and Lando are seated silently across from one another. Your stomach is tightly wound with nerves but Lando appears just as anxious, noticeably fidgeting in his seat and frequently straightening his knife and fork. He’s dressed rather sharp compared to what you’d been treated to in the past, the blue and orange race suit discarded for a crisp white button down and black dress shorts. You wonder whether the outfit you picked out is suitable for tonight, although you cut yourself some slack. When you’d packed your suitcase on Wednesday, you’d hardly expected to spend any time outside of the Red Bull garage or your hotel room, let alone situated in a restaurant that was, now very obviously, out of your price range. The thought causes you to send a silent prayer to whoever would listen that you had enough in your spending account to pay your half of the final bill tonight.

The woman who greeted you earlier approaches the table to ask what drinks the two of you would like to order.

Lando asks for a cola and you look at him in confusion.

“You’re not going to have another one?” you ask him as he hands over his empty beer glass.

“No, I’m not a big drinker,” he replies, “Especially not during the season.”

“So why did you invite me to have drinks then?” you ask, clearly amused. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Lando Norris?”

He laughs, and raises his hands in mock surrender, “Hey! No, nothing like that. I just don’t really drink, I never have.”

“Yeah I kinda noticed that actually,” you tell him. “Even on your podiums you don’t drink the champagne.”

“I thought you didn’t watch Formula 1?”

You wish you could wipe the stupid smirk off of his face as you practically watch the realisation form in his head. “Have you been watching my old races?”

“No,” you retort somewhat unconvincingly. “I found some highlights on YouTube though, and your podiums from Spielberg and Imola were on there.”

“My podium finish in Monaco is pretty good too. I’d be happy to show it to you sometime, though, it’s a shame that you find racing so boring.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Shut up.”

The warm glow emitting from the industrial-style bulbs resting overhead doesn’t help the blush settling on your cheeks, and neither does the grin Lando shoots you. You shrug off your jacket and place it carefully on the back of your seat just as the waitress arrives with your freshly poured Caiproska. You thank her and trace your fingers along the cool side of the glass, collecting the droplets of condensation that form in hopes that they’ll provide some sort of relief from your keen fever.

Lando’s gaze is strong enough that you feel him watching you without having to look across at him, it transcends the need for observed confirmation and instead sets your body alight merely at the thought of it. The thrum of your heart threatens to escape the confines of your chest and you stupidly pray that he doesn’t hear it as the exposed skin of your chest flushes scarlet against the dark neckline of your dress. You clasp the charm that sits at your throat, pinching it between your fingers and allowing yourself to bask in the minimal relief the cold metal provides against your warm skin.

Lando wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts and takes a deep breath. “So, that was a pretty crazy race today, huh? I didn’t think I’d be able to hold onto fourth place, not with another Ferrari behind me and Daniel.”

“Yeah, it was crazy,” is all you can reply before delving back into your pocket at what you think is the sound of your phone receiving a message.

God, he thinks, he’s boring you half to death. He finally has you all to himself and the only topic he can string more than a few words together for is his job, treating you like a reporter he’s obligated to unpack his strategy for in the paddock. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking nervous tonight, he wasn’t nearly this wound up when he’d asked you out. Sure, it was an effort to keep his hands from shaking as he locked his car and crossed the parking lot, but he convinced himself it was just the gentle breeze passing through the city that set his flesh alight with goosebumps. He was simply excited, more than anything, to spend some one-on-one time with someone his own age, and if that someone happened to be a pretty girl, who could blame him for looking forward to it?

But then you showed up in that dress and suddenly the possibility that he’d see you out of it by the end of the night if he played his cards right became more and more realistic. His head spins at the thought of taking you home tonight. And the next night. And suddenly the thought is replaced by the images of himself coming home to you every night. After months overseas with nothing but timezone-dependent calls he returns to the comfort of your embrace, it’s your fingers that gently scrape the back of his neck as a confirmation that he’s home. It’s the warmth of your body and the lilt of no one else’s voice that cures the cavity in his chest that enveloped him the moment he shut the apartment door behind him all those weeks ago. He sees you seated on his kitchen counter, legs swinging as the coffee brews each morning, and asleep on his couch every night even after you’d promised if he let you pick the movie you’d stay awake this time.

He knows he’s in way over his head. He only just met you, what, three days ago? Yet here he sits, wishing there was some magic rule book that could explain how he could make sure his time with you never ends. He wishes he’d met you long before this week –honestly, it feels like he’s known you for much longer–so that the heat that rises underneath his shirt and the lump in his throat doesn't lend itself to the idea that he’s just some lust-fuelled boy. Your text messages make him laugh like no one else’s have before and the thought that you were watching him this afternoon, after you weren’t initially planning to stay for the race, had him feeling more confident than he has all season.

He knows he can’t tell you all that, it’s way too soon and you’ll think he’s crazy. He has to think of something interesting to talk to you about to fill the minutes before he feels it appropriate to ask you out for a second time, but instead he sits in silence as you refuse to meet his gaze. Your eyes won’t stop lingering on your phone screen, or darting around the restaurant, undoubtedly searching for distractions. Signs on the wall you could read to pass the time until the check comes, or maybe you’re searching for a saviour, a bartender to lock eyes with who’ll answer your silent plea: get me the hell out of here. He’s caught off guard when your eyes make their way back to him, his heart skips a singular beat like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He’s preparing himself to appear nonchalant in response to the immaculately crafted excuse you’re undoubtedly about to deliver in order to explain your sudden escape from his company, when a small smile forms on your lips instead.

He smiles back.

“Sorry,” he explains. “I know I talk a lot about racing. It’s kind of my whole life at the moment so it’s easy for me to get carried away.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m kind of used to it anyway. It’s basically all we talk about at the dinner table when my dad’s home.”

“Well, what do you like to talk about? I saw on your Instagram that you’re studying advertising, tell me something about that.”

You smile at his consideration and tell him all about your degree. How you’ve always had an interest in design and noticed how it could be used to turn a profit, right from when you would try your hand at creating the posters for your school’s bake sales and car washes. You tell him the story of your first paid commission for a digital advertisement, an intricately crafted Instagram post for an up-and-coming clothing boutique based in London. He asks questions in all the right places and offers his congratulations when you show him screenshots of some of your most successful work.

Conversation ebbs and flows easily throughout the night, the nerves that had you second guessing your decision to come earlier tonight eradicated. The food is tremendous, and your company even better. Your waitress returns with the final bill for the night and Lando hands his card over without hesitation.

“Hey, no,” you say. “Let me pay for my half.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. “This was my way of repaying you for bringing my watch back, remember?”

Oh. That’s all tonight was for. He felt obligated to spend money on you in return for the trouble you’d gone through to return his stolen timepiece to him.

“When I talked to the police they said they could get me the money back once the guy was caught,” you stress. “So, you don’t need to do that.”

He brushes your statement off with a wave of his hand and smiles when the waitress returns with his card and a receipt.

Your mind mistakes the reverberation of champagne flutes clinking together for the chime of your text tone and you instinctively reach into your purse, hoping to see the screen alight with good news. You’d settle for any news really, so long as it meant you would finally get a clear picture of what was going on, and you could stop embellishing the details of the worst case scenario you had designed in your head.

A 51G impact like the one you had witnessed today can do a lot of damage to the body, whether visible from the outside or not, and you hoped, more than anything, that the helmet and halo were enough to protect Max from anything more than a few minor scrapes and bruises.

You’re lost in a world of nightmarish outcomes until you remember where you are. Lando’s face is contorted in a concerned frown across from you.

“Everything alright?” he asks gently.

“Yeah, sorry, I thought I heard my phone go off but it must’ve been something else.”

“It’s getting pretty noisy in here, do you want to head outside?” he offers.

“Okay.”

———

In the slight summer breeze you observe the moonlight washing across Lando’s figure, illuminating his features softly and elucidating the closeness of his face to yours. The proximity allows you to easily breathe in the pleasant cedarwood undertones of the cologne that adorns his skin, and allows him to imagine the sweet ropy flavour undoubtedly lingering on your tongue from the maraschino cherries you’d so delicately placed between your teeth throughout night.

The crinkles that form at the edges of his eyes as he meets your gaze with a smile are priceless. You wish you could bottle the feeling they give you and save it for a day you need it most.

“I had a nice time,” he tells you, practically beaming. “I can’t remember the last time I went out after a race and talked about stuff other than racing.”

“Yeah it was nice, dinner was really good too.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you stand in silence while you wait for your Uber to arrive. Lando had insisted on driving you back to your hotel but you knew his car would cause a fuss so you declined and told him you had an Uber discount code that was due to expire. You make an effort to seem fascinated by the cracks in the sidewalk and Lando acts intrigued by the streetlights, both of you dancing around the question that lingers unspoken in the air.

Are we going to meet up again?

The alert on your phone informs you that your driver is only a minute away.

“He’s almost here,” you tell Lando. “Thank you so much for paying for dinner, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay!” he insists. He shifts his weight on his feet before offering his arms to you.

You accept his invitation and hug him goodbye. You can’t help but notice the heat radiating through his thin shirt and feel his heart hammering between your two chests. His fingertips burn brands into your skin as they rest softly on your back and when he pulls back from you his hands don’t move an inch.

You catch his gaze and feel his thumb sweep softly over the fabric of your dress, underneath your jacket, before his lips meet yours in a searing kiss.

You’re caught off guard to say the least. His hands are hot on your back but his lips are soft and you’d be lying if you said they weren’t sending your head into a frenzy.

The rest of the day’s events are temporarily overruled by Lando kissing you; lying to your dad about where you are, wishing you could celebrate Lando’s fourth place finish with him in his garage, the repetitive questions aimed at you by the police that had you exhausted by mid morning, let alone Max’s accident.

Max.

And suddenly it’s not Lando’s but another pair of lips that are on yours, larger and hungrier and they come with a devastating reminder of what it’s like to sneak around with a Formula 1 driver. The lying and heartache that you remember all too clearly to feel like the kind of falling that jolts you awake from dreams.

You pull back and place your hands on Lando’s shoulders, staring down.

He’s instantly apologetic, bringing a hand through the front of his hair. “Sorry, I thought…fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, removing your hands and wrapping them around yourself. “It’s okay, um my car’s here anyway so I gotta go.”

He just nods and shoves his hands into his pockets.

The slamming of the car door feels like a hammer pounding in Lando’s head. For a moment he had you. In his hand was the opportunity to make something great out of your meeting, but he wrapped his fingers inward and crushed it in an instant.

———

When you wake the next morning, your head remains sore from the screeching of car engines throughout your eventful weekend. Though not particularly unbearable at the time, the accumulation of noise over the three days you were at the track had definitely built up.

Instinctively, you check your phone, assuming that you would be confronted with your typical notifications: a recommended Instagram account, a liked Tweet, maybe even a text. You know you’re being optimistic to expect anything from Lando, your mind refusing to stop reminding you of how awkward you had made your time together the night before. Still, you yearn for any sort of reassurement that it wasn’t as bad as your overthinking had made it out to be.

You read the time and see that it’s almost noon. You know that your dad will be out until around two o’clock, already fussing about with work related ordeals in order to have things perfect for the race in Hungary. When you eventually awaken enough to read the notifications on your phone, you find it difficult to hide your surprise as you find a text and missed call from Lando, the nervous feeling that you endured last night returns, sinking into your stomach like a stone.

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I had a really nice time last night :) Sorry if I was too forward at the end, I hope it didn’t ruin your night or anything.

Biting back a smile as you read the text, your mind is put at ease as you realise that he enjoyed himself as much as you did. You’re tempted to text him back immediately and tell him that he’s being silly, that of course he didn’t ruin your night. You wish you could explain your situation with Max and how, if it were any other night than the one your ex-boyfriend spent in hospital, you would have kissed Lando back. However, your plan to reply is thwarted as you notice the notification that informs you Lando also left you a voicemail. He must have called some time after sending his initial text message. Finger hovering over the play button, you are hopeful that it’s further kind words about your time together, or perhaps an invitation for a second ‘date’. If you could call it that. Nevertheless, you push the button.

The disappointed sigh he lets out causes your heart to stutter, before his voice crackles through the phone speaker.

“Hey, it’s me. Sorry for calling, I know I already texted you and um… I hate that I have to do this but I think it would be better for you to hear it from me instead of finding out online or something. I’ve just seen that someone got pictures of us together last night. I didn’t think anyone who knew me would be there but I guess it was still close enough to Silverstone that someone recognised who I was. I’m really sorry, but if it is any help I don’t think anyone recognised you because your face isn’t really in the photos. I’m trying to get them taken down and it’s not really on Instagram or in the news or anything, but lots of people on Twitter are talking about it. If there’s anything that I can do, please let me know. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen at his words, breath hitching in your throat as you process it. You replay the message over and over, as if hearing it multiple times will change the bad news Lando delivers each time. Instinctually, you close the app and scrub your hands over your face. You wonder about what exact kind of picture the photos he’s referring to imply. Does it paint a picture that could get you in trouble?

What about Lando?

Fuck.

What about your dad?

Your stomach drops at the thought of him seeing them. Getting caught lying about your whereabouts was one thing, but being caught with Lando Norris while you promised you were tucked up in the confines of your hotel room opens up a whole new world of possible consequences.

As if the universe can read your mind, it delivers your worst nightmare to you on a silver platter, piping hot and laced with venom.

A notification appears from your dad.

Call me when you’re awake.

-------

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love​ 

[kurowrites]

Betting On You - Part III

Casually walks in and dumps this 500 years after the first two parts.

Previous parts

---

From that day onwards, Wei Ying started to see Lan Zhan more and more. Before Lan Zhan had come to their rescue that evening, they had mainly been content with a short greeting (in Lan Zhan’s case, usually just a nod of acknowledgement) as they passed each other in the hallway of the apartment block.

Now, however, things had started to change. Lan Zhan would stop every time they met and greet Wei Ying with actual words. He would even inquire about A-Yuan’s well-being, about Wei Ying’s well-being, and ‘stealthily’ feed A-Yuan healthy snacks if he was with Wei Ying.

(It wasn’t stealthy at all, because Lan Zhan checked with Wei Ying first whether A-Yuan had any food intolerances and if snacks between meals were appropriate for children his age.)

Wei Ying was tickled by the fact that Lan Zhan was sneaking his son healthy snacks. The worst part of it was that A-Yuan genuinely liked them, and so the snacks and Lan Zhan had a meteoric rise in A-Yuan’s esteem.

(His son was turning into a goody-two shoes who loved rabbit food, and Wei Ying had never been more shocked. His own child!)

Before long, A-Yuan would break into a run and firmly attach himself to Lan Zhan’s leg as soon as he caught sight of him in the hallway. Lan Zhan didn’t seem to mind the sudden acquisition of a spider monkey clinging to him every time he left the safety of his apartment, and so Wei Ying stopped trying to discourage A-Yuan from greeting him in this way.

Lan Zhan would walk with them for a little bit if they were both headed out, and that was another thing that Wei Ying enjoyed. Because, as it turned out, Lan Zhan’s company was always enjoyable. And Lan Zhan was genuinely funny. Even if he had the habits of an octogenarian.

More than once, Wei Ying ended up chatting to Lan Zhan for so long that they ended up in the nearby park together, A-Yuan running off to play with other children while the two of them sat down on a bench, still chatting. Occasionally, one of them was required to get up in order to give the children on the swing a push, but otherwise, Wei Ying might have been tempted to sit there and chat all day.

If he was honest, it was a bit strange, suddenly having Lan Zhan around all the time, and trying to act like it was no big deal at all (LAN ZHAN WAS WILLING TO SPEND TIME WITH HIM OUTSIDE OF AN EMERGENCY, HOW), but being in his company was too comfortable for Wei Ying to question it.

Lan Zhan had an exceptionally good hand with A-Yuan, even though he had no children of his own, and more than once, Wei Ying found himself relieved for Lan Zhan’s presence. He was so… calm all the time, seemingly unflappable, even that time when one of the children in the park suddenly started vomiting all over the place, making some of the other children get upset and start crying in the process.

Lan Zhan just calmly stood up, took care of it, and herded all the upset children back to their parents.

As if it was easy.

“You’re incredible, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, much later, bumping shoulders with Lan Zhan as he shook his head. “Can you please leave some of that coolness for the rest of us poor schmucks?”

Lan Zhan levelled him with a gaze that clearly said that he had no idea what Wei Ying was talking about, and thought he was joking.

Well, Wei Ying was usually calling him a stick-in-the-mud, but he meant that endearingly! Lan Zhan was a very cool stick-in-the-mud.

Wei Ying might have said something along those lines, but then Lan Zhan reminded him that they still had to go shopping if they wanted to make hot pot that night, and Wei Ying got distracted counting all the ingredients he wanted in the hot pot.

---

A-Yuan had been put to bed with a belly full of delicious (though sadly very non-spicy) soup a while ago, and Wei Ying was starting to feel drowsy too. After eating far too much hot pot, he was feeling just the right amount of lazy and contented, and so getting up and leaving for his bed seemed like far too much of an effort.

And if he did that, he would also have to throw Lan Zhan out, and that seemed like more than he could accomplish right now.

“Lan Zhan,” he asked sleepily. “What is your stance on carrying adults to bed?”

Lan Zhan levelled him with another one of his flat looks, and Wei Ying chuckled to himself.

He couldn’t help it, it was funny! Just imagine Lan Zhan carrying Wei Ying to bed! It would be hilarious.

The next thing he knew, he was being lifted off the sofa, and carried to his bedroom in a bridal carry.

“Lan Zhan!” he exclaimed, but before he could do anything else, Lan Zhan had dropped him onto the bed like a sack of potatoes, stomping out of the room.

Wei Ying, feeling pretty awake now after the jarring experience of being carried around by a handsome man and then dropped suddenly, scrambled after him in a panic.

What the hell had just happened? It had just been a joke, he hadn’t actually wanted to ask Lan Zhan to carry him around! He was an adult, after all, and a parent at that, not a spoiled brat.

Wei Ying barely managed to catch Lan Zhan before he slipped out of his apartment, but when he stepped between Lan Zhan and the door, Lan Zhan stubbornly turned his face away and refused to look at him.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, in his best cajoling tone, but Lan Zhan would not budge.

“Lan Zhaaaaan,” Wei Ying sang, and Lan Zhan finally turned to glare at him.

Well, Lan Zhan could glare all he wanted, he was looking at Wei Ying. Which was all that counted

And Wei Ying would not stop saying Lan Zhan’s name however he pleased. It was a good name, and Wei Ying liked saying it.

“It was a joke, you know,” he graciously informed Lan Zhan.

That, however, had the effect of making Lan Zhan look even more constipated.

“I know,” Lan Zhan said, with a strange amount of feeling in his voice. “You are never serious.”

And with that, he gently removed Wei Ying from the front of the door, and left the apartment with a final click of the lock.

---

The next few days, Wei Ying walked around in a daze, trying to figure out what had suddenly gotten into Lan Zhan.

Try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what the issue was. Though Lan Zhan couldn’t be described being a clown, he did have a working sense of humour. He might occasionally roll his eyes at Wei Ying’s dumb jokes, but generally was a good sport. What had been different this time?

Wei Ying couldn’t figure it out. The more he thought about it, the more confused he was.

It didn’t help that A-Yuan was unhappy with him. The day after the hot pot incident, he had demanded to see Lan Zhan. He had become used to seeing him every day by now, and had been accordingly grouchy when Wei Ying had told him that they couldn’t go and see Lan Zhan right now. Wei Ying felt terrible for it, because there wasn’t a good reason to keep A-Yuan from visiting Lan Zhan.

But.

Well.

He wasn’t sure if Lan Zhan wanted to see them right now, and he also wasn’t sure if he was ready to face Lan Zhan after that. Whatever it had been.  

He should probably apologise, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure what exactly to apologise for. And as long as he didn’t know…

… it was easier to just avoid the topic altogether.

Wei Ying might have carried on like that indefinitely, avoiding Lan Zhan like a pro and keeping A-Yuan from noticing his evasion tactics, but once again, Lan Zhan thwarted his plans.

Wei Ying had dropped off A-Yuan with a friend from childcare so they could play for two or three hours at the friend’s home. It was perfect, because now, Wei Ying was free to do all the housework and if he was quick about it, he might also get a short nap in.

Unfortunately, just when he had stuck the key into the keyhole of his apartment door, a familiar voice addressed him from right behind him.

He hadn’t even heard Lan Zhan approach.

“Are you willing to speak to me now?”

Wei Ying whipped around, and found Lan Zhan standing there in all his handsome glory.

Wei Ying laughed nervously, pushing his tousled hair out of his face.

“Willing to speak to you?” he asked, his voice probably a pitch higher than it should be. “When have I not been willing to speak to you?”

Lan Zhan just levelled him with a flat gaze, and herded Wei Ying into his own apartment by sheer willpower alone.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying muttered as Lan Zhan closed the door behind them. “I know I should apologise, but I’m still not sure why exactly you got mad.”

Lan Zhan just sighed once, and stood in front of Wei Ying, simply looking at him without saying anything.

“Lan Zhan, if you keep looking at me like that, it’s going to look like you’re trying to flirt with me. I’m going to blush.”

Really, who wouldn’t, when such a handsome man was staring at you so intensely.

Lan Zhan shook his head minutely in apparent exasperation, and then…

And then he reached out, and gently brushed one messy strand of hair out of Wei Ying’s face.  

“Wei Ying. I am.”

And.

This time, it wasn’t a joke. Wei Ying actually blushed. Not a delicate, a little bit of red peppering the apples of his cheeks kind of blush. No. A full-on tomato red blush. He could feel himself radiating the heat of vicious embarrassment.

Ah, he thought to himself, as Lan Zhan took his hand and lifted it to his lips.

I might be a little bit stupid.

And then he might have stopped thinking for a little while.

[monicashipslokius]

Soulmates Actually Pt 5 (of 6)

(Read Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4)

Loki drags their hands up Mobius’s front, palms flat against his chest, pressing wrinkles into his white shirt. At Mobius’s shoulders, Loki slides their fingers under Mobius’s suit jacket and eases down Mobius’s arms. Mobius straightens his elbows, and the jacket falls unceremoniously to the floor, a dark mark on the beige carpeting. The green tie quickly follows.

Mobius watches Loki with a hooded, passion-filled gaze as their deft fingers open the buttons of his shirt, one after the next, before it too falls down to the floor.

When Loki’s hands finally touch bare skin, they are desperate for it. They follow the path made when Mobius was clothed, up his chest, over his shoulders.

“Loki,” Mobius says, voice caught somewhere between a whisper and a moan.

Loki wraps their arms around Mobius’s waist and pulls him closer. Loki is wearing their silk sleep-shirt, but the fabric is so thin they can still feel the heat of Mobius’s skin against their own.

Loki drops a kiss to Mobius’s bare shoulder, a line across his clavicle, and then up the side of his neck. Mobius tilts his head away, giving Loki more access.

Mobius’s fingers dance up the length of Loki’s arms. He clutches Loki’s shoulders a moment, bunching the nightshirt as Loki bites gently at the soft spot behind Mobius’s ear.

“I want to do this right,” Mobius says. “It’s right for me, but is it right for you?”

Loki hums, trailing a path of kisses to Mobius’s lips before claiming them. Loki pulls away too soon, and smiles when Mobius leans forward, following them. “You are doing perfectly.”

Another kiss. Two. “Not too fast?”

Loki pulls away again, only so far as to look Mobius in the eye so he will know the depth of their feeling as they say, “If I do not have you this moment, I will burst.”

Mobius laughs, and Loki’s heart swells with new, unknown feeling - pride, happiness, unconditional affection. Mobius has won startled laughs from Loki many times but never the other way around. Mobius’s eyes sparkle with delight, with interest and joy and some pride of his own.

Loki wonders if this is what love feels like.

“Not too fast then.” Mobius’s smile lingers.

“No.”

“Good,” Mobius says, and gives Loki a shove.

Loki, caught unawares, falls back onto the bed. “Mobius!” Immediate they are on their elbows, watching Mobius step closer, up to the bed, in the open space between Loki’s legs.

Heart racing at the potential, blissful implications, Loki attempts to keep cool and lifts one lone brow. “My soulmate is feeling bold, I see.”

As Mobius’s hands reach for the waistband of Loki’s sleep-pants, Loki gathers all of their willpower not to whimper out, please. Despite their efforts, it still erupts from their throat, a cut off, strangled sound of desperation that makes Mobius’s smile grow into a shark-like grin.

“Your soulmate,” he says, dropping to his knees, “intends to worship their mischievous god.”

Loki has been in many sexy situations across the centuries, but never in their very long life have they ever felt this much longing, this much lust -

No, more than lust. Desire coupled with affection, wrapped up in...

“Mobius.”

At the first whispered touch, Loki’s thoughts frizzle out, and they do not return for a long, long time.

*

The apartment’s dark, lit only from the dim starlight peeking through the sheer curtains and the flashing clock on the microwave that neither of them set properly.

Loki’s cheek is pressed to Mobius’s bare chest, their ear over Mobius’s heart, listening to the strong, steady rhythm. Mobius’s breath is slow and deep; he fell asleep hours ago. But Loki, even with their body pleasantly exhausted and their desire temporarily sated, lies awake.

They count Mobius’s heartbeats, but hold their breath for the space between them. Humans are fragile things with such short lifespans. Fifty seems so young, but for Mobius, that is already over half his life.

“I think I should retire,” Mobius said earlier, over dinner. “I’ve worked since I was sixteen. Saved and saved. I’ve got enough investments to see us through for a good long while.”

“You love your work,” Loki said, half-hoping they hid the hope in their voice successfully enough to appear supportive.

Mobius laughed, happy and fond, which perhaps was a reveal all its own. “If I dropped dead right now, they would replace me tomorrow.” He stabbed his fork through a green bean, but he might as well stabbed Loki through the heart. His gaze on the food, he didn’t appear to notice. “It’s not personal. It’s a good company. They’ve treated me well over the years. But... that’s just how jobs work. I don’t know. I have more to live for now than just that. And we can afford it.” He laughed again, softer and sadder. “I want to at least have a few years where I can keep up with you.”

“I won’t leave you behind,” Loki said, and they could hear their own desperation.

Mobius finally looked up at Loki, and even though he smiled, he could not hide the gentle heartache in his eyes. “I’m no spring chicken, Loki. Eventually -”

“Do not finish that thought, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“I’m just saying that -”

“I know what you are ‘just saying’ and I will not hear it. I will not leave you behind, and that is the end of the discussion.”

Mobius’s brows lifted high, and Loki expected further argument. But per usual, Mobius subverted all expectations and laughed again, as happy and fond as before.

“If anyone can figure out a way to cheat death, it’s you,” he said then.

He snores a little now. His arms clutch Loki closer, even in sleep. And Loki renews their vow, quiet in the dark.

“Nothing will take you from me.”

*

Mobius puts in his two week notice the next day.

The photo of his office building that he kept on the dresser gets replaced with one of he and Loki together - much of the wall space in their apartment does too. Their smiling faces greet them at every turn.

Perhaps it’s narcissistic, Loki wonders, to have that many pictures of them in their own home, but Loki is so unaccustomed to their own happiness, it is like looking at a stranger.

When they tell Mobius, Mobius smiles and kisses them. He doesn’t reply with words, but he does get that far away look in his eye, the one that appears when his joints are too stiff in the morning, or when he wakes up from having fallen asleep on the recliner without having meant to, or when he looks in the mirror at his gray hair and promises Loki, “I used to be blond.”

And though he never says, I want you to have something to remember me by, Loki can hear the words as loudly as if he shouted them.

Mobius taps his finger on the top of the dresser, near the framed photo of his parents. “You know, I only have this one picture of them. Forty years with them in my life, of phone calls and Christmas cards, too few visits. All of it down to one picture and a bunch of fuzzy memories.”

Loki stands beside him, glancing briefly at the photo before staring at Mobius, at the far away look, and the rare-sadness tilting down his mouth. Yet before they can think of something that would bring some measure of comfort, Mobius turns to Loki and says, “Let’s go on vacation.”

Surprise replaces worry, and Loki glances at the smiling photo of Mobius on his jetski. “A lovely idea,” Loki says, and offers a small grin. “I believe I was promised a trip to the ocean as recompense for surrendering dominion over this realm.”

Mobius wide smile returns, and Loki’s grows in victory.

“A man should keep his promises,” Mobius says, and they start making plans.

*

Two weeks pass, and Mobius's last day at work comes and goes.

“You’ll be sick of me in a week,” Mobius says the first day off, but after a week, and then two after that, Loki cannot get enough of their time together.

During the day, he and Loki talk and go for walks and watch the soap operas Loki pretends to only like ironically but secretly loves.

“Is that Georgina or Regina?” Mobius asks.

Loki, an expert after weeks of indulgence, can easily identify one twin from another. “That’s Georgina. Regina has the beauty mark above her lip.”

During the night (and sometimes during the day too), they lose themselves in each other. Without draining himself at work all day, Mobius has more energy to properly worship his mischievous god, and though Loki will never admit it aloud, they do some worshiping too, of their foolhardy mortal.

Their precious, fragile human.

The longer they are together, the more perfectly matched they seem. And Loki, who has never been in love before, begins to allow himself a moment of soft wonder.

Loki remembers their first touch, the spliced visions of their future, and the way Mobius said, I love you. Again and again, a thousand times in one moment. Loki begins to wish for that... to crave it.

Sometimes they wonder what Mobius saw during the vision. Did Loki say it to him?

They have no idea how to ask without giving themself away.

*

The night before their trip to California, Mobius and Loki pack clothes into a pair of suitcases. At first they had attempted to share a single suitcase, but quickly deemed that an unwise decision.

“I don’t understand why you need so many clothes,” Mobius said, as his ‘half’ of the suitcase shrank down a considerable margin. “Can’t you just magic your outfit whenever you want?”

“You always wear that same drab suit, despite all the others we procured for you, despite no longer being required to wear it for work,” Loki replied. “Surely that portion of the suitcase is enough for one suit.”

Mobius looked down at the brown suit he currently wore, and though his smile remained, a small line formed between his brow. Loki knew instantly they had pushed too far.

So they cleared their throat and said, “Or perhaps I am doing my best to ensure you spend most of the trip naked.”

Mobius laughed and his brow smoothed out. “Alright, alright. I’ll get another suitcase,” he said, without further prompting.

Now, Mobius carefully folds yet another white shirt as he lowers it down onto the perfectly aligned pile of five exact copies. “I’ve been thinking.”

“A dangerous prospect,” Loki says, tossing a few shirts into their own suitcase. “One that usually ends in anxiety for me.” They say it as a joke. They do not expect Mobius’s quiet in return.

Worried there might still be lingering hurt from the suit remark, Loki shifts all attention to Mobius, and finds him a tangle of tension and uncertainty.

“Mobius?”

“Maybe it’s not a good idea.” He unfolds and refolds the same shirt. Twice. “Forget I said anything.”

Loki reaches out, takes the shirt from Mobius hands, and lowers it. Then they take Mobius’s hands and turn him toward them. When Mobius’s gaze drifts off toward the kitchen, Loki laces their fingers together and squeezes his hands gently.

“Good or not, I should hear your idea,” Loki says. “I enjoy knowing all of your thoughts.”

Mobius shifts his glance briefly to the photo of his parents on the dresser. “Even if it’s something that might cause you anxiety?”

Loki traces their thumb over Mobius’s. “I believe not knowing would be substantially worse.”

Finally, Mobius looks at them. “Yeah, okay.” He presses his lips hard together as he studies Loki’s face.

The longer the silence lasts, the more worry coils around Loki’s chest until they  feels as if they might explode just from anticipation of -

“I think we should invite your family to our vacation.”

Loki blinks. Waits for the punchline.

For surely Mobius is jesting.

Instead, Mobius winces. “Now that’s a look.”

“You... aren’t jesting.” Loki tries to imagine Odin standing on a sandy Californian beach, but the image is so outrageous, their mind cannot conjure it.

“Look, I know it’s a bad idea. And we can go ahead and never talk about it after this, but...” He glances again at the photo of his parents, and the heartbroken look returns to his eyes. “Too few visits.”

Only one picture.

There are no pictures of Loki’s family. Mobius offered to print a fuzzy photo of Thor from the internet but Loki refused.

“I’m not saying we invite your dad, I know that’s...” Mobius gives Loki’s hands a gentle, supportive squeeze. “But what about Thor? I promised him a jetski ride.” A pause, then softer, “What about your mom?”

Loki can imagine Thor acting a buffoon on a sandy beach - building a sand-Asgard (or attempting to - Loki’s would be infinitely better), racing Mobius on jetskis, swimming out too far and having to use Mjolnir to fly back to safety.

Oddly, Loki can also imagine Frigga, perched on a lounge chair under an umbrella, flipping through pages of a book. She would be the judge of their theoretical sand-Asgard competition and would undoubtedly deem them equal, regardless of actual merit.

“There’s that smile,” Mobius says, drawing Loki back to the now, away from the beach and to their small apartment in Dubuque. “Maybe not such a bad idea after all?”

Hope burns hot in Loki’s chest, even as they say, “They’d never agree, even if we could find a way to invite them.”

“I don’t believe that,” Mobius says, and his confidence further brightens Loki’s hope. He tilts his head. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d never complain about having you all to myself.” He surely aims for a smile, and he gets one. “But... would it be okay if we tried?”

They’ll say no, Loki knows. They’ll never show. But blind hope has them nod their head, just once.

“Great.” Mobius lifts one of Loki’s hands and kisses the back of it. Then he releases them both and steps into the middle of the apartment.

“What are you doing?” Loki asks.

Mobius winks, then lifts his gaze to the ceiling. “Um, hi?” He furrows his brow and glances at Loki. “What was his name again? The guy who’s always watching? Helmdell?”

“Heimdall,” Loki says, “But I’m not sure he’ll appreciate playing messenger for such a silly request.”

“Come on,” Mobius says. “Guy is probably up there all day dealing with huge crises. He might appreciate something lighter for a change. Plus, if anything goes wrong, we can just blame the ignorant human.” He points his thumb to himself.

That this silly human man is so casually willing to bother a god with a party invitation has Loki want to hide their own face in embarrassment and also cover Mobius’s in kisses.

What an impossible fool.

“Mister Heimdall, sir?” Mobius says to the ceiling. “I’m sorry to bother you, I know you're busy. But if you could please let Loki’s mom and brother know that they are invited to come to our vacation in Malibu tomorrow? For a week? If they want to? I’d appreciate it. Uh, thank you.” He lowers his head, frowns, and lifts it again. “You can come too.”

“Mobius,” Loki hisses.

“He can come,” Mobius tells them as he returns to their side. In a whisper, he says, “We can’t be rude.”

Only the most extreme level of willpower keeps Loki from rolling their eyes. “If you were worried about rudeness, you should have invited my... the All-Father.”

Mobius’s smile slips. “No.”

It’s such a sudden turnabout that Loki’s brain goes quiet a moment.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If you want him there, of course, we can invite him, but listening to you talk about him. Even right now, did you hear yourself? You called him ‘All-Father,’ not Dad or Pops or even Odin. So formal. And look at you.” He grabs Loki by the elbows and jostles them a bit, and Loki realizes how tense they’ve been. “Coiled up like a spring about to pop. If this is what just mentioning him does to you, I don’t want that guy anywhere near you.”

Loki loosens as Mobius trails his hands to their shoulders.

“He may be displeased at not being invited,” Loki says.

“We’ll deal with that rainbow bridge when we cross it.”

Mobius rubs Loki’s shoulders, and Loki closes their eyes, putty in his hands.

“You cause infinite trouble for me, soulmate,” Loki says.

Mobius chuckles. “Yeah, but you like trouble. Keeps things interesting.” Mobius’s fingers dig into tight muscle, and Loki lets out a soft, relaxed sigh. “That’s why Regina’s your favorite.”

Loki’s eyes snap open. “She is not.”

“She’s the mischief-maker.”

“No, I assure you, she is far from my favorite. Her plans are so poorly executed that even Claudio, besotted as he constantly is over Georgina, catches wise of her almost instantly. She insults the name of mischief.”

“Maybe. But they wouldn’t have a show without her. She’s the only one who does anything.”

“No, you simply have not watched enough episodes...” Loki stops themself short and stands suddenly taller. “I know what you're doing.”

“Oh?”

“You are attempting to distract me.”

Mobius hums, and his little smile turns 100% smug. “It worked too, didn’t it?”

It did, and Loki is both infuriated and endeared at once. “How do you do this to me?”

Mobius shrugs. “You’re pretty easy to rile up.”

“That’s not what I mean, I -” They stop themself again, realizing they were about to admit to... feelings. Dangerous feelings. They swallow down the words they want to say, and say instead, “You infuriate me, Mobius.”

“Yeah,” Mobius says, “But you like that too.”

Loki does. All powers in the cosmos help them, they absolutely do.

They are as besotted with Mobius as Claudio is with Georgina. No, more so.

Mobius is so earnest and good and kind, and cares so much about Loki and Loki’s happiness, that even though Loki is annoyed, they still lean forward and kiss Mobius quick on the mouth.

Mobius closes his eyes for the kiss, then takes his time opening them again. He looks at Loki like they’re the brightest star in the sky, and Loki, chest swollen with an unfamiliar emotion that washes away all annoyance, even the faked kind, pulls Mobius into their arms and kisses him again, more properly.

Overwhelmed with warmth, Loki swoops Mobius up into their arms, mouth pressed against Mobius’s laugh, and carries him to the bed.

In the end, both suitcases end up on the floor, overturned, contents spread out all over, Mobius’s many shirts no longer perfectly folded. The one he was wearing will need some serious mending, buttons all ripped off. The pants are too torn to be salvageable.

Mobius holds Loki close and places soft kiss after soft kiss along their hairline. The space between one and the next lengthens until eventually they stop altogether.

With Mobius’s breath slow and steady in sleep, Loki leans to Mobius’s ear and whispers, “I think that I... I love you.”

*

“They aren’t going to come,” Loki says in the taxi cab to the airport.

“They surely have other matters to attend to,” Loki says at 30,000 feet.

“I cannot imagine them meeting us,” Loki says on the Californian tarmac,  even as they do imagine it - the four of them with multi-color drinks topped with sliced fruit, curly straws, and tiny umbrellas.

Mobius has not released their hand the entire voyage. “You never know. Stranger things have happened.”

“Stranger than two gods vacationing with their delinquent adopted relative?”

“Sure,” Mobius says with a shrug. “You hear the one about the gorgeous god who found their soulmate in a folksy dope of a human?”

A small measure of Loki’s anxiety melts away. “You are referring to when the realm’s bravest human opened their heart to a broken god?”

“Not broken,” Mobius says, suddenly serious. “Never broken.”

“Mobius,” Loki starts, but in a flash, Mobius easy smile returns.

“Come on. Let’s hit the beach.”

Loki bounces their leg the entire taxi drive to their beach-front hotel. Their suite is large, upgraded last minute at surely no small expense, to a set of three rooms, just in case Thor and Frigga decided to arrive. They change into swim trunks and descend the staircase off their balcony down to the sand. The hotel arranged a series of lounge chairs and umbrellas that Loki is eager to claim, but Mobius pulls them down to the water first.

“We’ve been in Iowa too long. We have to at least touch the ocean.”

Loki accommodates him enough to step into the water, ankle-deep. Mobius splashes in all the way. He dips below the surface, then reappears, drawing closer, soaking wet.

“Do not even think of -” Loki says, knowing what’s coming. Mobius allots them plenty of time to move if they wish, but they do not. Though they do groan in dismay as Mobius wraps them in a damp hug.

“Kiss me,” Mobius says, bright as the sunshine and laughing. “I taste like the ocean.”

Loki does not bother to stop their rolling eyes, even as they indulge him with a kiss. Hm, he does taste a bit salty. But it’s still Mobius underneath.

“Perhaps you are part fish,” Loki offers, teasing.

Mobius’s eyes light up. “Do you think mermaids are real? Mermen?”

Loki, watching Mobius’s youthful glee, has no desire to quash his joy, even slightly. “Perhaps?”

“Oh, man. How great would that be?” Mobius says and releasing Loki, flops back into the water.

Loki can’t help their smile. And they don’t want to either. Mobius makes them feel young again too, full of hope and possibilities. Like they could accomplish anything.

Like defying death.

Their smile slips, but they struggle to hold onto it, not wanting to ruin Mobius’s fun.

But even this trip carries the weight of Mobius’s unsaid wish, I want you to have something to remember me by.

“We will remember together,” Loki says under his breath, as Mobius jumps into a wave.

Then, like a boom of thunder across the beach, roars a voice, “Brother!”

Loki turns to see Thor in bright-colored shorts and a too-small white tank top walking toward him. Large sunglasses hide his eyes, and a swipe of white sunscreen streaks his nose, but his wide smile leaves no argument to his expression. And beside him...

Frigga wears a long, floral sundress and a wide-brimmed hat. Where Thor barrels forward, oaf-like, she moves like the water itself, each step on the sand fluid and careful.

Reality flashes through Loki, stealing his breath. When last she saw them, they were... not...

They have no idea what their relationship could be now.

This was a mistake.

Loki has to run.

They look at the water, but Mobius is too far out.

For Loki to run, they would have to leave Mobius.

Indecision roots them. To stay or to go.

But no, Frigga would not wear a sundress if she had meant only to renounce them. She would not dress as though she intends to stay.

And Mobius...

Loki steels their resolve. How tightly had Mobius held Loki after they fought about his job and he thought Loki gone forever? How many whispered promises had he made since then, of their staying together?

No. Mobius would not leave them. 

Loki will not abandon him either.

Thor reaches them first. “Good to see you again, Loki. Heimdall sends his regards, and his regrets. He could not get away.”

“Oh... uh, of course.”

“Where’s... oh!” Thor looks out at the water. “Mobius! My brother! Stay there, I will join you!” Then he trudges into the water, each step a large splash.

In his place, stands Frigga. Loki stands tall, bracing themself for perhaps-deserved condemnation.

But then their mother lifts a hand and places it softly to their cheek.

“My beautiful child,” she says, and it is enough. It is everything.

Loki falls into open arms, feeling much like a youth again, safe and protected in their mother’s embrace.

“Thank you for inviting us,” she says as she cards her fingers through their hair. “It was a most pleasant and unexpected surprise.”

“It was Mobius’s idea,” Loki admits.

“Your soulmate knows your heart well,” she says, kindness warm in her voice. “It brings this mother peace to see her child so happy. Especially after such a long period of distress.”

Loki closes their eyes and bites back their bubbling emotion. To have their pain acknowledge is almost too much. As to, is having the reaffirmation that they are her child, even now, even after everything.

Loki realizes too late that they are still wet from Mobius’s hug, and pulls away sharply. But Frigga keeps her arms on their shoulders, her smile ever-soft, ever-patient. She holds no harm for them, only kindness. Only joy.

Mobius approaches slowly, kicking gently through the water, creating only minimal disturbance to the water’s surface.

He looks first to Loki, as if studying their face. Loki knows he is searching for distress, that Mobius will rise to their defense with nary a moment’s notice. But he mustn’t see that, because a smile breaks wide on his face as he turns it toward Frigga.

He holds out his hand, dripping wet with saltwater. Frigga glances at his hand, then ignores it and pulls him into a hug, too.

“Thank you,” she says, voice nearly lost among the shift of the waves and the loud beating of Loki’s own heart.

“You don’t have to thank me.” Mobius’s voice is much stronger. “You’re always welcome to... oh.”

She says something else, something Loki cannot hear, something that makes Mobius’s smile soften and his eyes search out Loki’s over her shoulder.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, either,” Mobius says. “Loving them is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Loki’s whole world goes very still.

The sun shines. The waves continue to pound the sand. Somewhere, Thor calls out for them to join him. Mobius looks away from them, back to Frigga.

Loki just stands there, a single word, echoing loud in their head.

Mobius’s voice. Mobius’s word.

Love.

[storybookstalker]

A Helping Hand

 - Author’s Note -

➥ Sorry for my absence! I’ve been struggling with my mental illness and with school a lot so it’s been hard to really keep up with anything. Hopefully this somewhat makes up for some of that time! This is a smallish fic I made for my art trade with @yandere-starchild​ ! I really hope you love it as much as I loved your part of our trade! 

↳ Yandere - Platonic - Bruce Wayne : Batman 

↳ Yandere - Implied - Tim Drake : Red Robin

It’s insanely lucky that she’d managed to get into Gotham High to begin with, especially without having the whole support thing that seemed to come with having parents. Nor any other kind of support network. She didn’t exactly have friends at the school, regardless of how hard she used to try,— not that she had many, to begin with— but she’d like to think that grades were more important than friendship. She’d found somewhat of a friend in some kid named Tim a while back, but he’d gone and dropped out. Not that she blamed him, even if he was weird with how he just suddenly greeted her as if they knew each other one day. No, Ymir would have dropped out a long time ago if she had the choice. The classes were long, tiring, and too early; and forced her to stay up way too late in a cold effort to keep up with the curriculum. She’d zone out in forced attempts to jot down the teacher’s notes, it’d probably be more fun to watch paint dry than do this. The detention from falling asleep in class only led to more trouble with the dean and with her legal guardians, and more falling asleep on cold desks from sheer exhaustion. 

All of this funneling down into why Ymir found herself waiting outside the probably electric, kinda scary looking fence that surrounded the Wayne Manor. Looking back on it, this was most likely a horrible idea. 

The other week she had run into Tim again, quite literally bumping into him and pouring hot coffee onto his nice (and probably expensive—) looking sweater. He didn’t seem to mind all that much surprisingly— despite her embarrassment— and somehow the two ended up chatting like old friends in a booth, bonding over their shared frustration with Gotham High. 

“Y'know, I actually used to be pretty good with your classes! Just lost the motivation to do them.” 

“Haha, yeah I know what you mean,” Ymir agreed, “It’s just really hard to keep up and it doesn’t help that I’m falling behind a bit…” 

That’s when he offered to tutor her. It was a little shocking, considering she had just dumped hot coffee on his nice sweater. His logic was that he’d have to go back to the school eventually, so helping her study would benefit both of them. 

“Besides,” Tim continued, “we should try to get to know each other better.” 

And so, that’s how the very tired girl ended up spending a few days with Tim every week. 

Usually, they’d meet at a library or something but Tim asked to study at his house this week, which led full circle back to her standing in front of Wayne Manor. Ymir probably should have known that Tim was a Wayne long before this point, but apparently, it had never come up. Or, rather she probably just didn’t pick up on it, not that it mattered now. 

Ymir wondered if he had jokingly given her a fake address until the manor’s gate began opening up. Her nervousness only managed to increase the closer she got to the house, not that she could easily turn around with how the gate shut behind her, everything looked way too expensive for her to even be looking at. The front door was even more intimidating; was she supposed to use a different door? Ymir’s dizzying resolve just barely steadied when Tim appeared and greeted her, calling her inside. 

If Tim noticed her awkwardness, he didn’t mention it. He and the manor’s butler, Mr. Pennyworth, seemed to welcome Ymir. Pennyworth, though Tim tried to encourage her to call him Alfred, offered drinks and snacks throughout the study session. The older man would step in to help if either party seemed to have more questions than they could answer but it was mostly just the two teens for the majority of the time. Ymir’s nerves soothed themselves as time went on, by the end of the session she found herself talking to Tim normally. Ymir went home with a smile, maybe she’d found a friend, finally. 

Weeks passed, and while her grades did improve, Ymir’s parents seemed unhappy with the entire situation still. It was hard to enjoy her time with the Waynes when her parents would scold her for having “too much fun”, apparently too happy to be studying as she should be. She was sure Tim noticed it, but vocalizing anything happening would just ruin it more for her.

It wasn’t until Tim had to cancel a study session that all it tipped over. Her confusing relationship with Tim, her parents shoving their expectations down her throat, school— all bundled into a breakdown in front of the Wayne Manor. The constrictive lump in her throat dropped to her stomach when Bruce Wayne himself stepped out from the gate and invited her inside. 

Ymir tried to backtrack, Tim wasn’t there so why would she come in—? 

“Nonsense,” Bruce brushed off her stuttering, “Any friend of Tim’s is always welcome here.” 

He waited for her to follow before leading her into his Manor. In which he sat Ymir down and got water for the teary-eyed student. Bruce explained that Tim had mentioned that she seemed overly stressed, “Which is odd, from what Alfred and Tim tell me you’re doing much better grade-wise.” 

Ymir’s heart dropped to her stomach, she didn’t really want to shove her family issues onto the most wealthy man in Gotham. Especially not after all the help Tim gave her. What kind of a ‘thank you’ is crying and whining? 

Ymir steadied herself, “I am. I’m passing now, I’m grateful for everything Tim’s done for me, Mr. Wayne.”

“Bruce is fine, Ymir. With how often you’re over here you might as well be family.” Bruce smiled, almost in a reassuring way, as if he already knew how overwhelmed she was. “And since you’re basically family, I want you to know that this is a safe place for you. If you need anything, you can tell me.” 

The lack of care from her own parents and the warmth from the Waynes came crashing down on her, hot tears came rolling down her face as she attempted to explain herself. There was no rush from Bruce or Alfred, both of which comforting her in their own ways. 

She spent the next few hours venting out her emotions about her family and school, Bruce offering advice. Tim appeared later on in the evening, inviting her to watch a movie to help calm down after her comfort session with Bruce. 

Meanwhile, Bruce made a call home and ensured that she was allowed to stay over should she want to. The Waynes were more capable of taking care of Ymir, Bruce just had to make sure they could continue to protect her. Not that it would be difficult. With a family like Ymir’s? All he needed to do was pull some strings, her family should be proud to have their daughter be accepted as a ward of Bruce Wayne himself. For now, he was happy to wait until she was comfortable enough to call the Manor her home. 

↳ END ↲

[honeytae]

“I want to spend forever being reckless like this with you.”

hi lovies! this is just about the reader and hobi dealing with the sadness that comes with the end of a little visit between tour dates...but of course hoseok (being the angel he is) wants to make their last day together a happy memory instead of a sad one. and yeah he’s just really sweet.... i really hope you all enjoy this little piece of fluffiness <3

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @the1921-monsters genre: fluff

word count: 2.2k

Heaviness. That’s what you felt today.

Glancing out the hotel window, you sighed as you watched the cabs pass by on the street below you. Despite the desire to have one last good day here, you couldn’t help the reality setting in now that it was getting later in the day. You would be in one of those cars tomorrow. En route to the airport.

You awoke with a certain weariness this morning, knowing the dreaded end date of the visit you’d paid to your boyfriend was fast approaching. Hoseok sensed it, showing that he did without explicitly stating it as he ordered room service in an attempt to cheer you up with waffles and kisses.

But despite all his efforts, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d been punched in the gut, mind and body plagued by your inevitable and all too soon departure.

Your fingers pinched the fabric of the curtain as you listened to Hoseok enter the room behind you, flicking the bathroom light off before padding over to where you stood at the window, back to him as you stared down at the street below. 

“I know you’re sad.” He mumbled into the side of your head, you instinctively sinking back into his chest as his hands locked around your waist. 

“I’m okay-“

“You’re not, though.” He cut you off, “and that’s okay, I’m not either.” He added with a sigh, and despite you not being able to see the man, you could perfectly envision the pout on his lips as he spoke.

Wordlessly turning around in his hold, you instantly buried your face in his shirt, his hand coming up to stroke through the hair at the back of your head as he nuzzled his own face in your hair. 

The beginnings of your visits while Hoseok was on tour were always your favorite part. Finally reuniting, feeling like you have all the time in the world to catch up with each other because, hey, you’re finally together again. 

And then the middle of the trip comes, the ever-nearing end date forcing the mood to dampen just the slightest bit, the elated feeling of no upcoming departure fading with each night passing by into the next morning.

But the end; the end is the absolute worst. The only thing worse than the moment you have to walk out the door is the entire day before, the daunting idea of having to leave and be alone once again making the mood sad and gloomy as opposed to the ecstatic joy at the beginning.

And that’s exactly what had happened today, the big storm cloud of sadness hovering over the both of you as you pouted in your hotel room together. The other boys had kept their distance all morning, knowing how difficult it was for the both of you to depart each other and wanting to give you space and time to process. 

Your flight home was early tomorrow morning, and Hoseok had a concert in another country in three days. He’d be flying out not long after you, and you’d be thousands of miles apart from each other once again. 

“I love you so much.” He mumbled into your skin, squeezing you tighter to him as you said the words back to him.

“I didn’t want us to have any bad days on this trip.” You chuckled humorlessly, nuzzling further into the warmth Hoseok’s skin provided you with as he hummed in response. 

“Let’s not have a bad day, then.” He pulled back from you with a smile, causing you to raise your eyebrows at his proposition, taking your hand in his and squeezing it affectionately. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, letting your boyfriend lead you to the bed full of your folded clothes with the intention to pack most of them up only less than an hour ago. 

“I mean,” he started, leaning over to the open suitcase with a grin as he grabbed your bathing suit, “we’re going to have a good last day together, angel.”

Giggling as Hoseok ran with you down the hall of the top floor of the hotel, you tried your hardest to keep up with his pace, your fingers locked around each other making the action only slightly easier as the colors of the carpet swirled below you through the speed of your motions.

The rush in getting to the elevators was entirely encouraged by the fact that you two were less than decently dressed in your bathing suits, running past others’ rooms with your fingers metaphorically crossed that nobody would venture outside. 

Rounding the corner at the end of the corridor, Hoseok paused to give your legs a rest, finally safe from any prying eyes as you leaned side by side against the wall next to the elevators.

Haphazardly reaching over to the panel containing the up and down arrows, you tapped the top one indicating the roof, the button lighting up under your touch as the screen atop the doors let you know the elevator was on its way.

“Shit, we should’ve grabbed our robes.” You laughed breathlessly, Hoseok’s breathing similar to yours as he turned to you with a heart-shaped grin.

“Are you saying you’re not having fun?” He raised his eyebrows at you, you immediately smiling at his question.

You barely registered the dinging of the elevator doors as they slid open, instead glancing into the glittering brown orbs of your man as the corners of his eyes crinkled with the force of his smile. 

“Definitely not.” You smiled, exhaling your last sigh as your breathing evened out, your boyfriend leading you out the elevator doors with a swing of your entwined arms between your bodies. 

Miraculously, the rooftop pool was empty, providing you with some true quality time on your last beautiful summer morning together.

Finally reaching the door to the gate containing the pool, Hoseok held the key card in front of the the sensor, the lock immediately unlatching with a solid ‘click’ before he was pulling the door open for you.

“Fuck, we made it.” You exhaled, glancing behind you to make sure that nobody had in fact seen you, 

After setting your towels and sunscreen down on the chairs set out beside the pool, you sighed, glancing out over the skyline before trading your gaze to your boyfriend’s face, his hands landing on your hips as he pulled your body flush to his. 

“This is nice, right?” He smiled, you nodding with a content hum, admiring the man’s full cheeks from his smile.

“I think I’m going to miss this the most.” You commented, Hoseok’s eyes widening at the abrupt statement. His features softened at your words, fingers softly gliding against your hip in a reassuring gesture.

“What are you going to miss the most?” He asked, making you smile as you placed your hand on his chest. Your boyfriend obviously took it as a sweet gesture, a grin meeting his mouth as he raised his hand to support your jaw, you leaning into him with a sly smirk.

“This.” You whispered against his lips, applying pressure to his chest with your hand and affectively sending him backward into the pool water with flailing limbs. His scream ripped through the air, shortly followed by your laughter as he came back up to the surface with pure shock written on his face. 

Doubling over at the expression, you put your hands on your knees as you tried to regain composure at your extremely gullible boyfriend. Finally catching your breath, you pouted at the bewildered man, ignoring the increase in speed of your heart as he swept his hair back from his forehead. 

“W-what was that?” He sputtered, you shrugging as you sat down on the cement edge of the pool, nonchalantly dangling your legs into the cool water.

“I’m sorry Sunshine, you just make it so easy.” You chuckled, the man’s lips twisting into a frown as he swam over to you, kicking his legs behind him as he reached out for your ankles. 

“That wasn’t nice.” He tutted, glancing up at you with a bit of mirth in his eye, thumbs swiping over your ankles as you hummed carelessly in response.

“I apologize for letting temptation get the best of me.” 

You smiled as Hoseok scoffed at your smug words, the expression quickly dissolving as you yelped at your boyfriend suddenly tugging you by his grip on your lower legs into the water with him.

The water was cold, especially in comparison to the hot air outside with the sun baking down onto the rooftop of the hotel. You immediately understood why Hoseok had come up from the surface with that look on his face, coming up with a similar one of your own as you gasped at the temperature.

“Fuck, that’s cold.” You managed to get out, Hoseok humming cockily in response, nevertheless reaching out for you to hug your shivering body to his own’s accumulated warmth. 

“I apologize for letting temptation get the best of me.” He repeated your earlier words with a smirk, the expression dissolving into a widened smile as you whined in complaint.

“Fine, you got your payback.” You poked at the rounded apple of his cheek, melting into the man’s embrace as he giddily smiled at you.

Sighing contentedly as you looped your arms around his neck, you smoothed your fingertips over the hair behind his ear, Hoseok leaning in to place his forehead on yours. The sheer intimacy of the moment had you melting internally, your heart more content than ever as you nuzzled the tip of your nose against his. 

“Now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way,” he raised his eyebrows in amusement, “isn’t this nice?”

“It is.” You murmured, smiling against his lips when he pressed the plush skin to yours. Placing your hand on the back of his head, you encouraged him to repeat the action, feeling his mouth spread into a smile as he cupped your jaw in his hand to guide you back into a kiss. 

“I want to spend forever being reckless like this with you.” You commented on your chaotic morning escapades, chuckles spilling out of his lips and vibrating yours with crinkled eyes. 

“Will do.” He nodded, the small words simple yet broad with the deeper meaning they held within them. His softened tone had your heart soaring in an instant, opting to glance over at the view to hide your blush from the man. You could see that his eyes remained on you throughout your diversion to the morning sky, heating your cheeks up more before you turned back to him with a small smile. 

“This is exactly what I envisioned our last day to be like.” You spoke softly, Hoseok shooting you a tight-lipped smile before sighing.

“This isn’t the last of our days together, baby.” He pointed out, giving an encouraging squeeze to your shoulder as he tipped his head at your morbid tone. 

“I know that,” you smiled. You did. “How much longer?” You asked, Hoseok flicking his eyes up in thought, immediately knowing what you were referencing.

“Forty-four days. Forty-three tomorrow.”

“So forty-three days without each other. We’ve done nearly fifty already.” 

You meant the statement as a positive thing, honestly. The frown twisting Hoseok’s lips was not your intention at all, your thumb soothing over the corner of his lip to soothe the expression away.

“I’ll try to get some time off, okay? I don’t want you to keep having to fly out like this and-”

Silencing the man’s worries with another kiss, swiping your thumb over the soft skin of his cheek as he let out a sigh against you.

“It’s fine, Sunshine. I’ll fly across the world if it means I get to spend a single day with you, alright? Don’t worry about that.” You hushed, the man raising his eyebrows at you knowingly, drawing a soft sigh from you.

“If I feel like I’m struggling then I won’t hesitate to tell you.” You said, Hoseok staring back into your eyes to try to read the emotions in them.

“You promise?” He breathed out, making you nod immediately as you caressed the hair at the nape of his neck.

“As long as you promise to keep me updated on your feelings as well.” You responded, the man nodding solemnly.

“I will.”

“I love you.” You reminded him, the man smiling a toothy grin at the words he’d never tire of hearing as he tucked needily grasped at your flesh.

“I love you more.” He grinned as you rolled your eyes, wiggling out of his hold as you braced yourself against the pool wall.

“Alright, superstar. First one to get to the other side buys the other dinner.” You challenged him, causing him to scoff but nevertheless get himself into position to launch across the pool.

“When have I ever let you buy me dinner?” He raised his eyebrows at you, you only waving him off as you lowered yourself into the water, beginning to pedal yourself across the expanse of the pool as he furrowed his brows after you.

“Hey, that’s cheating!”

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who followed along! Things are heating up with this chapter! Most of the referenced triggers from chapter 1 apply in this chapter specifically. Here's the link to chapter 2, if you're just seeing this now :)

Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @remedialpotions, @jamezbot, @jenoramaca, @not-steve42, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey... god, I'm forgetting people, and I'm sorry! But you're all amazing <3

___________________________

D A Y + T H R E E

As fate would have it, Ginny wakes before 0-700.

Not that she sleeps.

Nightmares, the likes of which she hasn’t experienced in years, torment her throughout the night. They leave her scared. Miserable. Guilty. Around 3 AM, she finally reaches for her Dreamless Sleep potion with shaking hands. For more reasons than one, she’s pleased that Harry’s slept on the couch.

She knows now just how stupid this entire mission truly was. The longer she analyzes it, the more she accepts that her bloody pride got her here in the first place. A chance for a promotion, however small, gave her false confidence in her ability to disregard a decade of sexual tension, all while trapped in close quarters with the person she wants the most.

She hopes Harry makes himself sparse today, though she knows that sounds cruel. But the longer they spend together, the clearer it becomes they’re on the cusp of something… and not something that would look good on a performance review. He’s been kind and understanding so far, even when she’s fucked things up. She just hopes she can ignore the most human parts of herself until they’ve dealt with this.

So at half-past 8, Ginny — Jenny — emerges from the house in a bright floral sundress and nude pumps. Were it not for the secret weapon clutched in her right fist, she might have fit in quite well... but Jenny has no intention of fitting in. Not anymore. In three confident strides, she marches across the front lawn, bends down, and spears the prongs of a lurid pink flamingo into the grass.

Yes.

She grins and takes in her work. How ghastly against the backdrop of earth tones! How repugnant!

Ginny steals quick glimpses over each shoulder, only to be met with the eerie, blanketed silence that’s defined Arcadia since their arrival. No activity at all. Which means she’ll have no issue with the next bit…

She strides to the mailbox at the end of their driveway and gives it a sharp kick. The post slides out of alignment, leaving it askew. Perfect. She returns to the house with a bounce in her step. Living with the twins taught her a thing or two about how to infuriate complete strangers.

She just hopes it’ll be enough.

___________________________

As luck would have it, it is enough. Her efforts receive reward more quickly than she thought— more quickly than she’s been conditioned to expect.

Scarcely an hour passes before she finds the warning she needs. And to be honest, it could’ve been there sooner; she just figured she’d give it that long before she checked.

Still, it’s not even 10 AM when she opens the door and sees it on their welcome mat: a folded paper with Pee-tri scrolled on the front. She can’t help but admire the sheer cheek as she unfolds it; this is the closest they’ll get to a public call-out for the way Harry insists on correcting everyone’s pronunciation. The message inside doesn’t surprise her, either.

Be like the others before dark. Or else.

Ginny glimpses out at the lawn, just to confirm— and yes. Sure enough. Just as she’d suspected, the flamingo's gone. The mailbox is straight. Everything’s back to normal.

She kicks the door closed with a smirk and wonders if they’re aware of how easily they’ve exposed themselves. How—

“What’ve you got there?” Harry calls from the sofa in the living room. He looks up from his laptop with bleary, dark-rimmed eyes. A wave of guilt washes through her; that sofa clearly didn’t get more comfortable overnight. Not that he would’ve accepted the alternative.

“Erm. A letter.” She waves in front of her and walks into the living room. “I’ve done a great job annoying them!”

He offers a gentle smile. “Any chance you’ll let me know who this ‘them’ is that you’re so worried about?”

Ginny rolls her eyes and settles on the other end of the couch. “You know I can’t—”

“Talk about your work,” Harry finishes, turning back to his computer. “Right.”

“Mm. Not exactly that I can’t… talk about my work,” she ventures, putting her feet up on the white ottoman. “More like I can’t give information until it’s essential knowledge for all parties involved. Based on criteria that I also can’t share.”

“Sounds like a fun job,” Harry deadpans, still looking at the computer. “But anyway, if I were to suggest something like… I don’t know…” He casually tilts the screen in her direction. “The fact that Oliver Skinner definitely has a criminal record, and maybe that’s worth looking into. You couldn’t confirm or deny that?”

Ginny just shrugs. “That’s correct. I can neither confirm nor deny.”

His theory is wrong, of course. Dead wrong.

They wouldn’t have sent an Unspeakable and an Auror into the country if this were a simple Muggle murderer. Harry would be able to suss this out, she reckons, if he had more sleep. Poor bloke.

He groans and cracks his back. “I’m starting to understand why King’s always so frustrated.”

“Probably because he has to deal with you all the time,” Ginny quips, reaching for a magazine on the floor. Ugh. Of course, it’s only the TV guide, Radio Times. They don’t even have a TV, but it came with the Daily Mail on Sunday.

Harry reaches for a glass of water on the coffee table. “Fine,” he relents, in between sips. “I’ll stay in my lane. But if I get bored, I’ll get tetchy.” He gestures to the computer. “And since they’ve given us this laptop, I’ve had time to do a bit of—”

“They’ve given me a laptop,” Ginny corrects, arching a brow. “As you’re well aware, Auror Potter, that is technically the property of the DoM.” She returns to the guide with a shrug. “I just don’t care if you use it, mostly because I don’t expect you’ll be looking up tits all day.”

He chokes on his water; Ginny just laughs and turns the page. Ooh, lovely! Eurovision looks particularly flamboyant this year…

“You’re absolutely right,” Harry says, once he recovers. “I’d never look up tits on government property!” He looks affronted as he hands over the laptop, but she knows he’s not done... not when he’s set that up so perfectly. Annnnd sure enough…

“You of all people should know I'm an arse-man, Ginny.”

Now it’s her turn for an unattractive snort as he winks over his shoulder and marches upstairs.

When he’s gone, Ginny rolls her eyes and opens her laptop. He’s an incredible liar on the arse-man front, but it was a good joke. A simple joke…. one that didn’t deserve looking into.

It’s just unfortunate that can’t stop these stupid fucking butterflies from erupting in her stomach like she’s ten years old again.

___________________________

He launches into the air again, the gardens of his neighbors spanning out in front of him. Each perfectly manicured. Each disturbing in its performative precision. None of this is real; none of this is life.

He pulled out the trampoline after dinner, when Ginny okayed it. He’s not used to that— checking before he does things. This whole exercise has been a great reminder that his teamwork skills are rusty, especially when he’s in a subordinate role. Ron left after their first year to work in the magic shop instead, which only made sense after… yeah. Harry draws a deep breath and jumps again. Ron and Hermione haven’t been problem-solving in his head for ages. There’s been no one to share the burden of choices or—

“OI!” Oliver’s voice thunders across the garden.

Harry smiles and takes another huge leap into the air. Just in time…

He rips open the fence door and stomps over, hands balled into fists. Harry’s never seen anyone look quite so furious while dressed in cashmere. And standing beside a trampoline.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver hisses, eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you trying to make enemies, Henry? Is this entire estate a bloody joke to you?”

“Of course not!” Harry lands on his bum before he jumps up again. “This is very serious!”

“Oliver!” Sharon wails, hurrying over. “Oliver. Please! This really—”

“Keep your nose where it belongs, woman,” Oliver snarls, looking at her like she’s scum on his shoe. “No one wants your opinion!”

Sharon flinches… and this, more than anything else, gets Harry’s back up. “No need to take it out on her!” he snaps, climbing down from the trampoline. “Talk to me if you’ve got a problem, Ollie. Why not—”

But just as Harry’s feet touch the grass, something very weird happens: A dull buzzing fills his ears. Sharon and Oliver hear it too, but unlike Harry, they aren’t looking around in bewildered confusion. In a flash, the rage on Oliver’s face transforms into something much different: fear. And as the pressure grows, Harry can only watch as Oliver grabs Sharon’s hand, yanking her from the garden, when—

An unmistakable sound replaces the buzzing. A large piece of glass from somewhere in the front of the house shatters on the pavement. And with that, the buzzing stops.

Birds chirp again. Someone laughs in the distance. Harry jabs a finger in his ear, trying to clear it, but it seems Oliver’s returned to his furious state. He lunges towards Harry, a vein ticking in his neck, his hands outstretched as if to push him over— but Harry doesn’t have time for this. He’s already running around him, bolting towards the source of the sound, his hand inching for his pocket…

Because whatever they’ve got going on isn’t related to Oliver, is it? No… definitely not. That buzzing was too creepy to be muggle. Harry hadn’t really been convinced of the Oliver theory in the first place, even if the wanker has a criminal record for drunk driving. He mostly suggested it to Ginny to see if she’d give him any information.

Harry spots the broken glass the second he reaches the pavement. The lamppost right outside their house has shattered, light bulb and all. Bits of glass sparkle on the street, but the lamppost is at least 10 feet high. Harry scans around for signs of a ladder, or some form of a projectile… any method someone might’ve used to— oh! A baseball rolls around in one of the open garages across the street. He’s about to march over and collect it when his conscience stops him.

Because that’s the definition of circumstantial evidence, isn’t it? Harry sighs, rubbing his forehead. Snatching the baseball while working alone is one thing, but it’s not worth risking Ginny’s job. Especially because he reckons these thoroughly unmemorable homes are each equipped with monitoring systems. At absolute best, that would be… awkward to explain to the muggle police, especially without an obvious connection between the ball and the shattered lamppost...

Harry’s just about to turn back inside and write it off a freak occurrence when—

Shit.

His breath freezes in his throat.

What the...

He blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it, but no...

There’s no weird buzzing this time… but something else is happening instead. The grass on the far side of their yard is bulging and curling, right in front of his eyes. The soil creaks as this… this mass — a huge sphere of some sort — passes through; bits of dirt fly into the air before settling back.

Harry’s veins turn to ice, his stomach churning. Work has introduced him to new, vile varieties of ghouls and nasties. He’s been bitten by a leprechaun. Stalked by a vampire. He’s encountered every disturbing otherworldly menace that one could imagine.

But he’s never seen anything like this.

His only solace is that it’s headed towards Mike’s empty house… this massive, rolling boulder that travels beneath the soil. ‘Boulder’ isn’t exactly the right term, though; he’s never seen a boulder move with a slinking, predatory grace. He’s never gotten gooseflesh from a rock, no matter how large.

And try as he might, he can only stand there, wide-eyed, his heart racing. Because now he knows for sure what Ginny only alluded to before: whatever they’re chasing isn’t human.

And it’s aware of them.

___________________________

The door creaks open less than five minutes after the glass shatters, but Ginny’s prepared.

She’s standing in the alcove just off the entryway, wand in one hand, fire poker in the other. It’s probably not the best strategy she’s ever had— but she reckons that if a Muggle were to catch sight of an altercation, it would be an easy memory supplantation. Wands and fire pokers don’t look that dissimilar, and—

“Ginny?” Harry calls. Directly into her ear.

Shit! She jumps into the air, the poker clattering to the ground.

“When did you learn to move like a cat?” she demands, turning to face him. “You nearly—”

“We need to talk,” he says brusquely. It’s only then that she takes in his wide, haunted eyes. His white pallor. The way he hasn’t even commented on the ridiculousness of her fire poker.

Oh.

He’s scared.

Scared in a way she hasn’t seen him in ages. Maybe ever. Which means he heard…? Shit. She’d might as well ask.

“What do you erm…” She toys with her wand handle. “Want to talk about?”

Harry heaves a tired sigh. “I’m only going to ask you this once,” he says flatly, rubbing his hand over his forehead. Then he blinks up at her, his eyes pulsing and stern. “What the fuck was that?”

“The… shattered lamppost?” she hedges. “I’ve no idea. I just—”

Apparently, that was the wrong response.

Harry groans. “You know damn well I don’t mean the bloody lamppost!” he snarls. “I mean that… that thing! First the weird buzzing, then whatever moved through the grass! It was like some creepy worm, or—”

“—not a worm,” she amends, staring at her cuticles.

This, too, was the wrong reply; she’s never seen him go from bewildered to enraged quite so fast.

Harry lets out a furious roar and kicks at an empty box. “This is why Unspeakables are so fucking annoying!” he shouts, tossing his hands in the air. “You never fucking say anything — even if it might help someone!”

Pfft! He can do better than that...

“Not sure what you expected,” she deadpans. “Would it help if I were a Speakable instead?”

Harry rolls his eyes and throws himself on the couch. Ginny just leans against the door… and waits. She can’t say she blames him for being angry. It’s probably made him feel vulnerable in ways he hasn’t in ages.

“The least you can bloody do,” Harry says, cutting into her thoughts, “is to let me know how to kill it.” He glimpses up at her, his chest still heaving. “Because if anything happened to you….” His hand curls around his wand, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “We both know I’d never forgive myself.”

Fuck.

Her heart clenches; as embarrassing as it is, tears sting the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t expecting that… but it makes perfect sense. He’s not angry because he’s vulnerable; he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to protect her.

Because he’s Harry.

Her Harry.

And try as she might, she can’t deny that. He’s hers… even though now he’s broken and angry and scared and alone. Which is probably why she loves the fucking fuck out of him.

No.

She stops herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Mission. Mission. They’re on a mission.

Right. She clears her throat and steps forward, two papers clutched in her hand.

“What’s that?” Harry grumbles as she hands them over. He scans the pages, brow furrowing. “Sugar… engine oil. Red Dye 40. What am I supposed to do with—?”

Ginny smiles and tries to make this easy. “It’s the report from the necklace. The thing that was on Mike’s medallion… it’s rubbish. Not blood, not some ghost slime. It’s just a weird mixture of types of rubbish.”

She should’ve figured he wouldn’t find this significant.

“What a brilliant scientific discovery.” Harry tosses the paper to the side. “Hermione would be thrilled.”

Ginny gnaws at her cheek, choosing her words carefully… but if he’s already seen it, if he’s already heard it, surely there’s no harm...

Harry rises to his feet and takes a step closer until he’s towering over her, all warm and brooding. They aren’t touching… not exactly. He’s just hovering close enough to give her strength, whether he knows it or not. When she finally gets the nerve to look up at him, his green eyes are swirling with more pain than rage. Truth be told, she prefers the rage. “I deserve to know,” he says thickly, like he’s suppressing something in his throat, “what the fuck is going on.”

Ginny breaks their eye contact. Some of this she hasn’t even shared with Attica yet. She’s violating about a million protocols by telling Harry first, but if they’re together on a mission…

“It’s… not what we thought. Not what I thought,” she admits softly, after a moment. “We came out here under the assumption of chasing something from the Thought Chamber. Something that erm… may have escaped. During a routine experiment.”

He’s not impressed, though. “Yeah,” he says, arching a brow. “I gathered all of that from your intro with the camera, thanks. Do you ever plan on telling me anything new?” He jerks his chin towards the window. “Because you’ve sure as hell never mentioned Evil Grass Monster Experiment #6, and that may have been helpful to fucking know before I saw it.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

His attitude is more infuriating than his actual words, but she lacks the patience for dealing with either. The bloody nerve, to act all impatient with information that’s kept secret for a reason...

“I don’t have to tell you shit, actually,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “And in case you’re unaware, I can protect myself.”

Harry pulls back with a laugh, but this one is cruel. Dark. The sort she’s never heard from him before. “Makes sense,” he says with a fake grin. Then he taps her on the nose. “Because when that thing outside inevitably kills someone else, we all know how well you’ll manage the guilt.”

Ouch.

She reels back, stung. He’s got to know that’s a low blow. Younger Ginny would have Bat Bogeyed him into oblivion, but she’s better now. She’s changed.

At least that’s what she tells herself as she glares at him, her hands fisted so tightly they turn white. “Say what you mean,” she manages several moments later, when rage isn’t clawing at her chest. “If you’d like to rehash our breakup, Auror Potter, I’m all ears!” She gives her best impression of an icy smirk. “This isn’t exactly professional… but then again, when have you ever been?”

Harry looks like he’s going to respond, but a loud vibration starts in his back pocket. “Fuck!” Now it’s his turn to leap into the air before he realizes it’s just his wand. And really, she’s tempted to laugh— but the look on his face helps her put the pieces together.

Because if his wand’s vibrating, that means it’s an emergency; only department heads can summon their employees like that. They’re the only ones with access to that sort of technology, not that she’s really interested either way.

“It’s King,” he mutters. She’s about to get on him for stating the obvious, but when he peers at her again, his face is filled with such timid yearning that she can only see the 11-year-old boy on the train platform. “Can I…erm. Use your mobile?”

Fine. Ginny nods towards the bedroom, her head still spinning. She’s still a bit angry with him, but he’s so fucking broken. They both are. And besides, they’ve got bigger problems. What could possibly have King so worried that he’d call Harry from a mission? The man is unflappable.

Harry returns a minute later, his face stony, jaw set. In another life, she might’ve seen the bulge in his pocket and asked if that’s just her mobile, or if he’s happy to see her.

Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ears like the seasoned professional she is. “There’s no reception inside,” she points out. “I’ve had luck calling Attica from up the street, right at the corner. Just watch out for…”

Harry smirks. “Grass monsters?”

Ginny draws a breath to consider her options. She could keep him in the dark forever, but isn’t that the whole point of this assignment? To learn? It’s time for the truth, she reckons...

“It’s erm. It’s called a tulpa, actually.”

His eyes light up at this. “A tulpa?”

Ginny shifts her weight and searches for the right words. “It’s a… it’s sort of like an evil imaginary friend, created by a group of people to do their bidding,” she explains, reaching for the discarded papers. “They come from the material of whatever’s underground. I’ve only heard of creatures made from clay or water, but since this village was built on a rubbish tip”— she flicks the papers with her fingers— “that’s our guy!”

She can almost see the gears spinning in Harry’s head as he studies the far wall. “So…” he says slowly, still peering off, “it’s basically an evil dump monster, made of rubbish, that can murder people.”

A laugh slips past her lips. It sounds a bit dumb when he puts it that way. She clears her throat and continues. “I was wrong because it’s not something that’s escaped, more like something that’s—”

“Formed,” Harry finishes quickly. For the first time all week, he sounds intrigued. Like he’s happy to be here. “So… they’ve made it to keep order, then?”

“It would seem so.” She shrugs. “I… honestly don’t know. But between the weird buzzing and the rubbish, it’s the closest match we’ve got. According to the system database, anyway.”

There’s another pause as Harry mulls this over. “So, how do we get rid of it, then?”

How fucked up is it that her heart warms at the way he says ‘we’?

Ginny brushes that aside. “Considering the mask in Gogolak’s house and the way they’ve made a point to tell us he’s in charge, I’d say he’s the one we need to get rid of.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t object.

“Or at least… knock him totally unconscious,” she adds, swallowing; Gogolak’s a wanker, but she’d rather not kill him, either. “Beyond just being asleep. Because he sleeps at night, but the tulpa’s still here, which means he needs to be down for the count. Comatose, even.”

Harry’s wand buzzes again. Ah, shit; in all the hubbub, she’d forgotten about that.

Concern floods Harry’s face. “Give me five minutes.” He blinks. “Ok?”

She waves towards the door. “Duty calls.”

He gives her a weak smile and turns away; she begins the trek upstairs to send Attica an email update.

“Ginny?”

She stops to look down at him. Harry’s paused, halfway out the door. “Thank you,” he says softly, meeting her eyes. “And… I’m sorry. For everything. Ok? I’ll always, erm…”

But she can’t right now. She actually fucking can’t.

“Later,” she whispers, nearly begging. “Please. Let’s do this later.”

Because of course she loves him.

She’s always fucking loved him, even though that’s changed forms. It’s shifted. It’s evolved. He feels the same way… she knows he’s bloody feels the same way. She just doesn’t have the resources to deal with whatever this fuck is reigniting, right in front of her eyes, as the tulpa dances in the back of her head.

Luckily, he understands. Harry just swallows again, nods at her, and heads out into the night.

___________________________

As it would turn out, he was wrong about the identity of the summoner.

“Great news!” Hermione announces on the other end of the mobile. “MLE found Yaxley. He was hiding in a cave in Romania, just like you said.”

Harry snorts; he wishes that gave him more pride. “Well, if you’d listened to me months ago, then—”

“The important part is that we have him,” Hermione says, cutting across. “We need you back ASAP to prep for witness questioning. You’ll take the stand, of course. The trial’s set to start next week!”

He can practically hear her bouncing with excitement. Very little brings her more joy than trials of former Death Eaters.

“Erm… about that.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “We’re actually right on the cusp of something here. I’m gonna need a couple more days to wrap things up.”

“Really?” Hermione sounds surprised. “Kingsley and Robards said you’d be pleased. Said you found this mission as useless as they did.”

Fuck, he was such an arse.

“Well, things… changed,” he offers lamely. “It’s going really well. This mission is so important to her. I’d just hate to leave at the last minute.”

“Ohhh?” Hermione draws out the word in a way that suggests she finds herself quite clever. Even before she asks, he knows what she’s on about. “How’s it going with Ginny, then?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Her coy prodding is obvious, even over the phone.

“As I already said, it’s going well,” he replies flatly. “We’re a great team. Always have been.”

But she can’t let him have that one, can she?

“Well… not always,” Hermione allows. “After Percy—”

Harry groans. For fuck’s sake, what’s her obsession with stating the obvious? “Yeah, well,” he retorts, “I’d like to know who you think did well after that, especially since…”

He trails off with a sigh.

Especially since what, exactly?

He toys with the fraying ends of his hoodie string.

Especially since Ginny was the last to speak with Percy? That she still carries the weight of the guilt for what she said that night? That she’s never admitted it, but that he suspects her choice to become an Unspeakable was influenced by the things she wishes she could un-say?

Harry makes a face. That’s corny as fuck, isn’t it? What a thing to pull from his arse...

Hermione interrupts his thoughts for a bit of bragging. “Well, Ron and I have done just fine.”

He can almost imagine her staring at her engagement ring in dreamy affection. The mental image makes his reply sound more bitter than he intends.

“Well,” Harry snaps, “Ron wasn’t the last person to speak with Percy. So I’m not sure how you could compare the two, really.”

Shit.

The silence on the other end tells him he needs to apologize, even if it’s true. Fortunately, Hermione gives him an easy out. “Anyway.” She clears her throat. “I’ll give you until tomorrow night, but we really need you the following day. If you haven’t settled this, we’re swapping you out. Got it?”

Harry sighs. He’s exhausted, but this couldn’t possibly take much longer. Ginny’s more or less got the proof she needs now. They just need to confront Gogolak, knock him out, and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Harry cranes his neck towards the source of the noise. Huh… weird. Far up the street, flashing lights tip him off. That’s definitely Oliver’s Audi, the one parked in the driveway directly beside theirs. It’s in utopia blue with a metallic finish, a detail Oliver probably mentioned at least fifty times the other night. Then, while Sharon and Ginny were out walking the dog, Oliver began a mind-numbing lecture on the car’s exact miles per liter. Harry was a bit drunk, which is probably why he interrupted to ask a much more important maths question: How many blow jobs per week is too many, exactly?

Even from a distance, Harry can tell that Oliver’s nearly the same shade of murderous red now; he storms from the house and turns off the alarm with his key fob. But then he pauses, glancing around like something’s spooked him. He must decide it’s not that significant, though, because he huffs back inside soon enough. Fucking wanker...

“....Harry?”

“Sorry!” Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, that works. See you then, Hermione.”

“Can’t wait!” she trills. He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s smug and grinning.

___________________________

Two minutes after Harry leaves, Ginny feels it again: that same sensation she experienced while walking Captain Bone.

She’s sitting at her laptop when it starts… this deeply unsettling shift. It stands the hair up on the back of her neck. She rushes to the window on instinct, but just like before, everything outside looks the same. There’s no “moving grass monster,” as Harry called it. Not yet, at least.

Still, she can’t deny it’s growing louder. Getting stronger. And now that she’s felt it for a bit longer, she can put more words to it. It’s like she’s plummeting through the absence of sound; like all the wind’s been sucked from the air. It’s a building pressure, a mounting unease, and before she knows it, her whole body starts to shake.

Then two things happen in quick succession: that weird feeling stops, and a car alarm begins to blare in the distance.

Weird.

She shudders. This whole thing is so fucking weird. Weird is her job, and this place is still Very Fucking Weird. Seriously, who enjoys living here? She’s reaching for her wand, just in case, when the front door slams open.

In retrospect, it’s a blessing she knows Harry as well as she does… because she can tell that those heavy, clobbering footsteps don’t belong to him. She knows he’s not the one drawing deep, ragged breaths as he marches up the stairs.

She hides around the corner of the bedroom, her heart racing, and goes through a mental list of spells she might use. Shield charms. Enchantments. The buzzing’s stopped, so this probably isn’t the tulpa… but who else would be here? Gogolak? It sounds more human than—

“Jenny?” a deep, soothing voice asks. “Are you in here?”

Her breath freezes in her throat. She’s only heard that voice once before… but it’s so similar to her former life that she identifies it at once.

“Mike?” A wave of relief washes through her. She shoves her wand into her dress as she comes around the corner. Sure enough, there he is, in the flesh. Mike Snodgrass. A man she presumed dead days ago.

“Hi!” Mike pants. He cracks a smile. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but.” He winces, wiping a palm on his ripped khakis. “Been hiding!” Fuck. His whole outfit (yellow Polo, khakis) is the same he wore days ago to unload their boxes, except now it’s filthy. Stained. Like he’s been living beneath cars and inside drains. He’s just missing his Saint Julian medallion, which she’s sent to the Ministry.

Ginny feels sick. She wrote him off as dead so carelessly...

“I’ve been trying to take it down,” he adds earnestly, peering at her. His cheeks are caked in something red and grimy, the same stuff she stuffed into her bra. He’s been tailing the tulpa, she realizes, her stomach plummeting…

Except he’s got no clue what he’s doing.

“I was about to leave the development, to just run away, but that’s when I figured out it was coming for you two!” He shudders, closing his eyes. It feels like he’s been waiting a long, long time to say this. “And I’ve been aimless without Jess in the first place. So what was the point in leaving, really, if I could save…?”

He trails off, clearing his throat; when he looks up at her again, there’s a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I’ve been leaving clues, though! Why didn’t you listen?”

“Clues?” Ginny sounds like she’s a million miles away.

Mike’s nearly pleading now. “You had to go and kick the mailbox and stick the flamingo in the grass, didn’t you?” He raises his pointer finger. “And even though I left you a note, you had to make it even worse! It only attacks when the sun goes down, see.”

“You… you left the note?” she whispers. She was so certain that it was from Gogolak...

But Mike proceeds in such a rush it’s clear he hasn’t heard her. “It was about to get Henry by the trampoline, so I threw the baseball as a diversion. I broke the lamppost, too— which worked. For a second,” he adds hastily, glancing over his shoulder.

“How did you also set off the car alarm— oh.” Her head’s still spinning. “Buddy system. Right.”

Mike dangles a keyfob. “Covenant rules. Stole the spare off Jane.” He glances into the hall again before whipping back to face her. “It’ll need a sacrifice tonight, though,” he adds grimly. “And every night, until you all have perfect behavior. It was coming for you earlier, see. We aren’t meant to be outdoors after dark without a permit for dog-walking, so.” He shrugs. “If there’s an unapproved disruption like a car alarm, it knows just where to hunt.”

It’s then that the final pieces of this dreadful puzzle slide together in her brain. “Captain Bone,” Ginny breathes; she swears a feather could knock her over. “He was the first since we arrived. Punishment for us sticking out.”

“I couldn’t save him,” Mike laments. “It came up and snatched him. So I threw in my medallion, right after his collar, just to make them think I was already gone.”

“That’s… that was brilliant,” she admits, biting her lip. “Thank you. You didn’t have—”

“Nah,” he says firmly. “I did. For starters, you remind me so much of…” He stops mid-sentence, an odd expression on his face.

For a second, she thinks he’s being sentimental, but then she feels it too.

Shit.

The hairs on her arm stand up. It’s back… that weird way she felt before. Like the air’s sucked from the room. That creeping, clawing silence. This time, though, it only gets louder, louder, louder, until she’s throwing her hands over her ears, all hope of self-defense forgotten.

But Mike knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing. She doesn’t have the chance to object or get her wand before he’s ripping open the closet door and throwing her inside. Ginny opens her mouth in a startled cry, but it’s like she’s screaming underwater, the sound distant and distorted. Mike slams the door closed with her inside and stomps to the center of the room— but now the thundering, roaring wind is causing her physical pain… it’s so loud now that it reverberates in her chest, so loud that her hands shake as she reaches for her wand at long last, but fuck fuck fuck, it’s too late…

It’s too fucking late.

Because Mike’s made a choice. One he can’t take back. He just stands in the middle of the room, puffing out his chest, offering himself as the proud sacrifice, even as the noise grows so loud that Ginny screams her throat raw.

She feels it enter the bedroom, this looming, shifting mass— but by then, she’s certain her ears are bleeding, her eardrums bursting. Her whole body rattles and shakes as she peers through the slats in the closet door, but she’s frozen. Stuck. Miserable. She couldn’t cast a spell if she tried… even as the tulpa oozes into the room, lunges itself back, and swallows Mike with a sickening squelch.

Even though the slats of the door, Ginny’s sprayed with blood. Covered. And she’s dizzy now… so dizzy. A drop of blood trickles into her eye; she reaches up to wipe it from her face, and it’s only then that she hears her own screams again. They reverberate through the small space, anguished and pleading, so loud that she’s certain someone up the street could hear, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t fucking care. She just screams over and over and over, her nails clawing at the walls, until the world slips away into darkness.

___________________________

Blood.

It’s the first thing he smells as he charges up the steps. His chest squeezes, his eyes water, his head pounds over and over again with one word: No.

No. No. No.

Not Ginny. It can’t be.

But almost as soon as he smells the blood, he hears her screaming, and yes! His heart soars. Screaming is good; screaming means she’s alive and breathing and—

Fuck.

His dinner rises in his throat as he steps into the bedroom. He smelled the blood from the steps, he hadn’t expected… this much. It always takes him aback, exactly how much blood is in one human body, and he’s certainly never seen it sprayed, all over the floor… covering the walls. Covering the closet, even, where Ginny’s still screaming.

He flings open the door, thinking he’s prepared for what he might see. Somehow, though, none of that measures up. Because he’s dealt with tears in his line of work… but he’s never, ever seen her so broken. His chest clenches when he takes her in. Her perfect suburban dress — the yellow floral one, the one he liked so much— is now red and grimy, caked in blood, as Ginny rocks back and forth on the floor, sobs wracking her body.

Blood’s covering her face, too, and her arms. Dried trails of it have crusted around her eyes, like she’s fallen asleep wiping them away… or perhaps lost consciousness. The thought is too terrible to bear. He kicks the door open completely and brings her into his arms in one fell swoop.

She melts against him, her voice raw and broken. “H-Harry!” she manages. “P-please! I need-I need!” She begins to shake, pressing her face to his chest.

“A shower,” he says firmly, stepping into the en-suite. “You… you just need a shower. Ok? And maybe some calming draught, I’ve got some in my luggage, and—”

“No!” she cries, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide and filled with horror. “Don’t… don’t leave. Don’t leave me, Harry, please!”

“I… ok,” he allows, carrying her to his luggage to retrieve the bottle. She clings to his neck as he reaches for it, but she weighs next to nothing. Fuck, she’s so thin… he’d just been too busy eyeing her up to realize exactly how thin. What a complete wanker.

It’s not difficult to unzip the suitcase with one hand and pass her the bottle. “Take this,” he urges, thrusting it into her hands. “Please, Ginny. You’ll feel—”

She’s already downed it before he gets to the end of the sentence. She tips her head back, drawing air into her lungs. “Thanks.” Her voice is still hoarse. Ragged.

“Shower, then,” he murmurs, walking her into the bathroom. He feels her start to relax against him, her body growing looser, as he opens the curtain and turns on the tap.

“Thanks,” she whispers again, her head tucked beneath his chin. His fingers itch with restraint; he’d do anything, he thinks, to hold her against him. To press a kiss to her temple. To tell her he loves her and that she’s beautiful and perfect and he’s sorry, so sorry, that any of this happened and—

She peers up at him, her eyes more focused now, less wide-eyed and horror-struck. “Would you stay here?” she asks, biting her lip. “While I shower? Just so I’m not—”

“‘Course.” Harry swallows, putting her on her feet. She lands with unintentional grace, one foot after the next.

“And can you… erm.” She turns her back to him, lifting her hair above her zipper. His hands shake as he reaches for the clasp. He knows the exact shape of her back as he slides it down, over the middle bump of her white bra strap. He nearly unstraps that for her, too, before he catches himself. It reeks of intimacy, doesn’t it? All of this…

His eyes linger on the soft swell of her bum before he turns around, self-disgust hammering in his throat.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he adds feebly. He balls his hands into fists as her dress hits the floor… followed by her bra. And her knickers.

“Not your fault,” she croaks, stepping into the shower. He smiles, his glasses fogging up as he moves to sit on the closed toilet seat. Even covered in blood and traumatized, she can't bring herself to blame him.

She finishes several minutes later.

“Erm… towel?” She shuts the water off. “Could you?”

“Sure,” he soothes, thrusting one through the curtain. “D’you want me to leave, or…?”

Ginny manages a weak snort. “Nah. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He chuckles at the door as he turns around again. She’s right, of course; he knows every bloody inch of her… but it’s not quite the same now.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whips around to face her. Admittedly, she looks… better. The blood’s gone. Her eyes are still red-rimmed from sobbing, but she’s looking a bit less like a woman who witnessed a death. Which reminds him…

“Erm. Give me a second to get it all cleaned up?”

Ginny shudders and settles on the toilet seat; he immediately kicks himself for asking. “Yeah,” she says a moment later. “Just… come get me, ok? When you’re done?”

He nods.

___________________________

It can’t be later than 10 PM when he finally carries her to the bed, still wrapped in a towel.

He’s exhausted from the nights on the sofa, but he knows she’s worse off. He’s cleaned the bedroom fairly well, he thinks, considering. There’s a rust-colored stain above the closet that he reckons won’t go anywhere anytime soon. He just hopes she doesn’t see it.

He rests her on the duvet surface, fully prepared to head downstairs for the night— but the pleading look on her face informs him he’s got other plans, instead. So without sharing a single word, he spreads his palms, lies beside her, and waits.

It comes eventually, as he knew it would. One person can’t deal with all that, see all that, without eventually cracking. And as a fellow fucked-up individual, he would know.

It starts as simple tears, ones that he wipes away. It progresses into sobs… full-body sobs. The sort he heard coming up the stairs. He’s surprised she’s got any left, but Ginny’s always been the sort to keep him on his toes. And just as her water-dark hair starts to dry and sprout red tendrils, he faces the thing he expected least of all: a kiss.

She starts softly. Slowly. Her lips so tender and soft that he forgets everything. She moans against his mouth, her whole body leaning into it; he’s instantly reminded of how much he’s fucking missed her. How lonely he’s been. How could he have forgotten the tiny mewl she makes in the back of her throat as her tongue parts his lips? He must’ve blocked it out, he realizes, as she begins to slide her body against him, panting, as she tips her head back. His lips trail down her neck, nibbling and biting, as she grips his arms and hair and bum. Because if he’d remembered all of these little details, he’d have gone mad long ago.

He’s throbbing hard by the time he gets to the tail end of her towel, which brushes the tip of her thighs. He tries to adjust himself, to—

“You can take it out, you know.”

Oh. He blinks up at her, his breath freezing in his throat. She’s peering down at him, her lips red and swollen.

“I know you’re hard,” she adds, her voice still raw. “So if it’s uncomfortable… take it out.”

He arches a brow from his position at her thigh. He’s about to retort with something snappy. Something that might keep them bantering for ages. But Ginny has no patience.

“Please.” It’s nearly a command. She blinks down with glassy eyes, her lips swollen. “I want you, Harry.”

Fuck. He groans, rubbing his cock against his palm to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn’t help for long, not that it matters; he’d rather focus on her, anyway. So with a slip of his fingers, the towel opens. She releases a breathy moan, tipping her head back.

Naked.

She’s finally naked. In front of him. His breathing grows ragged, his eyes scanning the territory somehow both totally familiar and completely new. She is thinner; he was right. Her hip bones jut out now, her stomach more sunken. But most of her is the same. The smattering of freckles on her chest. The way her breasts have puckered and darkened, the way her chest is rising and falling so fast. The thatch of dark red hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Well,” she quips. He blinks up at her as she reclines on her elbow. “Are you going to fuck me, Harry, or just stare all day?”

With that, he removes his glasses and gives her a smirk— her only real warning— before he kisses her one more time, just as his fingers spread her thighs.

She opens beneath him with a breathy sigh. Fuck, she’s so wet… he groans into her mouth as he dips his fingers further and further down. She’s dripping by the time he finds her clit… by the time he begins to swirl in tight circles. Clockwise. The pattern that screams of such intimate familiarity that it’s as if the years never passed.

He’s scarcely done anything, but she’s already writhing against his fingers, arching her back. “Please,” she slurs after a minute, “put them in.”

He’s never been one to deny her, has he?

It’s like muscle memory how quickly he finds his face between her thighs instead. He spares a moment of self-indulgence as he closes his eyes, breathing her in. She smells like home. She always has. It’s comfort… but more than that, it’s proof. Proof she wants him as much as he wants her. It’s why he stuffed his face in her knickers whenever he got a spare moment on the Horcrux hunt: one hand on that black lace, the other pulling at his cock. It’s bloody erotic, seeing proof of how much she wants him… but it’s more than that.

It’s love.

And despite all the things he’s forgotten tonight, he’d never forget this. He presses two fingers inside her, his hands shaking, and lets his body do the rest. Fuck, he’s missed this. She cries out above him, her hands grasping at his hair, tugging him closer. He’s never forgotten this… the way she tastes. The way she smells. The right way to run his tongue against her clit. Exactly how many fingers she needs, pressed against her just there… crooked in a certain position… just as she begins to thrust herself up and down on them, her cries growing louder, more insistent… and yesssss, there it is, she’s right there, right fucking there—

“Harry!” Her hair rubs against the pillow with abandon. “I’m… I’m so close,” she pants, her body starting to shake.

“Come for me,” he commands, his cock fit to burst, his face slippery. “Come for me, Ginny.”

He returns to her clit for a split-second before she says the words that change everything.

Her whole body tenses, a blush spreading up her chest. “I love you!” she cries, her voice strangled… and with that, she’s coming, clenching around him, her body shaking as he rides her through it.

What he doesn’t tell her is that he comes, too. The second those words wash over him. Those fucking words that prove he’s fucked up, fucked up, fucked up… but he can’t exactly help that, can he?

He just shoves his face into the duvet, thrusting his hips once, twice, and with a grunt, he’s off. His cock tightens and bursts, filling his boxers. Soaking through his jeans. He pulls back, dizzy, when the clenching finally stops.

Luckily, she seems too distracted to notice. Ginny’s half-asleep as he rises from between her thighs, pulling the blanket over her. He presses a kiss to her temple and makes quick work of removing his soggy clothes. Fairly embarrassing, this. Like he’s 16 again and rutting on the lawn.

He mutters a quick cleaning charm and changes into basketball shorts before settling down beside her in bed… making sure he’s on top of the duvet.

But as he drifts off, there’s something far less sentimental that hammers through his chest: They need to get their shit sorted.

Before he ever, ever lets that happen again.

[yandere-daydreams]

darling escapes from atsumu & runs to osamu for help, not knowing that the twins share the same feelings for her

I try to keep my Reader-Inserts gender neutral as often as possible, but I /love/ the idea of escaping from one brother, only to fall into the loving arms of another. At least Osamu’s a little nice, or, he can be, at least. He tries to be. Sometimes. Maybe. If you’re really, really lucky.

Title: Trade Off.

TW: Kidnapping, Captivity, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Dehumanization, and Slight Infantilization.

~

Osamu greeted you with a hug.

From anyone else, it wouldn’t have been surprising. What kind of friend wouldn’t hug you - a missing person, a victim of something awful with the evidence littered all over your skin, in burns and cuts and too many bite-marks to count, but Osamu had always been reserved. A hug from him was like rain in the desert, snowfall in the tropics, and despite everything you’d done to earn something more than just a stiff embrace and a moment of uncharacteristic affection, you’d cherished it. You’d fallen into it. You’d wanted it and you’d loved him for it, if only because it was something Atsumu’d never do. If only because it reminded you how different he was from his twin, despite their identical appearances.

If only because, from that point forward, you’d been sure you made the right choice by running to him, before friends and family and a dozen more reasonable choices. You were still sure.

It’d proved he cared about you, and that was something his brother could never do.

Even now, his protective fondness hung in the air, laying over you and keeping you warm like a blanket of worried glances and soft touches, Osamu taking any excuse to rest his hand on your shoulder or let his fingers brush against yours, little things to reassure himself that you were there and you were real, even if hours had already passed since you turned up on his doorstep. You’d already told him about Atsumu, how he’d turned into a monster overnight and the more palatable parts of your captivity, and he’d sat across from you in the cramped living-room, nodding occasionally and letting you speak, getting you a cup of something hot and herbal when your eyes went cloudy and your hands started to shake. You drank it down, thankful for the excuse to stifle the words you found pouring off of your tongue, despite your best efforts to hold them in.

Osamu took your story in stride. With his chin resting on his fist, he scanned over you, his gaze lingering passively on Atsumu’s shirt, the only piece of clothing you’d been able to grab before you fled, and a particularly bad bruise over your shoulder, dipping down until it reached your collarbone. “Want to use my phone?” He offered, his voice flat, but the question itself full of concern. “Your folks must be worried sick. I wouldn’t blame you for wantin’ to get out of here sooner than later.”

You should call someone, your parents, the police, someone, but a selfish, exhausted part of you just wanted to curl up on Osamu’s couch and spend a few more days in denial, pretending the past few months of your life hadn’t happened or dismissing the fact that they’d continue to take a toll on you. Embracing the idea wouldn’t be a good idea, but it couldn’t hurt to indulge it. Get a few hours of sleep, see if you could find a decent pair of pants. Take in Osamu’s hospitality rather than try to tell yourself you didn’t need it. “I need a little time,” You said, shaking your head idly. “You don’t mind if I hang around for a while, do you? I just… I’d like to get my story straight. Saying ‘my famous boyfriend locked me in his basement because he loved me’ might not go over well with the police.”

That earned an airy chuckle. Osamu stood, taking you by the hand to help you do the same. “C’mon. I have a spare room I’ve been fixin’ up, you can stay there for as long as you need to.”

You smiled up at him, and he smiled back. You weren’t sure whether it was relief, joy or gratitude that flooded into your body before you could remind yourself to be cautious, but you let Osamu guide you through his home without complaint, only letting go of his hand when he came to a white door at the end of a long hall, and Osamu had to fish through his pockets to find its key.

‘Fixing up’ had been an understatement.

You weren’t sure if Osamu and Atsumu had a younger sibling, any cousins they favored, but if they did, those kids must’ve been spoiled rotten. The walls were painted a rich, pastel pink, the desk and the bed both new and trendy and absolutely covered in trinkets and toys, things that fell somewhere between decorative and unnecessary. There weren’t any windows, but with a flip of a switch, a small army of lamps lit the room with a soft glow, making you want to fall onto the plush rug that covered most of the floor and lose yourself in the unadulterated homeyness. You couldn’t say you were difficult to impress - with Atsumu, your ‘room’ was either an empty, darkened closet or a crate, sometimes big enough to accommodate you, sometimes not. This felt… extravagant, in comparison. More than you deserved. More than you could accept without paying a price.

It made sense when you heard the door close behind you, a lock clicking into place and Osamu’s key slipping back into his pocket. Your heart still froze into your chest, your pulse slowing down and racing at the same time, but it made sense.

You swallowed your nerves hastily, forcing yourself to turn around and cross your arms over your chest. A futile gesture, considering Osamu’s height and your blatant frailty, but it was too early to grovel. If he wanted to push you around, you’d prove you could push back. “Let me out, now. I don’t know if you think this is funny, but--”

“I started putting this together the day after ‘tsumu got to you. It was already too late, no one knew what ditch you’d died in, but what the hell, right?” He walked past you swiftly, not bothering to acknowledge your rebellion. He didn’t speak loudly, nor was he any more imposing than he’d been a minute ago, but what he was saying, how casually he was saying it, was enough to render you speechless. Absentmindedly, he slid open the closet’s mirrored panel, rummaging through its contents as he went on. “It wasn’t hurting anyone, and if I was gonna get my hands on you eventually, I’d have a plan. He’s too impulsive, never had to wait for anythin’ in his life. I was worried he was gonna break you, for a few weeks.” He paused, pursing his lips as he found what he was looking for. Clothes were thrown at your feet, a full outfit too sheer and too minimalistic to be for your enjoyment. “Change. I’ve wanted to rip those fucking rags off of you since you got here.”

You didn’t bother responding to that. You had a feeling it would only fuel his smoldering hostility. “This isn’t--” You bit your tongue before you could finish. ‘It’s not fair’ was something a child would say, and you were an adult, a capable, independent adult. Clearly, you’d already done something to make the Miya twins think otherwise. “You have to let me go, Osamu. I just got away from your brother, I just got free, you can’t take that away from me. We’re supposed to be friends. You’re supposed to care about me.”

“I’m doing this because I care about you.” On their own, the words might’ve been kind, empathetic, but whatever warmth his gaze held was balanced out by the way his lips curled back, how his tone turned into a snarl so easily. “What would you do if I opened that door? Run off and tell the cops? Knock on doors until you find someone willing to believe that a celebrity and his twin both tried to kidnap you, back to back? Or, would you go crawling back to ‘tsumu, see if he still wants you after you let his brother put his hands all over you?” He had a way of laughing at his own jokes, the noise so arrogant, so confident, so annoying, it was hard to believe he’d ever found anyone else funny. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. “I’m trying to be nice, but if you make this hard for me, I’ll make it hard for you.”

You grit your teeth, but your body betrayed you, eyes flickering down to the cloth at your feet. “I can manage on my own--”

“Don’t lie to me.” His fingers were in your hair before you noticed he was moving, forcing your head to bow as his blunt nails dug into your scalp. “You’re helpless, and you know you are. If you aren’t in ‘tsumu’s bed, you’re gonna be in mine, and you’re smart enough to make the right choice. Fucking change, before I start to think it’d be easier to throw you out myself.”

You stiffened, going rigid under his palm. Then, you kneeled, taking up the silken fabric and casting him one last glare before retreating to the other side of the room, turning your back to Osamu as you slid Atumu’s shirt over your head. 

 Just exchanging one kidnapper for another.

~

Silently, Osamu watched as you fled and regrouped, facing away from him to hide the way your shoulders trembled, your body shaking so violently, Osamu couldn’t be sure whether or not you were trying to make him pity you. He didn’t mind, though. He’d been waiting months for this. Years, honestly, but Osamu’s teenage daydreams hardly centered around taking in his brother’s wayward brat. If Atsumu had tried to train you, he’d done a piss-poor job. You were as obedient as you would’ve been fresh-off the streets, and now you knew all the tricks and tactics of a well-worn captive.

Still, he’d be lying if he said he was disappointed. Already, a collection of incentives were burning holes in his mattress, tucked under his bed and waiting to be used the first time you acted-up with something more aggressive than words. Luckily, you were too preoccupied to notice his mouth moving in a silent prayer, words of thanks that you’d turned down his offer to use his phone. If you thought to go through his messages, his call history, you wouldn’t have liked what you found. He was already planning for how… distressed you’d be, at the next trade-off.

If you were this fussy to fall into Osamu’s care at all, he couldn’t imagine how you’d act when Atsumu’s next turn came around.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Petals and Promises

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: A spring evening spent with Ron.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: none—fluff, kissing

You must say, the spring season was one that always brought with it a multitude of beauty. Whether it may be the newly blossoming flowers sprinkling colorfully just about everywhere in your slightly overgrown lawn and livening up your house, or the warming temperatures calling for open windows, even the rain showers that arrived whenever they so pleased—you can’t deny how much you love this time of year.

The air was warm yet still brisk enough for a blanket as you lay tucked comfortably within your hammock with Ron, the tattered flannel material draping over the two of you in ruffles of orange and red. It was enough to stave off the chill of the soft breeze that swept over your skin, gentle yet determined to send a shiver through you. Despite that, it brought with it the delightfully sweet scent of the flowers that surround you both, flourishing wildly in the flowerbeds and in the grass. It brought with it the ever so soothing sound as it weaved itself through brilliantly green leaves.

Perhaps the most enamoring thing to be admired out of everything was laying atop your chest, heaps of red hair blowing around softly on his forehead with every gust. The warm sunshine streamed through the branches above you, dancing across your skin, across his flushed cheeks in a golden glow. Ginger lashes curl and splay over the tops of those very cheeks, fluttering each and every time he blinked slowly as he fought valiantly to stay awake. His hand enveloped over top of your own, his grip tightening a fraction each time he needs reminding that you’re still tangled up with him. The unwavering hold on your hand had hindered your ability to turn the pages in your book, but you suppose it was worth the trouble, you knew it was.

It was his idea to come outside and enjoy the weather in the first place, particularly to enjoy it with you, though he simply enjoyed just being with you more than anything else. You knew full well he wouldn’t make it more than ten minutes without drifting off; you were right.

He didn’t entirely fit, his feet dangling over the edge, socks grass-stained and bunched at the ankles. The sunshine and singing of the birds proved to be far more soothing than he’d anticipated, and the way you’d been playing with his hair had him in and out of a slumber. That and the constant tickle of his hair on his face.

Reading the book propped open in your free hand was beginning to become a distracted effort, and you were only distancing yourself from the task the more time that had gone by. The gentle wind had a constant habit of crinkling and creasing your pages each time it’d brushed over them, eliciting an exasperated sigh from you. That, paired with the natural beauty all around you, the setting sun painting the sky in a palette of pinks and oranges; it was reason enough to pull your attention from the pages to elsewhere.

The windows of your sweet little home had been opened to let in the fresh air, the wind pulling the sheer cream curtain over your door blowing outward into daylight as it rests ajar, ruffling freely in the air before fluttering back to the ground for a few moments. Your two cats had wandered their way to the two of you through that very door, sprawled contently underneath your hammock as they relished in the evening sun. Occasionally, they’d paw curiously at Ron’s feet, always drawing a groan from him as he recoiled tighter into you until sleep had its hold on him once more.

You couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend your day if you weren’t honest; it was perfect in all aspects. One might think that the lives of two people with the ability to produce the most powerful of magic would forever lead chaotic lives, and that had been true less than a decade ago. But things were different now.

Magic was still present in your everyday life, it always will be and you would never tire of it. But it was seldom ever used to defend yourselves anymore, never used to harm another. It was used to wash the dishes when you hadn’t felt like it, to startle on another by switching the lights off from another room. It was used to douse each other with water in the backyard in goofy antics before the other could think of something more thrilling as payback. It was used to refill mugs of cocoa and coffee when you hadn’t felt like making anymore, to stir pots on the stove when you were far too caught up in dancing around the kitchen. Ron had learned that one the hard way when he nearly burnt the kitchen down when he’d been far too busy kissing you, admiring you like the lovestruck fool he knew himself to be.

Magic is used after a quidditch match gone wrong, to heal Ron with the most tender of spells and potions as possible. He refuses to go to St. Mungo’s whenever possible, preferring the care of you over anyone else. He claims your magic is much more powerful, though you knew all he’d really been wanting was you.

Magic was used for the fun you’d once imagined it to be as a child. There was far too much hurt and anguish by the hands of that very gift, and the two of you had been determined to use it for good, to use it for the lighthearted ways you’d always loved.

You had a home of your own, filled with moments to be cherished as long as your memory would allow. Filled with dancing in your living room at three o’clock in the morning, and never waking up without each other. To making a mess of the kitchen when baking a cake for the other’s birthday. Of silly anniversaries of things others might consider trivial. It was imperfectly perfect and it was bursting with a warmth and love you’d hoped to have; it was right for the two of you. It was yours.

In time, you felt the tips of his fingers dance tenderly across your wrist and up your arm a few inches more, the gentle touches bringing a soft smile to your face. They trace in unknown shapes for a short while, and unbeknownst to you he’d scrawled invisible ‘I love you’s’ there, his fingers soon splaying over your skin as he grabs your hand once more. You decide then and there that you’d never get any quality reading done beyond that very point, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you close your book and let it fall to the grass below you with a dull thud.

Your other hand brushes through his hair, a bit tangled as your fingers pass through it and you don’t fail to see the way he leans into your touch. Delicate purple flower petals are woven within the ginger locks, cream ones joining in from the two blossoming trees you lay between, and it looked soft and adorable. It was then that he lifted his head and looked at you, your fingers smoothing down his cheek. The smile gracing his lips was nothing short of adoring, and he was still very much groggy with sleep.

“Hey you,” he murmured, a soft laugh leaving his lips at the feeling of his hair sticking to his face. The humidity from that morning’s rainstorm had lingered, curling the ends of his hair.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you beam, a laugh of your own escaping you as he makes his attempts to move.

His efforts were near futile as the hammock swayed and rocked and proved to be quite unforgiving, mere seconds from sending him tumbling out and onto the ground for what wouldn’t be the first time. But he manages somehow to avoid such a clumsy outcome, the swinging he so ungracefully caused now settling to a stop.

“What d’you mean ‘sleepy head’?” He asks, his words sleepily mingling into one another as his laughter fanned warmly across your lips.

The pad of your thumb brushed over his freckled cheek, the one that’d been significantly more pink than the other from having been pressed against you for the better part of an hour. Not to mention the sleep lines imprinted on his skin. You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to stifle your inevitable spill of laughter, thumb now swiping over the drool that had not quite dried at the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve been drifting off this whole time, perhaps the puddle of drool on my shirt will jog your memory,” you jest even though you felt tired yourself, his nose scrunching in protest to your words, “or maybe the snores that could be heard through the whole neighborhood.”

Your giggles intensified when he dropped a flurry of kisses to your neck with the full knowledge of just how ticklish it’d been. Giggles that were quickly muffled when he kissed you, his own having hummed against your mouth. His hair tickled against your forehead, brushing lightly against your cheek. He’d been due for a bit of a haircut; his hair had been dipping over his eyes, nearly dusting over his shoulders as it once had done when he was fourteen.

“Must you always tease me?” He mumbles, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile at the sight of yours.

“You make it so easy,” you counter, and he pressed kisses to your cheek. “How could I not?”

“So terribly mean, love,” he sighs, kissing you once more before wedging himself between you and the fabric of the hammock, tugging the flannel blanket up further.

“Yes, but I love you terribly,” you say, your nose bumping his as you look up at him.

The pale pink staining his cheeks is something not from the sunshine on his skin, rather your declaration of love. No matter how often you said it, it would always leave him blushing scarlet—you could say it a hundred times in a row and he’d flush each and every time it fell from your lips. His eyes sparkled blue-green beneath ruffles of ginger, his smile nothing short of beaming.

“I love you an awful lot,” he grins, still sleepy yet still so adoring of you as his eyes flutter closed.

Now it had been your turn to flush a rosy pink, an obvious fact that you tried your hardest to stave off as you leaned up and kissed the underside of his jaw. He tangles his legs with yours once more, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he basks in the very moment with you. In the very way the sun glimmers over you, golden and glowing, shining upon someone who he feels is the embodiment of that very sunshine. He basked in the way the soft pink petals on the trees above you float down in a floral rain. In the way you loved him as wholly as he did you, and he couldn’t quite believe that wonderfully dizzying fact.

You yawn as you nuzzle your face against his t-shirt, picking at a loose string. Somehow, he always smelled of cinnamon, for as long as you could remember he smelled of just that. It was delightfully sweet and so incredibly Ron, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted.

“Have you finished your book?” He asks softly, the fatigue that still remained heavy having him merely hum his words.

“No,” you mumble, “too distracted.”

His chuckle shook you softly, the feeling bringing a smile to your face as you looked up at him. “What?

You narrow your eyes in a playful glare as you look at him, lifting your head from his shoulder. His smile widened at that, a soft gust of wind blowing his hair in his eyes but he hadn’t bothered to move it. “I’ve heard you reread the same line four times in a row.”

His laughter was immediate to trail after his words, more so when you swatted his chest. He tipped his head back, the action ruffling his hair entirely as he found your expression humorous. It was rather hard to stay mad at him, however, not with the way he looked at you so fondly and not that you were even mad to begin with. You exhale a sigh, finding yourself looking at him the same despite your reddened cheeks upon mention of your blunder. It must have occurred when he’d held your hand.

You drop your head to his shoulder once more, unable to fight your smile. “Not my fault.”

His response is another bout of soft laughter, and no doubt the most beaming of smiles. “Whatever you say, love.”

The same fatigue you had teased him for just moments prior had held its grip on you, your laughter dwindling as your eyelids grow heavy. You hum in a late acknowledgement to what he’d said, “exactly that.”

You splay your hand across his chest, interlocking your pinky with his. His smile went unseen by you, one of awe and knowing all the same. He knew what that meant. It was a promise as most would think of it as, a silent ‘I love you’ as the two of you know it to be. He knew exactly the day it first happened. At the Burrow under the light of the stars, he’d told you he loved you for the very first time. It was that night that you wrapped your pinky around his, joined hands settled in the grass between you. With it accompanied the very three words that made his heart race and his cheeks flush. It was then, that very first time that night, that it became an unspoken action worth a thousand words.

So he smiles, he curls his pinky around yours and he smiles. Your own grin is just as unseen as his, but you didn’t need to see each other to know of it.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your nose when you look at him.

“I love you,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth in a tired attempt of a kiss. His smile was soft, and he still felt the tingle of your kiss as if it was the first time. He’s quite sure it’ll always feel that way. He knows it.

It was then that you tuck yourself against him, in the crook of his neck as the tattered flannel blanket settles warmly over top you both, the spring breeze brushing over your cheeks. You lay cradled within the canvas hammock that enveloped the both of you nearly in a cocoon. Your drowsiness was too hard to ignore by then, your eyes fluttering closed as his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

You were perfectly content to sleep there forever in the very arms, the very place you felt safest in. It was beautiful with the setting sun and the chirping of the birds. With petals falling in your hair and pinkies interlocked in a promise.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @anchoeritic @ch0colatefr0gs @harrysweasleys @snitches-at-dawn @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

[dulce-pjm]

cheek to cheek

request for taehyung from @kidcoredreamz (thanks bae!!) 

listen to “cheek to cheek” by ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong and “i get along without you very well” by chet baker for maximum effect

make your own request here using these prompts!

cheek to cheek

word count: 3.1k

genre: fluff, arrangedmarriage!au

summary: it’s night like these that you wish things were different

Taehyung is guaranteed, always has been. 

From the minute your tiny fingers could interlock with his, you were dragging each other around the mansions and garden parties, sneaking off to corners with desserts and chocolate milk and getting sugar rushes together. Time with Taehyung comes easy and passes quickly, the hours with him condensing into minutes and the few minutes without him stretching into lonesome years. 

You’ve seen him through thick and thin. Through acne flare ups and awkward conversations and never-ending games of tag. You’ve seen him pick his nose, cry over spilled milk (or, in his case, a broken remote-control race car), get caught sneaking out. You’ve comforted him while he felt broken, laughed until your sides were aching. You know his ins and outs, his rough edges and corners, his soft spots he tries to hide. 

Marrying him should be a blessing. 

To spend the rest of your life with the person who’s stuck by your side throughout everything is a future some can only dream about. To have someone understand you so perfectly, to understand them like no one else will. It should be a blessing. 

It should be. 

The digital clock reads 11:57 when he knocks on the window. 

You’ve always had a weird thing about having a room on the ground floor, when possible. It’s closest to the front door, in case of an emergency. And there’s no risk of tripping downstairs when you’re sleepily moving around in the night. And, most importantly, it’s easy to sneak out when you need to. 

While you’re a little startled, you’re nothing close to afraid. You know exactly what face to expect as you throw open the sheer curtains, silken pajama sleeves hanging over your fingers and eyes swollen from sleep. 

The moonlight makes his silvery hair seem otherworldly, a soft glow coming off of his locks. A few months ago, you’d been more than opposed to his sudden need to dye his hair, but you really shouldn’t have been surprised. The odd color just makes him more ethereal. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you hiss, opening the bay window and letting the frigid air slam you in the face. Your eyes comb over the rest of his figure, your brows furrowing at his dark hoodie and sweats, a black hoodie crumpled in one of his hands. Anyone else would have assumed he was an intruder. 

“Visiting my fiancée?” he tries, flashing a lopsided grin. “Thought we could sneak out again. For old times’ sake.” 

“We’re not kids anymore, Tae,” you huff. 

“That doesn’t mean we have to be boring.” 

You cross your arms as a chill runs down your spine from the cool breeze. “It’s midnight. I’m in my pajamas.”

“Well, then you better change.” You stare at him indignantly for a moment, wondering just how much of a doormat he thinks you are. 

“Please?” he adds, batting his lashes teasingly. “I have a surprise. You’ll like it, promise.”

“But will I like it more than I’d like crawling back into bed? Can’t it wait until morning?”

“No. Let’s be a little spontaneous, like we used to be.”

You won’t lie. The soft duvet, still warm, is calling to you strongly. You know that as soon as your head hit the pillow again, you’d be out. Sleeping like a baby. 

But it’s Taehyung’s half-assed pout and an unfortunately strong curiosity that compels you to slip on the nearest t-shirt and sweats for the designated “not-dirty-enough-for-the-basket-yet” chair and climb out the window with a sigh. 

-- 

“It’s Dad’s latest passion project. It was my suggestion, but I think he’s enjoying it more than me.”

You’re enjoying yourself more than you’d like to admit, too. You aren’t sure what urged Taehyung or his wealthy, CEO father to pour their time and effort into a run down museum, but you sure are glad they did. It’s like walking through a ghost town, dust coating the walls and old exhibits. Only some of the lights work and there’s renovation supplies littering the floors. You and Taehyung stick to each other’s sides in the poorly lit areas to avoid tripping and meeting a sorry end via paint roller. 

This certainly isn’t the first time you’ve been out late with Taehyung. When you were in high school and determined to rebel against your parents’ constricting ways, the two of you often found yourselves roaming the city and laughing much too loudly during a time when you should have been catching up on sleep or homework. 

Being with Taehyung was never too much of a risk. His parents always fell victim to your innocent smiles and mumbled apologies, while yours believed Taehyung could do no wrong. After they yelled and scolded and nearly tore their hair out, soon they were only shaking their heads and smiling at each other knowingly. It was hard to be mad for long when things were really working even better than planned. 

“What do you think it means?” Taehyung asks as the two of you stare at the large mural. It’s filled with wide strokes of color, abstract shapes littering the foreground with seemingly no pattern or reason. You really can’t even see the whole thing, when Taehyung turned on the lights for this room, only two or three managed to flicker on. 

You tap your chin, deep in thought. “Well, the red is clearly...” You tilt your head. “It’s clearly having a battle with the yellow. They represent good and evil. And the purple in the back is hope.” Taehyung tilts his head in the same direction as yours, brows knit in concentration. 

“You really got all that from... that?” You snort. 

“Nah, I just bullshitted it. I have no idea what it means.” Taehyung giggles, shoving you in the side. You stumble, yelping dramatically and nearly crashing into a probably very expensive bust of some historical figure you wouldn’t recognize. 

“I was being serious, Y/N.” You laugh at his pouty expression, resisting the urge to poke him in the side in revenge. You don’t want to start a fight you know you can’t win. 

After trying to make sense of the abstract mural for a few moments, you move out of the art exhibits on to the historical section, looking at the old skeletons and fossils and relics from years and years ago. 

It’s fun trying to guess the names of the different dinosaur skeletons, cackling obnoxiously at all the ridiculous things you can combine with “—asaurus.” You take turns reading the puns scattered on the colorful signs throughout the exhibit, groaning at the bad ones and acknowledging the okay ones with a tiny chuckle. You laugh the hardest when Taehyung spots the fake alligators and climbs onto the display, insisting you take his picture so he can look cool. 

“Tae, you can clearly tell you’re inside!” He scoffs. 

“Just take the picture!” he insists. “Don’t I look like Steve Irwin?”

The photos all come out insanely blurry, your arms shaking too much as you try to hold in your giggles. 

When you were first told of the arrangement at age sixteen, you cried. You sobbed and you wailed and you screamed and you locked yourself in your room in protest for an entire day. Your parents couldn’t understand it. You loved Taehyung. More than your own family. More than anything else. They loved him too. He was the son of a close friend and a union would benefit business, certainly. 

When you eventually came out of your bedroom, you refused to talk about it. You only mumbled that you were sorry and your parents knew better than to ask questions and so, that was the end of it. 

“Taehyung!” you shout, grabbing his wrist and dragging him across the antiques exhibit. You’d both already tried (and failed) at using the dusty typewriter and moved on to playfully arguing about who should pose with the guillotine when your eyes locked onto an item across the room. 

“What is it?” he laughed, stumbling after you, all smiles. 

“It’s a phonograph,” you explain. It appears in near-perfect condition despite the circumstances, the brass horn shiny and golden like it’d been made yesterday. “You can play records on it.” 

He nods in understanding. “We should try it.” The idea is tempting, but your hopes for it working are fairly low. “There’s already a record on it, just try to get it to play.”

You lean forward, fingers mentally crossed as you fiddling with the needle and try winding the crank. The gears squeak terribly inside the main compartment, making you cringe. But you keep winding it, stepping back and squeezing your eyes tight in anticipation. 

When you’re met with silence instead of music, you sigh in defeat. “Well, I guess that’s alright, it’s pretty old anyway, let’s—”

Suddenly, the machine fizzles to life, record slowly turning on the turntable and a jazzy tune carries through the air. Taehyung cheers, clapping on the shoulder. 

“You did it!” Your smile quickly stretches into your cheeks, exhaustion long forgotten as you relax in the nice sound, soft piano and pleasant singing filling your ears. 

You begin subconsciously swaying to song, fingers drumming to the beat absentmindedly on your thighs. Taehyung seems to know the song, quietly singing a few lyrics every one and a while. 

“Let’s dance,” he says suddenly. Your stomach tightens. 

“Let’s not,” you reply quickly, arms hugging your sides. You stare ahead, trying to focus on the song rather than the person beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him lean slightly closer, lolling his head to the side. 

“Why not?” 

You sigh. You don’t really have an answer. 

Your hand finds his, fingers interlocking as you let Taehyung guide you out into a relatively clearly spot, tennis-shoe clad feet shuffling lightly to the music. You’ve danced with him in other settings, with many more eyes watching. You’re normally dressed perfectly, not a hair out of place and a thick layer of makeup coating your eyes and cheeks. 

“Remember that time your mom made us take dance lessons when we were twelve?” Taehyung asks, a glint in his eye. 

You scoff. “I remember the part where you gave me laxatives right before the first lesson, yeah.” Taehyung can barely keep his grip on you, moving his other hand to your waist in an attempt to steady himself as his shoulders shake with laughter. 

“I really thought it was regular tea, I promise.”

“Sure you did.”

“I did! I thought we were being all fancy like our parents and drinking fancy tea like fancy rich people.”

“Then why didn’t you drink the laxative tea, huh?”

“I don’t like tea. I just put milk in my teacup and hoped you wouldn’t notice.” You snort, hands settled all to comfortably on his shoulders as the smooth voice croons and echoes off of the walls. 

It’s intimate. There’s nowhere else to look but his eyes as he places a hand on your waist, pulling you closer with a soft smile. The room feels warmer, his breath barely skimming across your face at the close proximity. 

It forces you to think about the things you’d much rather keep inside. 

This should be nice. It should be normal and romantic and sweet, to be slow-dancing with your fiancée. Your smile should be light and endeared and love-struck, not forced and fake. 

There’s a heavy pang in your heart as you remember. Remember how much love him. How much you care. How much you want to hold him close, press your lips on his without a single bit of hesitance. 

But you can’t do those things, knowing the things you do. To Taehyung, this marriage is a convenience. It’s a way to please his parents and strengthen his business connections and do it all with his best friend. He’s always been perfectly content with the arrangement, perfectly content to marry for everything but love. 

And how are you supposed to feel, wanting to marry him for the very thing he doesn’t feel for you?

He’s all you’ve ever wanted. You would have left this life a long time ago, but it would mean sacrificing him. You’re too selfish to do that. You want him all to yourself, every part that you can get. 

You’ve seen every side of him, the weird and the sad and sweet. You want it all. But you’ll never have it. 

You wish it were real. That this were a romantic night away, that you’d wake up in the morning all tangled in his arms. It’s this intimacy that you crave but can never enjoy, not when you know it’s all fake.

And he knows you too. Knows something is up when that little knot between your brows forms and your eyes grow just a little glassy.

“What’s wrong?” You quickly straighten your spine, blinking away any tears pricking at your eyes. 

“Nothing, I’m fine.” But Taehyung knows. He leans forward slightly, dark eyes piercing through your very soul. You gulp as you feel his body heat on your own skin, releasing your hands from his shoulders in your panic. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” you breathe. Your gaze falls as you step back, the music tapering off as the phonograph finally gives out and the moment is fully broken.

But instead of letting you slip away, his grip tightens, look growing desperate.

“Wait! Just a second.” You can see him itch to run his hand through his hair, but his arms don’t leave you. “You’ve been acting so weird lately. Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” You furiously shake your head. 

“No, that’s not it. I just—” You stop yourself before too many words spill out and you say something you can’t take back.

When you don’t elaborate, Taehyung’s face falls further. “Seriously, what is it? Am I really making you that upset?”

“No, I—”

“Is it because I dragged you out so late? I’m sorry, it’d just been so long since I saw you and I missed you—”

“Just shut up!” you cry, shoving him off of you for good. A few tears wet your cheeks and your face heats with embarrassment. “It’s because you pull this kind of stupid, romantic shit that makes me love you even more than I already do but I know you don’t see us that way.”

Taehyung’s eyes go wide, but you suppose since it’s all on the table, you’ll keep going. “I know this is all just fun and games and easy to you but it fucking hurts, Taehyung. You can’t lead people on like this. You can’t do this shit and expect me not to feel something for you.”

The phonograph crackles in the corner of the room, unable to play pretty tunes or sweet songs anymore. It sounds restless and broken and unpleasant to hear. 

“Maybe I wanted you to feel something for me.” You whip your head up, cheeks still hot from mortification and anger. 

“What?”

“You heard me. I wanted you to love me. Because I love you.” 

When you kiss him, it’s like a breath of fresh air. It’s hungry and rushed as your fingers gently tug on his hair and his palm is splayed on the small of your back, pulling you as close to him as humanly possible. 

At some point, you end up pressed against the wall, euphoric as he trails pecks down your jaw and neck incessantly, like he’s trying to make up for every time he wished he’d kissed you. You whine when he parts his lips, tugging on his hair as he fastens your body against him. He tastes like the peppermint chapstick he always keeps in his pocket. The habit had ruined a pair of his dress pants before when it melted all in the pocket, but he’s always been too stubborn about chapped lips to learn his lesson and carry it elsewhere. You can smell his shampoo and the faint scent of his cologne. Everything that fills your senses is him and only him. 

You feel a few tears sting at the corner of your eyes but you ignore them, gasping for breath between long kisses, a few giggles escaping you when you see you’re not the only one lightheaded. 

After what feels both like hours and seconds, Taehyung pulls away, his lips swollen and pink, but stretched into that adorable grin that hasn’t changed since you were kids. 

“Sorry I didn’t say something earlier,” he murmurs. “I never could find the right words to say it and I knew it’d make everything awkward if you didn’t feel the same way.” You laugh mirthlessly, cupping his face gently with your hands. 

“Same here.” You sigh. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

“Guess so.” 

It's a little frightening to stare at him like this. You’ve always held your guard tightly whenever you felt even close to your feelings being compromised, but that weight you’d carried for so long as suddenly detached itself from your shoulders, leaving you free floating. Yes, it’s like floating untethered through the air or being caught in the ocean with your life jacket. It’s scary and daunting and unknown. But it’s nice to know that you’ll have Taehyung’s hand tightly holding yours the whole way. 

“Since I confessed first, I think you should pose for a picture with the guillotine.” Taehyung’s intent stare breaks, his face crinkling in disgust. 

“But I kissed you first.”

“Only because I said I loved you.”

“If you really loved me, you’d pose with the guillotine and I could pose like I’m the executioner.” Now it’s your turn to be disgusted. 

“That’s so fucking morbid, Kim Taehyung.” You smack his arm, but he keeps you against the wall, thigh between your legs as he leans in again. 

“Only for you,” he murmurs, planting his lips on yours again. 

The scoff about to leave your mouth is caught in your throat as you’re enveloped in his embrace, kissing each other dizzy until you’re certain the sun must be rising soon. 

You wouldn’t mind too much if it did, though. 

As Taehyung keeps trying to convince you to take stupid photos and explain abstract art to him, you aren’t sure how much a blessing he is. All you really know is that he’s your guarantee, your anchor in this unforgiving world. You aren’t sure where he’ll take you next, what random time he’ll decide is the best for your future adventures. You can’t know what the rest of your life holds, only that he’ll be next to you as long as he can. 

And that’s enough for now.

[cygnetofthesea]

Part 2 of Welcome Home.

He’s staring at her with a goofy smile on. He can’t help himself as his eyes rove over her and he knows she’s aware of his eyes, the corners of her lips curled in amusement. She’s all too used to his burning gaze on her but it never ceases to have an affect on her whether it’s turning her into mush or filling her will suppressed mirth. 

In this particular case, it seemed to be a combination of both even as she tries to ask him about everyone back home. 

“How’s Samuel doing? I spoke with him over the weekend and he seems good but I feel like he tries to spare me from the heavy stuff.”

He smiles softly at her. He knew exactly what she was talking about and it was true he had refrained from telling Nadia about some of his troubles lest he worry her but this time he was pleased he could honestly reassure her.

“He’s really fine actually. That trip we took to parliament was really good for him, I think. It was the first time he made moves toward his future instead of worrying so much about his family. It was nice to see actually.”

Nadia looks content with that response. “That’s good.  I understand familial obligations and it's why I never said anything, but I think they were too much of a distraction for him. He was the kid and the youngest one too, yet somehow with the most responsibilities.”

Guzman is intrigued by that and tilts his head to the side. “And it’s unfair, isn’t it? That burden shouldn’t fall on the child, should it?”

“No, not like that.”

He narrows his eyes at her, waiting for her to make the connection. “Sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it?”

She looks at him confused for a moment before realization settles in. “What? No, it’s not the same.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Guzman smirks.

“No, because Samuel’s mom didn’t care that he was working more than he was studying…”

Guzman lifts a brow. He was sure Nadia’s mother wasn’t apathetic about how much Nadia spent at the shop per se, but she at least didn’t do much about it either. 

Nadia continues on anyway, pivoting. “Ok well, Samuel has an older brother that could help.”

Guzman remains silent.

“At least my brother didn’t deal drugs…” She trails off as the realization finally settles in. She and Samuel dealt with a lot of the same issues. “Huh, wow...I guess it makes sense how we ended up friends.”

“Mm-hmm,” Guzman nods. “It’s easy for you to see Samuel’s hardship and judge his family for it, but you don’t realize that your own family has done the same to you. And that’s not fair either.”

Nadia looks stunned for a moment and he can see her tell-tale pondering face as she considers his words. 

“I...But-I…” Nadia stammers looking genuinely befuddled and it endears Guzman. He knew her relationship with her parents had gotten better but he couldn't help feeling protective over her and ensuring that she was always treated with the respect she deserved. It was only an afterthought that she and Samuel shared similar experiences and perhaps that was how he came to be friends with Samuel after getting over his biases.

But Guzman wasn’t particularly interested in a teachable moment just then. He missed Nadia too much to spend the first few hours talking about Samuel. No offense to his best friend.

“You know, I actually don’t really want to talk about Samuel right now.”

Her eyes are full of mirth as her body shakes with quiet laughter. She was so happy and it thrilled him that it was largely because of him.

“No?” she asks.

“No.”

And before she can get another word in, he’s pushing her against the wall, his lips gentle but urgent against hers. It starts off slow as they savor the moment, reveling in each other’s touch. The familiar warmth, her soft lip soothing against his own slightly chapped ones. Somehow he’s already breathless, the sheer nearness to her knocking the breath out of him, but he can’t stop tasting her. His hands slide firmly from her hips up to her ribs and lifts her up against the wall so her feet are barely touching the ground but her mouth is more aligned with his. Nadia wraps her arms around his shoulders tighter and lets out a muffled sigh.

Just like that, the languid pace of their kiss turns into desperate gasps, wet lips pressing and sliding against each other firmly. Guzman forgets himself for a moment and hikes one of her legs around his hip, pressing their pelvises closer—but still not close enough for his liking—while his other hand untucks her blouse from her pants. His fingers immediately seek out her smooth, warm skin and he feels so deprived from the glorious sensation that he can’t help the groan that escapes him.

God, how he had missed her.

His hot hand against her heated skin set him ablaze and he needed more, needed to feel her skin, taste more of her flavor, smell more of her essence...he just needed more. He keeps their body melded together as he drags his lips across her neck and sucks the skin at the base of her throat. 

She lets out a breathless whimper, arching her neck against the pressure of his mouth and tongue. “Guzman…”

He’d have to be wrenched away from her at this point, her heavy breaths, her familiar sounds when he would touch her, spurred him on. His fingers made quick work on the buttons of her blouse, his mouth following behind with every new patch of skin that was revealed. He traces the edges of her bra with his tongue before she yanks his head back up to hers, pulling him into a desperate kiss. Her hands drag through his hair, pulling slightly, not enough to draw pain but enough to make him thrust his hips instinctively against hers.

“Nadia, Nadia, Nadia…” he chants in between kisses. “I need you.”

The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, jostling them enough to break apart with a wet smack. Guzman keeps his grip firmly on Nadia as he looks toward the door, his chest heaving. He has to blink several times to ease back to reality and realize they had apparently stopped on their floor. 

Nadia comes back to reality sooner, scrambling to button her shirt again while keeping the door open. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe we just did that. What if someone caught us, or worse, my super? So stupid of us.” 

Nadia presses a hand to her flushed cheek while the other reaches for his suitcase. That gets him moving and he steps away from her, taking the handle from her. 

“It’s ok, we weren’t doing anything bad.” 

Guzman wasn’t bothered by the circumstances but he knows public displays of amorous affections were a sore spot for Nadia because of the locker room incident. A part of him will always feel resentful toward Valerio and Lu for their part but he knows that Nadia frets about it enough for the both of them so he tries to ease her worries. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, following behind her at a respectable distance so that if anyone were to glance over, they’d be none the wiser of their elevator activities. “I didn’t mean to get carried away—”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Nadia says with a slight smile. She seems a lot more composed. She takes his hand and he feels relieved. “I got carried away too. Can’t blame either of us for doing so, but let’s stick to the safety of our home next time.”

Home. Once again, the word causes a flutter in his chest and elation to fill his body. It was enough to cool down his heated and excited body momentarily. 

He beams at her. “Home sounds perfect. In more ways than one.”

They stop in front of an apartment door with the number 207 on it and Nadia begins to fuss with her clothes once more. 

“I don’t look like a mess, do I? It’s not obvious what we were up to?”

Before he can get a word in, Nadia reaches over and fixes the collar of his shirt and straightens his hair a little.

Guzman shakes his head. “You look great. Besides, we’re heading inside anyway.”

Nadia nods, unlocking the door and swinging it open. “Here we are.”

Before Guzman can process the sight before him, he blinks against the flash of Nadia’s polaroid camera. She pulled it from her eyes with a shy smile. “I wanted to get a picture of your reaction. I knew it would be too good to pass up.”

He looks at her in awe, stepping further into the apartment with his suitcase. He vaguely registers the door slamming shut behind his but he’s too transfixed and filled with emotions bubbling inside him. 

Hung up across the living room was a huge banner that said “Welcome Home” and underneath it, in glittering capital letters, his name was spelled out. On either side of the banner were streamers and balloons and sitting on the dining table to his right sat a huge chocolate cake, his favorite. He continues to take in the apartment, his new home, and sees there are fairy lights lining the top edges of the wall, more streamers and balloons in the kitchen and off to the side, making the place look festive and cozy. 

“I know it’s probably overboard but we were just too excited and couldn’t help ourselves,” Nadia says. 

He looks at her and her face softens. It’s only then he realizes his eyes have started watering again. She rushes to him and pulls him into a tight hug, pulling back just enough to look at his face. 

“We wanted you to feel at home here. It’s going to be an adjustment but we stocked up the place with all your favorite things from back home.”

He pulls her into a soft kiss, holding her in place just to savor her taste. There’s a lump in his throat and he feels so overwhelmed but he holds onto Nadia to tether him, holding onto her as his safe haven. 

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely when he pulls away and presses his forehead to hers. 

“Of course. Plus, it was a group effort.”

Guzman looks over at the cake before turning back to Nadia with a quirked brow. 

“Ok, well that was me,” Nadia amends. “You know Lu wouldn’t ever be caught dead with a whisk.”

He lets out a burst of laughter and Nadia strokes the corner of his eyes where he’s sure they are red-rimmed with unshed tears. 

“Well, since that’s the case, what do you say we dive in?”

Nadia helps him shed his and places it next to hers on the coat rack by the door. She leads him over to the table in front of the cake where it too says “Welcome Home, Guzman!” There’s also even a heart drawn on there and he knows it was Nadia’s. 

“You made my favorite,” he murmurs to her, his mouth already salivating at the thought of digging into what he knew were three layers of moist chocolate cake with layers of dark chocolate ganache and coffee mousse in between. This was just one of the things he had missed about her while she had been gone. 

“Of course.” She pecks him against his temple and hands him a knife. 

As they settle in with a large piece of cake to share, Guzman realizes this is just one of the many quiet moments they’ll get to have. This was the start of their lives together and he was so at peace, finally home. 

Home with Nadia.

[foilfreak]

BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

[herstroywritten]

Magix Inn: One bed, one shirt, two idiots in love

OK. Confession time: I LOOOVE tropes. All of them. The oh I’m so cold and I don't have a jacket, so you gave me yours. Oh no, we’re paired together and I don’t like that. Oh look, we have to stay in this hotel together and (*cure shocked face*) there’s only one bed! All of it. Like, ALL of it. And when it’s done well... Ughhh, my heart can barely stand it. (If you want an A+++ example of it, go ahead and read Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo and watch the new Shadow and Bone adaptation on Nextflix. Helnik serves all the tropes in all the best ways.) Anyways, my point is that that’s all this is, and I am fully aware of that. I needed more of these tropes with Rivusa, so here we are. Enjoy.

She's going to kill them. Every single one of them. And she was going to make it as painful and slow and agonizing as she could. Now that she knew how to extract mind control, she figured she could easily learn how to enact it. She would learn to do it overnight. She would! And she would most definitely use it on every single one of her suitemates, no moral obligations holding her back. In fact, she was doing them a favor by not opting to do it with her knives, the ones she'd begun training with a month ago or so. She was going to do it, no hesitation- 

"You can take the bed."

Riven's words snapped her out of her fantasies. She forced herself to finally turn and stare at him. He was already standing in the middle of the room they had been assigned. The room that had a single king sized bed in the middle of it. There was a small window on each side of the head board, with thick tattered curtains covering the view of the barren land outside. A couch was positioned to the right of the bed, a door stood just a few feet above it. There was no dresser in the room, no closet. 

Not exactly a five star hotel, she thought to herself. But then again, they were in hiding from a psychopath who thought herself to be the future ruler of the world, not on vacation. The cracks on the walls and the dust that could be seen covering every surface fit the murderous mood of their escape so much more than a nice cozy bedroom. 

Musa wondered how Stella was holding up. Bitterly, she hoped that she was hating it. Served her right for leaping at the chance to spend the night with her ex-bodyguard instead of opting to share with one of the girls. 

It had been a long night of traveling and by the time Dowling, Silva, and Harvey had finally located their destination, the whole group was practically a squad of walking zombies struggling to maintain awareness long enough to not fall asleep while standing up. After escaping Alfea, they had trekked through the woods continuously for 36 hours straight, needing to get as far away from the school as possible without using magic for fear of giving away their plan. 

Their little group had been led by Professor Harvey, who somehow knew exactly where they were headed without using a map to navigate through the veils of greenery that they had bypassed. How, Musa wasn't sure. It all looked the same to her, and quite frankly after a while she seriously considered the possibility that they were just walking in circles. Sam and Terra had followed behind their father, pointing out harmful weeds to avoid touching or stepping on for the rest of the group. The rest of the girls had followed their orders, Bloom and Sky leading the charge, then Brandon and Stella, Aisha, Musa, and Riven. Dowling and Silva followed a few feet behind, making sure that no one was following them as they went. Needless to say, the journey had been endless and there seemed to be no end in sight. The students had been unsure of where they were headed, as the professors had refused to divulge any sort of extra information unless it was explicitly necessary.

In the end, they had walked out of the woods and into an abandoned city. White bricks and cracked cement littered the ground that they passed through, exerting great effort to not step on any broken shards of glass and cut themselves. 

"Aster Dell" Bloom had whispered when she had seen the jagged outline of the town. Professor Harvey had nodded his head at her words, verifying their truth, and that had been that. No one spoke and no one asked the millions of questions that swarmed their minds. How were they able to see this place? Wasn't Queen Luna supposed to have it covered up? Why were they even here? Wasn't this a little too obvious of a hideout? Musa's curiously was running high, but her desire to just sleep was even greater so she had just followed right along as the professor led them through winding streets and in front of a rundown building that seemed to barely be holding onto its hinges.

Dowling had broken the silence, "Welcome to Magix Inn, or what's left of it. We'll make camp in here for the night."

Turns out Magix Inn was just that, and inn. And a tiny one at that, just ten boarding rooms to offer. Each boasted a king sized bed and minimal furniture. Unfortunately, the four rooms located on the south side of the building had been completely destroyed in the wreckage, so they were left with six to pick from. Dowling and Silva had taken the one at the very beginning of the eastern hallway, for security measures. For that same purpose, Professor Harvey had taken the one at the very end of the corridor, and Sam joined him. Sky had insisted he stay with Bloom for the night, attached to her as he had been for the last 36 hours, fearing that she would lose control of her magic again. No one bothered to mention that there was nothing he could really do if that happened again, they just let the couple slip into the room diagonal from Dowling and Silva's. Their door had barely closed before Stella had basically dragged Brandon into the room next to theirs, shouting over her shoulder "Good night everyone!" That left Aisha, Terra, Musa, and Riven. And two rooms. There had been an awkward silence, during which the girls looked back and forth between the three of them, daring each other to make the first move. When Aisha scooted slightly closer to Terra, Musa knew she was about to lose. Frustrated, angry, and just plain tired, she'd huffed and spun around to face the devil himself.

"Well, would you look at that?" Riven's grin was basically a smirk as he cocked his eyebrows in her direction, eyes roaming up and down the whole of her, his usual form of acknowledgement when it came to her. "Looks like we're playing roomies for the night." For some reason, he did not sound very disappointed at that idea. 

"Not another word," Musa had growled at him, before making her way to the room second to last from the end of the hallway. In any other scenario, she would be happy that he was choosing to speak to her again but right now she couldn't be bothered.

And now, here they were. In a room. Alone. With one bed. Two sets of curtains. A couch that was definitely too small for either of them to sleep in comfortably. One door that led to the bathroom. Oh, and did she mention the one bed? 

She finally stepped away from the doorway, letting the heavy wooden door lock behind her. As she crossed the room and headed for the bed, she couldn’t help but notice the dust that kicked up at her feet as she walked on the oriental rug that had to have existed for at least 16 years and who knows how much longer before then. The idea of sleeping here was almost revolting, but at this point she would give anything for a place to lay down, so whatever. They'd fought monsters and survived, they could outlive a bit of dust. What she might not be able to outlive, however, was sharing a room with the specialist standing behind her.

She dropped her backpack on the bed, choosing to ignore the dust that resurfaced with the motion, and turned to face him. 

"Yeah, no. As much as I would love to watch you try to squeeze into that tiny little couch, it would be extremely cruel of me to make you do that after a day and a half of constant walking. Plus, it's a king sized bed. I don’t need all of it. We'll just share." She hoped that came out as causal as it sounded in her head.

Riven's smirk, the one that hadn't left his face since the sleeping arrangements had been decided, grew even wider at her words. "I suppose, if you insist. An Alfea gentleman would never ignore a lady's wishes, after all." 

She scoffs at him. "I doubt you would count among the gentlemen of Alfea."

"Oh, I don't know. I've been told I have a way of outdoing myself when it comes to ladies' requests. Especially in the bedroom." He's eyeing her from the corner of his sightline as he makes for the bed, dropping his own bag diagonally from hers. She's suddenly flushed, from anger or blushing she's not sure. But she's not about to give him any ideas.

"We are not, I repeat NOT, completing any sort of requests tonight." She narrows her eyes at him, her voice strong and unwavering. It surprises her, the sheer strength behind those words because honestly it's the opposite of what she wants to say. The opposite of what she wants to do.

"Whatever you say." His statement is short, filled with hidden messages. He shuffles through his bag as she shuffles through her thoughts, watching him and biting her tongue so that all her questions don't come tumbling out. 

He heads for the bathroom, and once she hears the door close, she pulls out her phone.

"Hello!" Aisha's voice is all cheer and chuckle on the other side of the line. Musa thinks she can hear Terra's giggle in the background, too. 

"I'll kill you." Musa's reply is a lot less cheery and a lot more lethal.

"Oh, come on!" It's Terra's voice this time. "We're practically doing you a favor. You should be thanking us."

"I'll kill you. All of you." She repeats it, just to make sure they're really catching it.

"Musa, love, you know this has to happened at some point." Aisha's words are calm. "We're headed into a war. We're running away from school. We're going to have a lot more shit to deal with in a couple of hours, and you're still not in the right mindset for all of it. You’re in a completely different world. If you're so worried about it, just ask him. Better yet, just tell him."

"I don't know what you're talking about, " Musa mumbles angerly.

The sighs that she hears from the other side of the conversation tell her just how little Aisha and Terra believe her. It's silent for a second, and Musa can just feel the two girls going back and forth on who's turn it is to confront her. Terra's sweet voice comes through the phone after a few seconds, "Musa, we're not going to tell you what to do. It's not our place. But we will tell you what we see, because you're our friend and we love you and want you to be happy-"

"Terra, we're heading for a war. There is no happy in war." Musa's voice is monotone. 

"Musa," her name is a warning on Terra's lips, a sign that she's used this excuse before and it hasn't worked. "Look, I know you like him. I know it's weird between you two. You had to go digging into his brain to break him out of a spell and he didn't appreciate that, but quite frankly, I don’t think he appreciated being Beatrix's little pet and Rosalind's spy either. So he can be bitter and mad about it all he wants, you did what you had to do to save his ass and ours."

"That's the problem though. He's no longer mad about it. At least, I don’t think he is. He's talking to me. Like, now that we’re in the room. He hadn't even looked at me since the I broke that stupid spell…" Her voice drops at that last sentence. 

"That's good. Right?" Aisha's voice is a mix of encouragement and confusion. 

"Since when are you in on this, Aisha? I thought you hated the guy?" Now Musa's just curious. How did they even get into this situation in the first place? How did she get here, sharing a room with a boy that has one too many demons on his shoulders and whom she's embarrassingly crushing on?

Aisha's reply is quick and defensive. "Oh, I still do. But, he's still Sky's bff or whatever and he's still your…" There's a pause that follows that particular thought and Musa takes the time to wonder how Aisha is going to finish that sentence.  "You know what, I don't really know what he is. But he helped you train and you two had something going before, well, before he started disappearing to go do Rosalind's dirty business. Plus, for some unknown, godforsaken season, you're into him. As your friend and roommate, I feel the need to support all your dumb choices, within reason of course. So, yeah. I guess I'm in on whatever this is too."

"You sound like Stella." Musa's mouth quirks into a smirk as she picks up Aisha's groan from across the line.

"Don't remind me. Pretty soon, I'll start swooning over ex-bodyguard-turned-teammate Brandon too." They all get a laugh out of that line.

"God, I'd pay to see that. Poor guy has his work cut out for him, I wonder what they're doing right now." Terra's inquiry needs no answer, but Musa feels the need to comment on the situation at hand. 

"I can't believe she did that! She just left us! You know what, she's the first one I'm killing. You two can pick between second and third place."

Aisha chuckles at her words before a yawn overtakes her and she replies, "Alrighty, it's bed time. We've got a long day tomorrow. And, Musa, just do it. Just talk it out and get it off your chest. You don't want to leave things unsaid, not when we don't know what tomorrow brings. You've already played that game before and it was not fun." Aisha's right, of course. Musa has played that game before.

Right before Riven disappeared, they had been training together for a while, which had somehow turned into them having lunch together on the daily, which had then turned into secret meetings at night in the greenhouse. They'd both needed some alone time, to catch their breath and just marvel at their messed up lives and all the fucked up shit that was going on. And for some reason, his little quips and their constant banter had become her new safety net, a web of comfort and solace, something she hadn't had since Sam and her started drifting apart. But unlike Sam, who was all calming waters and steady footing on a gentle boat, Riven had been all of the tumultuous oceans in the worst of weathers. She never really found her footing in the storm that was Riven and his thoughts, and that had brought her a comfort like no other. In a world where all they had was scheduled to the minute thanks to Rosalind's insane regime, his inconsistent thoughts had drawn her in. She'd wanted to break him open, tuck herself into the blanket that was his mind, and lay there until his emotions numbed both her and him. And, then, somewhere between aching to be numb and heavy innuendos, she had found herself staring at him more often than she should and thinking about him in ways she knew would do her no favors if she let them continue. But, she let them continue. And pretty soon, his loud emotions weren't just comfort and she didn't just want to drown in them. No, at that point, she had wanted to dive deeper into them so that she might try and shift through them. Try to untangle his deepest fears and settle them. To mold her own pain into the shapes that formed the cracks of his heart, so that she could somehow fit him and be a comfort for him in the same way he was for her. She'd wanted it so bad. So, so very bad. And she'd almost said so, too. Too bad Rosalind had chosen that day to start using the spell she had placed on him months before.

Aisha's voice pulls Musa away from her own thoughts. "Hey, Musa? You still there?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. Just dozing off a bit, it's been a long day."

"Ugh, tell me about it. Look, if you two won't talk it out for yourselves, do it for us. We're all on edge with all the sexual tension that's coming off of you two."

"Aisha!" Terra's voice sounds horrified. "Actually, she's not wrong. As Stella so kindly suggested, you two might want to just fuck it out. See if that helps break the ice."

It's Musa's turn to be horrified now. "Terra! You did not just say that! And we are NOT fucking anything out!" 

Her friends, however, don't give her the satisfaction of listening to her defense. "Goodnight Musa!" And with that the phone call ends and she's left listening to silence and feeling even more agitated than she did when she first called them. She screams and throws her phone across the bed, watching as it haphazardly hangs from the corner of the white duvet. 

"Now what's all this about fucking?" Riven's voice nearly sends her digging her own grave. Great. Just great. Of course he chooses now to make his way back into the room.

"Nothing." Her rely drips in venom as she makes a point to angerly dig into her bag and pull out her toiletries. She pushes past him and into the bathroom before he gets the chance to question her again. She worked quickly to strip herself of the heavy layers she had on, and into a long white t-shirt that she often wears to bed. She had forgotten to pack a pair of shorts, as she usually just took them off and slept in her underwear. For a second she considered wearing jeans to bed, but she decided she wasn't about to sweat to death for Riven's sake. He'd seen naked girls before. Plus, if it wasn't jeopardizing her modesty, she doubted it was harming his innocence.

When she came out, however, she started to question her decision. The second she stepped out of the bathroom, Riven's voice greeted her.

"So, now that you're done hiding," he started, scrolling through his phone in nothing but a set of sweatpants. "Do feel free to explain to me who's fucking who, besides Brandon and Stella." He'd looked up then, and that had been their demise. His eyes had gone to her face first, but she'd watched as they moved downward in a slow motion, as if he was committing every bit of her body to memory.  She understood now why girls raved about him, because if he gave them all that look… well, Musa supposes they would all feel exactly how she is feeling right about now. 

Oh, for god's sake. Why her? 

She waits for the comment she knows is coming.

"Please tell me you're not planning on sleeping in that." Well, that's not what she expected.

"What?" She raises an eyebrow at him.

"You need to put on something else if we're really not completing any requests tonight." He's still staring at her legs as she chokes a laugh at him and makes her way to her side of the bed.

"Get your head out of the getter, idiot. I can sleep in whatever I want and you can handle yourself. You'll be fine." 

"I know you can sleep in whatever you want. Me controlling myself, that's where our issues start, love. You have a little too much faith in me." He catches her eyes and quirks an eyebrow her way as she shuffles to unhook her bra from behind and slips it off under the shirt she's wearing before throwing it on top of her other clothes. "For fuck's sake, are you serious right now?!" Honestly, she was going to keep the bra on before she saw his reaction to her bare legs, but at this point they’re so far in over their heads that she might as well pull out all the stops. His continuous reactions are just icing on top of the cake.

"Oh, absolutely." She's smirking at him, eyes dancing with mischief as he stares at her full of lust. She laughs as she tucks herself into the covers. "Relax, I'll keep my underwear on." His face is heating up, frustration evident in the line between his brows and she longs to reach over the expanse of the duvet and press her thumb to the space between his eyebrows and smooth it out. She doesn't. 

"This isn't fair," he protests.

"Says the guy who's shirtless right now," comes her reply.

"That's not the same thing and you know it." His voice is strained and she's eager to see when it'll snap, when one of them will finally just admit defeat.

"Isn't it? The feminist in me disagrees."

"Don't. Don't you dare take that stupid shirt off." His hands are shaking as he points a warning finger her way, and she laughs. She's enjoying this way too much. But she knows if she keeps it up, he'll keep true to his word and she won't push him away, and frankly that thought should scare her. Instead, she finds herself wondering how many buttons she can push before he caves.

"Turn off the lights and come to bed Riven." Her voice is light now, no longer teasing. He watches her snuggle further into the covers, eyebrows still furrowed at her and she can practically hear the turmoil in his mind. "Ugh, honestly, calm the fuck down. Your emotions are so intense right now, it's hurting my brain. I promise I'll keep the shirt on. Now, come on. Come to bed."

He mumbles something about staying out of his mind, but he closes the small lamp by his bedside and crawls into bed beside her. Well, calling it beside her is a bit of a stretch as he's practically at the edge of the huge bed. She huffs at his child-like manner and rolls her eyes at him.

"Seriously, Riven? I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to get a girl into bed and here you are avoiding me like the plague. You know I don't bite, right?"

"Whatever," he mumbles. She finally turns to face him, reaches her arms across the mattress and digs her fingers into the waistband of his sweats, tugging him closer to the center of the bed. He jumps at the feel of her hands on his bare stomach, his breath catching at this throat as they now stand face to face and mere inches away from each other. She watching his eyes as they take her in, and she's vaguely aware of the fact that this is too intimate. This moment is exactly what she was trying to avoid, but she can't bring herself to care. So, instead she takes this time to study the green of his eyes. In the dark, they're illuminated by the thin sliver of moonlight the peeks from between the curtains of the window on her side of the bed. They're dilated, more black than green, but she can just make out the color around the edges or his iris. Hazel on the inside, and impossibly green on the outside ridges. She remembers when she was younger, she'd once told her mother that she wanted interesting eyes, by which she meant she wanted blue or green eyes. Something other than her brown orbs. In a way, she was vainly excited when her powers had come in and her eyes started to glow lavender and purple. How naïve she had been, how stupid. She knows now, looking into Riven's eyes, that interesting eyes had no color attached to them. Interesting eyes were ones that held stories, emotions. And Riven's eyes held so many stories, and so many emotions. They gave him away, at least to her they did. She swears that even without her powers, she would be able to feel the pain, the hurt, the mischief, and (right now) the undeniable want by just looking into his eyes. The want is especially pungent. She hopes he can see the want in her eyes too. She bitterly thinks to herself that her girls are right, the two of them are hopeless. They've been cascading through this thing between them, her and Riven, and after she broke his mind control, he'd refused to look her in the eye, let alone talk to her. 

They stand face to face with each other for a while, before she finally ducks her head below his chin and tucks herself against his collarbone. She feels him tense below her (feels her own breath catch, fearing that he'll push her off) before he relaxes a little and his breathing slows down. She listens to his heart beating beneath her, and the pounding of it against her ear lulls her mind into a peaceful state. Once she feels like she can finally breathe normally again, she works up the nerve to ask him the questions she's been meaning to ask for about two days now. 

"Are you angry?"

He pulls away from her, just enough to look down at her. But she won't look at him. Instead, she traces his collarbone with the tips of her fingers, burning holes into it with the intensity of her gaze. 

"Angry?" He sounds genuinely surprised. 

"Yeah," her reply comes in a whisper. Tears are welling in her eyes, but she refuses to let them slip as she continues to bore into his skin. 

"Why would I be angry?" 

"Don't." She doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to be sorry for what she did, because she's not. She's not.

"Don't what?"

"Don't make me say it." It's a whimper this time, her voice threatening to crack along with her heart.

"Musa," he lifts her chin up. "What is going on? Why would I be angry at you?" She stares into his eyes again and curses the gods above for making her do this.

"Because I had to go into your mind. I had to dig around and manipulate it. I know you've never liked that about my powers. I know that it's no better than what Rosalind and Beatrix did to you. I know that, but I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry, Riven." She says it as though she's trying to convince herself. A deep breath, and then she's talking again. "I'm not sorry because it freed you. So, I'm not sorry about my powers or about what I did." She notices the line between his brows growing more and more as she speaks, and this time she does reach across the space between them and smooth it out with the pad of her fingertip.

She's not expecting an answer, but she was hoping for one. And as the silence between them grows, she figures she has overstayed her welcome. 

As she moves away from him, his arms snap into motion. They wrap around her waist, pulling her back into him. She squeezes her eyes shut as his scent engulfs her once again. 

"I'm not angry." His words, mumbled against her hair, are the final straw. Her tears come ripping through her body, unwelcome but inevitable. She hates this, hates crying. She's not a quiet crier. When she cries, her whole body cries with her. She shakes, she hiccups, and her breathing speeds up. There's no way he doesn't feel it. 

"Musa, really, I'm not angry. And hey," he's pulling away again, gently pushing her back so he can look at her face when he says the next words. "For the record, you are NOTHING like them. Nothing. Do you hear me?" She hiccups and looks down. "You're not. I swear to you, Musa. You're not. And, just so you know, I don't hate your powers. Never have, never will." 

"But you said-"

"I know what I've said. It wasn't because I hate you, it was because I hate my own mind." He pauses, looks away from her as if trying to work up the courage to continue. "Sometimes…  a lot of the time… I can't stand myself. What I hated was the idea of anyone, especially you, seeing all my bad parts. And fuck, Musa, there are so many shitty parts of me. So, so many. I mean, I've been helping Rosalind execute a war for months. Fuck." He chuckles a laugh with no humor behind it, looks up to the ceiling. "Fuck. I'm so fucking broken, Musa. And the idea that you felt that. God, I don't know…"

She watches him struggle, feels his inner turmoil. She finds herself wanting to sort out his feelings for him, mend his aches.

"Is that why you keep pulling away? From me, I mean?" She needs to know. She can't be imagining this thing between them, can't be the only one with her heart on the line right now. He moves so that he's looking at her again, but doesn't answer her right away.

"You're good, Musa. You're so fucking good. Nothing about you is bad. You're good, and you're smart, and you're fucking gorgeous." She feels her heart flutter at his words, her hopes taking flight and jumping to the sky. She wants to scream with joy, wants to kiss him. But his words are laced with a treacherous kind of tone, she can feel the desperation in him, and just as quickly as her excitement came, it leaves.

"I can't do this, Musa. I can't do it. Not to you. You deserve better than this." He's pulling away, and her heart is sinking.

"Better than what?" She sits up as he gets out of the bed. He walks to the end of the bed, looks at the door that leads to the hallway. She can feel him pulling away, wanting to leave.

"Better than what, Riven?" She's louder this time, angry that he's pulling away again after all she's told him.

"Me!" The intensity of his voice causes her to jump back. "Ok? Better than me!" His body is shaking, and so is hers. Because honestly, how dare he?

"And who are you to decide what I deserve?"

"Fuck, Musa. We're not doing this. We're not playing at this game." She feels like she's being scolded, as though she's a child he's refusing to answer to. 

"You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Riven. And you sure as hell don't get to decide what I want-"

"And what do you want, Musa?" His words stop her. "What do you want? Because I have been racking my brain for so fucking long trying to figure out what it is you want. And as much as I think I have you figured out, I can't possibly be right."

She runs the question through her mind a couple of times, questioning how to answer him. She's tired of lying. Tired of wanting him when he's scared to want her back, of constantly being on edge around him. So she decides she might as well tell him. "You. I want you."

"No, you don’t." Fuck him.

"Yes, I do!" She's angry now.

"No."

"Yes!"

"Musa, no."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?! Are we really doing this right now? Are we arguing about this like middle schoolers? You asked what I want. And I want you!"

"No, Musa, you don't."

"Why is it so fucking hard for you to accept it?! I want you and that's the end of it." She getting angrier as they keep going, and it furthers her anger that he's so calm about it. 

"You can't want me, Muse. You can't." The despair that she feels from him is intense and it, along with his nickname for her, knocks the breath out of her.

"What do you mean I can't want you?" She's trying to keep her voice down, fully aware of the thin walls and the fact that everyone else is probably asleep by now.

"Just… I'm not good. Not in the way the rest of you are. I'm a walking mess and I can't do anything without fucking it up." His voice is small and Musa can see the broken boy behind the persona he's managed to construct for himself.

"But I do, Riven."

"Why?" A broken question. 

She mulls it over in her head, chuckling. "Because, Riv, you've never been able to walk away from me and I've never been able to let you. We play games, you and I." They do. They ring around the rosies, a pocket full of kisses just waiting to spill out of their carefully constructed gates. "We circle one another, Riv, until we're both dizzy with desire and want and fear and fatigue… but we never break the circle. We never stray off path. You lean forward and I lean in, ready to give you my all, and then you pull back. And then we go back to the circle." It's a long metaphor and honestly she's not exactly sure if she's getting her point across. He watches as she pushes herself to her knees on the bed, shuffling closer to him with every word. 

"The circle is our game, Riven. You run, I chase. I run, you chase." She reaches for his hand. "I've never wanted to lose a game so badly." His eyes are on her as she pulls him back onto the bed. She leans in slowly, making sure that she maintains eye contact with him the whole time. She wants him to know she means it, all of it. She's not going anywhere. Her fingertips trace their way up his stomach, chest, neck, winding into his hair. They're millimeters away, noses pressed against each other, breaths mingling.

"Your move, Riv." And she feels her words break his concentration, just as his hands snap up to her body. It’s a quick movement, but his hands etch a trail of fire on her as the move roughly from her knees to the back of her thighs, up her back, and to the junction of her shoulders. When their lips finally meet, it’s anything but gentle. He bites at her lip, she gasps against him, and he takes the chance to tug on her bottom lip. She can't help the moan that leaves her, thoughts of the others already asleep leaving her mind as he does things with his tongue she didn't know were possible. He moves to her jaw, kissing his way downward as she cranes her neck back so that he has all the space he needs to do whatever he's planning on doing. She doesn't know what he's aiming for, but she knows what she wants him to do. She lets her hands fall to his pants, tugs them down. He moans against her collarbone and she swears she's going insane. She's burning but she's also shivering. She can't breathe and yet she feels like she's breathing for the first time in her life. 

"Shirt," she gasps. And then it's off of her, the one thing that he swore needed to stay on her if they were going to make it through the night. 

They spend the night doing everything they've avoided doing for months. He fills the silence with whispers of how gorgeous she is, and she feels her heart burst at its seams. They don't sleep, and she doesn't want to. This is better than sleep, she's never felt more awake than when he's tracing the lines of her body. 

He's resting on her chest, arms slung over her body as his fingertips play with the ends of her hair, when it hits her.

"I'm going to have to tell the girls that we did fuck it out." And as much as she hates the idea of her roommates being right, she thinks that maybe his laugh makes it all worth it.

[dirty-holy-things]

The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 16 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr.  Catch up on chapters 1-15 on Ao3. 

Notes: 18+, explicit!!!! This chapter is the ‘burn’ of the slow burn we’ve been developing for 15 chapters. We’re finally there, for those of you who have been long-time readers. Please note, I’ve never written this much smut before. It’s A LOT, and I mean a lot of this chapter. M & F, oral receiving and penetration. Unprotected sex for the sake of storytelling, but please wrap it before you tap it IRL. Praise kink, because Din and Reader need validation. Some fun and adventurous positioning and activities. Also, very romantic ending. 

Words: 9.1k update, 75.7k total. 

If you would like to be added to my taglist, please fill out this form!

Having stepped into the dimly-lit club, your eyes took a moment to adjust and take in the scene around you. Low-slung leather chairs and booths were scattered throughout the dark room, their occupants being some of the more fearful individuals in the galaxy. These cruel and cunning men, however, were in varying states of disarray due to the large amounts of alcohol and spice that were brazenly displayed on the tables they were seated at. In addition to the smoke-stained booths, there were several raised platforms that held women who were twisting themselves around metallic poles, their bodies scantily clad as they danced sensually for the crowd of drunken onlookers.

And that was where you would find yourself shortly after being allowed into the club.

They had assumed you were one of the dancers.

A large, burly man grabbed you by the arm and you instinctively threw your elbow back into his gut at the sudden intrusion of your personal space, your arm connecting with a solid expanse of hard muscle. “C’mon, babydoll, don’t be so sensitive,” the man grumbled, hauling you towards the unoccupied pedestal. “Do your fucking job and don’t bitch about it.” He tossed you forward into the velvet-covered platform, and as you caught yourself on your hands, you understood that you had about three seconds to decide what you were going to do next.

Do you confront the man about the mistaken identity, and risk causing a scene? Risk losing the bounty, or possibly getting yourself hurt once they realize you’re not meant to be here?

Or do you get up there and find a way to make this unexpected plot change work for you?

Credit due to @knivesareout​ for the perfect moldboard and for her undying love for me and my fic. 

Also tagging @soyelfuegoquearde​ for beta’ing my project and giving me all of the constructive criticism and positive feedback that has helped me grow as an author. 

And my love @emmikmil​ / @bdavishiddlesbatch​ for her never-ending love and enthusiasm for Din and Reader.

I love you all so very much. 

Chapter 16 - Read More

The things that you had heard in passing about Corellia were too kind in their assessment, and they had been harsh to start. There was a filmy scum that lingered in the air and clung to clothing, surfaces, even to the air in your lungs. The industrial planet was bleak and grim, and you were almost beginning to regret your offer to assist Din with this bounty; would it have really been so bad to hunker down here in the ship, sleep for a while, maybe even pick up a book in town to keep you entertained? However, you also knew that if you had to spend an undetermined amount of time cooped up in the ship, without Din, trying to manage the kid on your own, no view except that of a dirty industrial cityscape, being constantly terrified that Din could get hurt again — you would probably lose your mind. So you decided to step out into the grisly world of Corellia, Din at your side.  

The towers of steel and metal that warped up towards the sky were certainly a departure from the organic beauty of Bardotta that you had grown accustomed to during the last job. You tried to find something appealing in the architecture, your eyes scanning the horizon, and came to the conclusion that there was certainly... dedication and precision in the construction, and that was something that you could appreciate. You needed to find something agreeable within it all. 

The kid was sleeping in his cradle, the wampa having been tucked under his short green arm, left to rest in the ship during the course of what was predicted to be a short job. Din navigated the two of you through the dirty, narrow streets of the city and away from the shipyard. He didn’t seem to notice or mind the filth too much, as he stomped onwards through puddles, mud, trash, splashing it onto his clothing and armor — and being a bit more hygienically minded, you took the extra effort to keep yourself clean as you sidestepped what could reasonably be avoided. It was unnecessary self-preservation as the cleanliness of your boots probably didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things, but it was just in your nature. 

Din was leading you both to a well-concealed speakeasy, known for hosting an intriguing assortment of characters that preferred to avoid the prying eyes of the galaxy, and partake in... questionable activities. Din had made contact with an acquaintance who was able to provide you with instructions for how to enter into the underground club, including the password that was changed frequently specifically to avoid situations like yours. It was mean to be a safe haven for the rich and powerful; there would be drinking, music, smoking, gambling, bloodshed, prostitution, drugs, fighting, and that was on a quiet night. Gods only knew what else the oncoming evening could hold. You weren’t particularly worried, however, knowing that the towering bounty hunter that stalked along in front of you would keep you safe if worst came to worst. And you didn’t have any significant worries about this job, the nature of it being simple and familiar. 

The setup of this job was similar to the one you had helped with back on Canto Bight; you’d flirt with the target, have a drink, bat your eyelashes, and draw him away from the crowd with a thinly veiled proposition. It wasn’t rocket science, luring a man; there were quite a lot of things in life that were harder, like navigating a ship or even firing a blaster. And yet Din seemed incredibly nervous and stressed on your behalf, holding enough worry for the two of you. While you had grown used to periods of silence from him, this one felt different. This one had an undercurrent of tension that rolled off of him in waves, so thick you could almost see it — or maybe that was just Corellia, and you were reading too much into this. 

The sun was beginning to set along the horizon, reflecting beams of orange and crimson and gold throughout the city’s structure; you remembered how Din had shared with you that his favorite color was orange, and you wondered if he was finding some sort of beauty in this moment as well, or if he had even noticed. He hadn’t said anything to you for quite some time now, having navigated you from the outskirts of the city and its shipyard, to the bustling urban center that housed a variety of species and droids that were frankly quite rude. You had been bumped into on more than one occasion without so much as an ‘excuse me.’ You figured you had just grown used to the niceties that were afforded on a planet like Chandrila, and reminded yourself that you had chosen to leave that place in favor of travel — which would include a change in attitudes and social customs. You still made a point to apologize to those you collided with though. 

Having seen the industriousness of the capitol city here on Corellia, you were increasingly intrigued by what this speakeasy experience would be like. Din had informed you that it was a popular spot for those working with Crimson Dawn, the Hutts, the Pyke Syndicate — violent, ruthless individuals. The target for this evening was a Twi’lek who had been working for the Hutts, who had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared with a large shipment of spice; it was suspected that he had run off with it for himself, feeling brave enough to try and hide. It was a stupid choice, even you knew that — while Orron had never tell you much about the spice dealings, you still knew that double crossing the Hutts was borderline suicidal. The sheer confidence and conceit of such a bold move was intriguing, that couldn’t be denied; but hiding from the Hutts was nearly impossible, and his bold stupidity would be catching up with him today. 

You had worked to prepare yourself adequately for the evening, having brought along a pack of supplies that would transform you into an appealing bait prior to your arrival. You had correctly assumed that dressing for a party before trekking through the city would be a poor decision, and you applauded yourself for your foresight, seeing the grim state that your clothing was now in. The sun was descending lower into the skyline and you knew that you were getting close to the destination, based on the projected timeline for the job. 

Picking up the pace so you were now walking in stride with Din, you tilted your head in the direction of a small shop that would likely afford you some space in a fresher to change and finish preparing. He nodded silently in agreement and you disappeared inside, finding a young boy with mousy blonde hair sleeping behind the counter. He was startled awake by your unexpected entrance, and you tossed him some credits to accompany your question about where you would locate a fresher. He pointed to the back of the store wordlessly and you thanked him before disappearing. 

You closed the door behind you and locked it securely, before stripping out of the clothes that had accumulated a fair amount of muck in the past hour’s journey. You wriggled your way into a sparkling silver dress that just barely skimmed your thighs, admiring the shimmer of the sheer fabric as it clung to your body. The dress choice had been intentional, the versatility of it appealing; you knew it would sparkle like diamonds when caught by bright lights, and would set off a soft, illuminating glow in low light. Either way, eyes would be drawn to you. You slid on a pair of white boots that propelled yourself a good four inches higher into the air, and added a few pieces of jewelry to round out the look. You pulled your hair out of the buns you had tied it up in, as it now fell around your shoulders in casual waves, and you put on just enough makeup to highlight your features. Assessing that you looked enticing enough, you slid back into your dark grey coat that would hide your glamorous appearance from the city-dwellers until your arrival at the club. 

As you stepped out of the shop to rejoin your companion, you readied yourself to say goodbye for the evening, trying to shift your perspective to the job at hand rather than the part of you that was incredibly sad to be parted from Din. Even knowing that the separation was only temporary, you would still be eagerly looking forward to being reunited. Staring up into the visor of the helmet, you stepped closer to him and placed your arms on his hips, wanting to pull him in closely but also understanding that it may not be an appropriate choice as you were out in public. He placed a gloved hand on your shoulder and another on the small of your back, the helmet coming to rest against your forehead. 

“Do you have the blaster? And the knife?” He asked, his voice sounding constricted even with the modulator. You were getting better at deciphering that which the modulator tried to hide. 

“I’ve got the knife, but the blaster doesn’t really go with this outfit,” you joked, reassuring him that you were protected. “This’ll be easy, I promise.” You whispered, trying to build up his confidence and sense of security. “Just like last time. We can get the job over with quickly, and then go home.” 

You heard a soft sigh come through the modulator as he nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”

 “I’ll see you soon, Din.” 

***

Getting into the club had been ridiculously easy, especially once the guard at the door saw the way that you were dressed. For being so secretive of a club, you were shocked at the ease with which you were able to sneak in; you assumed that they just didn’t worry too much when a beautiful young woman turned up at their door. Din was going to take more of a… back-door route into the club, dispatching the guard who protected the service entrance, and he would find a discreet place to hide and watch out for you and the target. You had kept the knife, and the comm that was connected to his, and you would alert him when you had lured the Twi’lek away from the party and the crowd. Din would then join the two of you, disarm and cuff the target, and then you would go home to the Razor Crest. It was a simple plan, with a hefty payout for an evening of easy work. 

... Or so you had thought. 

Having stepped into the dimly-lit club, your eyes took a moment to adjust and take in the scene around you. Low-slung leather chairs and booths were scattered throughout the dark room, their occupants being some of the more fearful individuals in the galaxy. These cruel and cunning men, however, were in varying states of disarray due to the large amounts of alcohol and spice that were brazenly displayed on the tables they were seated at. In addition to the smoke-stained booths, there were several raised platforms that held women who were twisting themselves around metallic poles, their bodies scantily clad as they danced sensually for the crowd of drunken onlookers. 

And that was where you would find yourself shortly after being allowed into the club. 

They had assumed you were one of the dancers. 

A large, burly man grabbed you by the arm and you instinctively threw your elbow back into his gut at the sudden intrusion of your personal space, your arm connecting with a solid expanse of hard muscle. “C’mon, babydoll, don’t be so sensitive,” the man grumbled, hauling you towards the unoccupied pedestal. “Do your fucking job and don’t bitch about it.” He tossed you forward into the velvet-covered platform, and as you caught yourself on your hands, you understood that you had about three seconds to decide what you were going to do next. 

Do you confront the man about the mistaken identity, and risk causing a scene? Risk losing the bounty, or possibly getting yourself hurt once they realize you’re not meant to be here? 

Or do you get up there and find a way to make this unexpected plot change work for you? 

You bit the inside of your lip to the point of bleeding as you quickly came to your decision. You brought yourself up onto the well-worn, blood red platform and into the blisteringly hot stage lights that were turned on you and the other dancers; taking a moment to pretend to bask in the cheers and lewd hollers that followed your entrance, you tried to get a feel for the rhythm of the music that you would now have to dance to. 

Fuck, let’s hope they’re high enough to believe this. 

Closing your eyes, you sank into the rhythm and melody of the music that the band was playing, and you began to move your body in time with it, trying to put on a show despite never having danced before a day in your life. This would be an awfully convenient time for some Force abilities to show up. 

You had no such luck, but the drugged and drunk patrons didn’t seem to mind much; you were there for their amusement and pleasure, to fuel their egos and sense of power. You were also just one of several dancers; subtly turning, you observed the others so you could try and copy their fluid and sensual movements, the muscles in your thighs and core being worked in ways that you had not experienced before. You kept an eye out in the room for the target, and eventually you spotted him sitting about three booths away, a group of nasty looking mercenaries at his side. 

Alright, let’s get this over with before my legs give out. 

Batting your painted eyelashes at him, you winked at the Twi’lek and blew him a kiss before turning your focus back to the dance that you were trying to pull off. 

The band changed songs, and the other dancers kept going, adjusting to the new tempo and you assumed that’s what was expected of you as well. You wondered when this would end, when you would have an opportunity to get this night over with — your legs were burning as you stretched, bent, spun, flexed in different and new ways, all while trying to maintain some semblance of decency — you didn’t want anyone but Din to look at you how these men were. 

Keeping your focus on the target, you saw the Twi’lek man gesture to the burly man who had brought you up here; a quiet conversation took place during which he pointed directly at you, and then you witnessed the Twi’lek hand the man a stack of Imperial credits. 

He was buying you. 

It was a departure from the original plan, but then again everything about this night had been. The original plan had been left in the dust, and you just hoped that Din would be able to keep pace with the changes. Following the men’s transaction, you watched as the Twi’lek disappeared through a hallway into a private room, and the large man made his way to the platform you had been brought to. Coming to a halt in front of you, he grunted something entirely unintelligible over the sounds of the music and the crowd, but the meaning was not lost on you. Your services had been bought. 

You climbed down from the platform, the glow of the hot stage light leaving you, and you sighed in relief; the man pointed in the general direction of where the Twi’lek had gone and you wordlessly took your cue to join him. Slinking your way through the tables, you ran your hand along the knife that had been carefully concealed, hidden underneath your dress and pressed against your ribs; you were suddenly very grateful for Din’s insistence that you carry it. You then retrieved the small comm from the bosom of your dress, having cleverly hidden it there; you pressed the button on the side once, twice, three times, alerting him that you were moving and the final phase of the plan was in action. 

You arrived at the end of the hallway to find the door to the private room; it was one of many discreet doors, but this was the only one that was cracked just slightly to indicate to you where to go. Feeling your heart start to race, you hoped that Din would be close behind you, as the thought of being alone with this man for an extended period of time was admittedly quite terrifying; the thought that he had bought your... services, and would be expecting you to engage accordingly, made your skin crawl. The nervousness that you hadn’t felt previously was starting to catch up with you, and you had a bit more understanding of why Din had been as concerned as he was. 

You could feel an acidic, stabbing pain of nervousness in your gut as your feet carried you closer and closer to the dark walnut door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, pushing that nervousness and fear away, you knocked softly on the door to indicate your arrival. You stepped into what was a surprisingly clean and relatively quiet room; it was free from the colorful and flashing lights of the rest of the club, instead being dimly lit with candles that illuminated comfortable-looking furniture, and a table with a bottle of sparkling wine. 

You turned your gaze to the Twi’lek in front of you; he wasn’t unattractive, but the fact that he had the audacity to try and purchase sex from a woman — no, he wasn’t even purchasing sex from a woman, it was from a fucking pimp — was nauseating, and the smugness that rolled off of him threatened to make your nose turn up in disgust. Forcing aside your personal assessments, you smiled at him and took a seat next to him before pouring you each a glass of wine. You knew you needed to focus on playing your role and getting the job over with. 

Taking a sip of the wine you had poured, the carbonation tickled your nose and you giggled instinctively, not accustomed to the sensation. The man took it as an indication of interest, however, and his hand moved to your upper thigh, pushing the hem of your dress to the side. He downed the rest of his drink quickly before turning to place his other hand on your shoulder — and then his body was moving closer and closer towards yours, and your heart pounded, your head screamed at you to get the fuck out of here, where is Din, fuck, should I kill this guy? 

Right at the moment that you had moved to make a grab for your knife, the heavy wooden door you had walked through opened quietly and you breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the beskar that glowed in the lamplight. The Twi’lek kept his hands where they were on your body, but turned from you to speak to the intruder, growling, “Hey buddy, get the fuck outta here, can’t you see we’re busy?”

You winced and concealed a laugh, knowing that while this man may not die tonight, he would not be feeling too great once Din was done with him. The door closed and the three of you were concealed from the party, contained in the privacy of the room together. Before the man had time to touch you any further, Din reached out to grab the Twi’lek and roughly hauled him off of you, only slightly throwing his body into the glass table that shattered on impact. 

You didn’t need to see Din’s face to know that he was absolutely livid. Having been removed from the unwanted grasp of the Twi’lek, knowing that you and Din were both safe, there was a part of you that got a sort of thrill from the protectiveness that Din displayed for you. It was also shockingly and undeniably attractive watching him rough the guy up, and your biological, hormonal  response to the sight caught you a bit off guard.

The Twi’lek was unconscious, but thankfully not dead; after having been thrown through a glass table by your protector, he was... quite easy to disarm and handcuff. After Din had thoroughly secured the situation at hand, he stomped over to you angrily, the force of his steps echoing around you, and you could feel the rage and possessiveness that was positively boiling underneath the armor. “Are you alright?” He asked brusquely, pulling your scantily clad body into his heavily covered one.

“Yes, Din, I’m fine — things didn’t go exactly to plan, but I’m—“ 

He cut you off as he brought his hand down to cover your eyes— surprised, you started to recoil on instinct, until you heard the click of his helmet being removed; and then his lips were on yours, kissing you greedily and intensely in a way that you had never experienced before. Instinctively, your hands reached out to pull him closer into you and you were hit by an absolute tidal wave of need for him. You bit down on his lip, an animalistic drive taking over your body, and he growled underneath you. “Fuck,” he grunted, pulling away from you but keeping his hand securely over your eyes. “Fuck, fuck, not here — get you home —“ 

You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or not, but you whined as your body screamed out for more contact, more attention than what you were receiving. You heard the helmet click back into place and your chest deflated, knowing that you would not be getting what you needed; at least not yet. His hand moved away from your eyes and you saw Din standing in front of you, breathing heavily and roughly. You clearly weren’t alone in your own desires, but Din at least had the foresight to know that this was not the time or place. 

He wordlessly turned to grab the unconscious man and haul him out, being rougher than you had expected as the man’s head knocked into the door frame with a thud. You followed along behind him, trusting him to know what he was doing despite the adrenaline and the hormones that were rushing over you both like Naboo’s waterfalls. He navigated you carefully out of the speakeasy, until the two —no, three— of you were back into the cool, muggy evening air of Corellia. You saw a guard had been dispatched by Din at the back door, and a M-68 Landspeeder that was presumably stolen was waiting for you. Din lifted the unconscious body into the back seat and allowed it to slump over before he was then reaching out to grab you, his hands planted tightly on your waist as he lifted you up, as though your weight was nothing for him, and set you down into the passenger seat of the speeder before climbing in next to you. 

The journey back to the ship was blessedly short compared to the initial journey into the city, thanks to Din’s questionable acquisition of a vehicle, but it was just as silent as the day’s earlier journey had been. You weren’t sure of what was going on in Din’s head, but you knew that you were aching to get back to the security of the ship and to be able to be alone with him. You felt excitement blooming within you as the Razor Crest came into your line of sight, but Din remained maddeningly silent. 

He got the limp body securely sealed into carbonite with impressive speed, before picking your tense and wanting body up and out of the vehicle. Much to your surprise, he didn’t set you down on the ground, but rather carried you up the ramp and into the ship you both knew as home. 

You could feel the adrenaline and desire pumping through your body as you felt Din’s strong arms wrapped around you, carrying you gently but with a force and determination that was a bit nerve-wracking. You were fairly certain that you could hear his heart hammering against the beskar chest plate that you were pressed against, and his gloved hands just barely dug into your skin, making your heart race in anticipation for what was undoubtedly about to come next. 

The lights in the cabin of the ship had already been turned off, and your sense of anticipation heightened with the deprivation. Din takes his helmet off in the dark. He placed you down unexpectedly, your feet fighting to keep you upright, and that coupled with the darkness was momentarily disorienting. He stepped closer into you, his frame eclipsing yours as you were backed into the wall of the cabin and you could feel the steel paneling against the skin that your silver dress had left exposed. The cold steel coupled with the desire that was burning through you, radiating from your core, gave you an intense sensory overload that left your chest rising and falling rapidly as your breaths became more shallow, a soft whine arising from you. 

Your hands reached out, grasping for any bit of Din that they could reach, and you somewhat forcefully dragged him into you, using his body to pin yourself against the wall of the ship. You heard a grunt come through the modulator and the fire inside you crawled up your chest as you told him in no uncertain terms to “Take that off, right fucking now.” 

You heard the helmet drop to the floor not a second later, with no regard for its integrity — but honestly, it was beskar, you’d be more worried about the integrity of the floor than the helmet — and the impulsiveness of the gesture only fueled the scorching fire that was running through your veins, setting every nerve ending alight. Finally having been freed from the restrictiveness of the helmet, Din growled your name under his breath as he leaned in to kiss you, echoing the fierce desperation with which he had kissed you in the speakeasy. His arms wrapped around you in a vice as his hands grabbed your ass, and he licked into your mouth, the heat and the taste of his tongue making you moan underneath him reflexively. You kissed him deeper, needing to be as close to him as possible — the cool beskar pressing into you made him feel even more domineering, powerful, but you resented its presence and the way it barricaded you from Din’s body. 

“Never doing that again — not going on another job with me —“ Din grunted, his words partially lost in the heavy, bruising kisses he was trailing up your neck. “Saw you— saw you dancing, saw that motherfucker pay — should’ve killed him —“ 

God, the possessiveness and the protectiveness was fucking hot. There was something within you that reveled in his intense desire to protect you and keep you to himself. Memories of the fresher came back to you, how he had called you his good girl, and the prospect of hearing those words spoken into your soft skin again made you achingly wet for him. You sighed into him, your body melting underneath his touch as he kissed and harshly bit at the soft skin of your neck, loving the way his teeth felt scraping and sinking into you. It felt as though there was a storming, angry ocean of desire and desperation crashing into you ceaselessly, so overwhelming that you worried you might drown in it before Din would be able to give you what you needed. 

You tangled your hands into the hair that you noticed was growing even longer, the curls feeling so real and so human, despite the forced disconnect of armor and anonymity. “Din,” you sighed, tugging his curling hair gently, trying to pull him out of the smoldering anger he was experiencing, and back into this moment with you. You didn’t want to hear any more about the job, the club, any of it — you wanted to hear Din tell you that you look so pretty taking his cock, you’re his good girl, your pussy feels better than anything in this galaxy. 

“My girl,” he whispered roughly, digging his fingers into your exposed skin, the warm baritone of his unfiltered voice setting off butterflies — and for a moment you wondered if he could actually read your mind.  

You nodded in agreement —you’re his girl, always — whimpering as one of his hands moved from your backside to roughly cup your breast; you felt the aged leather of the glove against your skin and realized he was all too clothed in comparison to your exposed form. Your dress had shifted to bunch around your waist as Din had pressed you into the wall, progressively revealing more and more of you to him. You reached out to grab his gloved hand, bringing it up from your chest and to your flushed face. He paused for a moment, waiting to see what you were doing; and then you brought his hand up to your soft mouth, gently biting down on his thumb and pulling the glove off with your teeth. The taste of gunpowder and leather lingered on your tongue, and there was some small piece of you that got a thrill from it. 

It had been an experimental move, one that you weren’t sure how he would respond to, but the groan that echoed through him shot your adrenaline and confidence sky high, knowing that you made that happen, knowing that you were giving him what he wanted. And although he had you pinned against the wall, you still tried valiantly to remove some of the layers that separated you — you needed to feel his skin against yours, needed to be able to kiss him all over, wanted to taste him, wanted to feel him in new ways. 

He took your cue and backed up slightly, allowing your chest the room to expand with much-needed deep breaths as he rushed to pry the armor and equipment off of himself, each thud and clang of beskar on the floor sending stronger and stronger waves of heat through your body; you wondered if this is what it was like to catch fire under the unforgiving suns of Tattooine. 

You heard something soft and distinctly not-beskar land next to the two of you, and assumed that he was finally beginning to work his way out of his underclothes. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants and yanked him back towards you forcefully, needing to feel the heat of his body pressed against yours. You could feel the defined muscles of his abdomen, the assorted scars that scattered his frame, the broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms; you kissed down his neck and to his chest, biting down harshly and then soothing the area with your tongue, loving the way that he writhed and moaned against you as he held you against himself.  

Your hand moved down from the wide expanse of his shoulders to palm at the rock hard erection that was unfortunately still barricaded by Din’s pants; and as you curled your fingers around his cock, Din growled and gathered the sheer fabric of your dress in his hands, pulling it down rapidly and aggressively, leaving you to try and extricate your arms from the delicate straps before he ripped it entirely off of your body. Eventually shimmying yourself free of the dress that had blessedly remained intact, you felt the pile of tulle and sequins fall to your feet. You kicked the garment away from you, a subtle hint to make Din distinctly aware of how exposed you now were. You pulled at the rough utility fabric that concealed the lower half of his body, that concealed his throbbing erection that you so desperately needed to feel within you — and Din stepped out of the clothing, the two of you breathing heavily at the amount of skin to skin contact you now shared; you wondered if he had ever been this bare, this exposed, with anyone before. 

Although it was dark within the cabin of the ship, you knew each other’s bodies well, having spent several nights sleeping together, and your previous interactions during the shower having brought you closer than ever before. Your breath hitched in your throat as you had a sudden feeling of nervousness; you couldn’t understand why you were suddenly anxious, as this was something you had wanted for so long — but apparently you weren’t the only one with some nerves. Din’s breath shook as he pulled your body into his, whispering your name. “I don’t know that the bunk will be, ah... comfortable, or, you know, enough... space.” 

That was a fair consideration, remembering how close you slept next to him; it wouldn’t offer enough space for anything other than sleeping. 

An idea occurred to you; you leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, before you pulled away from his grasp, the chill of the cabin catching up with you as you crossed to retrieve the well-loved blankets from the bunk as you placed them onto the floor, creating a makeshift bed for the two of you. “Problem solved,” you whispered, grabbing his hand and guiding him onto the softened surface with suddenly confident steps. 

He laughed gently, and you could feel a smile working its way to his face as you kissed him. He swung you up into his arms with ease, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carefully brought both of your exposed and nude bodies down to the floor. You were acutely aware of how his muscles flexed and contracted as he held you closely, his sculpted and scarred body feeling incredible as it laid on the floor next to yours. Now, being able to effectively move and maneuver yourself around him, you were emboldened to try something you had never done before, feeling confident as your adventurous ideas had been well-received so far. 

Your soft and gentle hands pressed Din’s wide shoulders down into the unyielding floor and he complied, willing to let you have the control right now. You positioned yourself over his body so that your head was pointing in the direction of his feet, while you propped yourself up above his impressive, large frame on your palms, the arch of your back offering him a perfect view of how wet you were for him, damn near dripping onto his chest. He groaned explicitly as you bent forward to take his cock into your mouth, and you could feel the tension moving through his body as you took him deeper into your throat, your tongue swirling around him and tasting every exquisite, velvety inch of him. 

You were relieved when Din’s broad and calloused hands came up to rest firmly on your ass, understanding what you were needing from him, and he pulled your aching center down to his stubbled jawline, to allow his tongue to trace gently over your clit, finally offering you the pleasure and stimulation that you had been needing since Din had kissed you feverishly in the club. You felt your eyes roll back with a wash of pleasure and relief as he sucked gently on the bundle of nerves, flicking his tongue across it in rhythmic circles, occasionally allowing his tongue to explore further into your body and enjoy all of the wetness you offered him — and you hummed in satisfaction against his thick cock, as you moved your mouth up and down his length, enjoying the wet sounds sounds it produced as you continually swallowed around him, loving the deep grunts and animalistic groans you received in response. The humming must’ve added some enjoyable stimulation for him, as you tasted his precum on your tongue; and then he slid two fingers into your tight cunt, working to open you up to be able to take the considerable length of his cock. You loved the deliciously wet and sloppy sounds that came from the two of you; your mouth, as you continuously drug your tongue along the underside of the cock that was hitting the back of your throat, and your pussy as Din finger-fucked you on the floor of the ship. 

He added a third finger to your tight entrance and you instinctively cried out at the stretching sensation, your body writhing as his thumb moved to tweak continuously over your clit with varying levels of pressure. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Din sighed with a laugh. “If you think three fingers is a lot, you’re in for a surprise.” His voice sounded like gravel, rough and breathy and cracking beneath you, sending you higher and higher with his cocky assessment. Well, you were never one to shy away from a challenge. 

You could feel the weight of your orgasm building within you, the heady and hot tension that had coiled at your center spreading its way out to your stomach, your thighs, threatening to break at any moment. Your muscles constricting, you chased that peak, that high, and your mouth slid off of Din’s cock as you gasped for air — “Din, fuck, Din, I’m gonna cu—“ 

And then he quickly pulled himself away from you, right as you were right there, and you cried out in exasperation and frustration at having been denied your orgasm; your entire body was screaming with anger and deprivation, and you felt as though you might shatter with all of the tension. 

His body moved away from underneath you as you came to rest against the makeshift bed of blankets, and in the dark, you had absolutely no idea what was going on or why he had done this to you. “Din, what the fuck?” You hissed angrily, your hands reaching out to try and grab him and bring him back to you. But then you suddenly felt two strong, familiar hands grasp your waist from behind, and you were abruptly yanked upwards by your waist and onto your knees, the blankets ruched up underneath you; the disorientation of the darkness was intimidating but also incredibly exciting — although you were still somewhat pissed at Din for his asshole move. 

You were on all fours, desperately waiting for Din to do something, anything. 

“Look at my pretty girl, waiting so nicely for me.” 

You felt Din’s muscled thighs and his thick cock press up against your exposed backside; you were able to determine that he was on his knees behind you. You whined in anticipation, not minding the hint of desperation that crept in with it. 

“Gods, look at you. Fucking dripping wet, making a mess for me. Is that all for me, sweet girl?” He hmmed confidently, dipping his finger inside of you and bringing your wetness up to his mouth for a taste. “Bet you’re just dying to take this cock, to cum on it for me, aren’t you?”

You whined once more, a small, needy sound that would’ve been embarrassing had you not been so desperately wanting to cum after your earlier denial; your muscles still quaked and tensed as you hovered right on that edge. You pressed your ass further back into him, trying to get some sort of stimulation against your aching cunt, but Din just cupped your ass and pressed your shoulders down into the floor; you felt the wool blanket against your cheek as you writhed against him in frustration. 

“Please,” you whispered. 

“Please... what?” There was a somewhat maniacal edge to his voice and you felt a thrill of anticipation shudder through you. 

“Din, please!”

“Please what?” His voice cut through you like steel. 

You could feel the blunt and swollen head of his cock pressed against your throbbing entrance, and fuck, while you didn’t want to beg you couldn’t help it any longer, the unyielding desperation coursing hotly through you as you just gave in to what Din wanted. “Fuck, Din — please, please fuck me, please let me cum for you —“ 

A satisfied chuckle coming from deep within his chest, Din finally pressed forward into you with a ragged, shaking moan — and the resulting moan that came from your body echoed his own, as he buried himself impossibly deep into your tight and soaking cunt, while effectively pinning your shoulders to the floor and rendering you immobile. You had thought you would be prepared for the sheer size of him, the girth, the length that you had taken in your mouth and throat, but it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before — he really had been right in saying that three fingers wouldn’t compare. 

For a brief moment you wondered if you would even be able to take all of him inside you — and your question was quickly answered as he pulled back from you, dragging his cock along your inner walls, before his hips snapped forward to slam into you with a shocking and devastatingly incredible force. Feeling his cock sink deeper and deeper into you, your body offered little resistance to this pleasure as you cried out at the stretching and filling sensation, hurting but in a good way that just made you crave him even more. 

Din’s hands found their place along the bend of your hips as he pushed and pulled your willing body into his; and with each thrust forward penetrating you even deeper, you felt the edges of your mind starting to go white-hot with pleasure once more. You reveled in the sounds he made, needy and wanting, loving that he wasn’t one to shy away from letting you know just how fucking incredible this felt for him, too. 

This was unlike anything you had ever experienced with a man before, Din was unlike anything else in this galaxy, and you knew that even if you spent a hundred years with him you would never get enough of this feeling — the feeling of his throbbing, veined cock dragging against your sensitive walls, hitting spots inside of you that you never even knew existed. You could feel the ever-increasing slickness of your cunt that allowed for him to slide in and out of you repeatedly, while the lower half of your body started to constrict with that same heat of pleasure that he had ripped away from you just moments ago — but that didn’t matter anymore, you had no room for grudges as he completely filled both your body and mind. 

He said your name over and over, the sound spilling from his lips like a prayer, like a curse, like a promise — and you reveled in the sheer adoration of each utterance that tumbled from him. You wished that you could give him the same verbal adoration and praise that he offered you, but you were completely incapable of doing anything except making lewd, high-pitched, unintelligible sounds that echoed and radiated through the walls of the ship, becoming more desperate with each powerful thrust into your clenching and tight cunt. 

“Gods, I knew you’d take my cock so f-fucking good, look at that — such a pretty girl, such a g-good girl — fucking knew you’d feel incredible from the m-moment I saw you, wanted to fucking split you in half on my cock —“ 

The praise and dirty words Din offered you tickled a previously-repressed, unexplored part of yourself and after this awakening you wanted more of it. Seeking out that praise and reinforcement, you decided to take back some control in this situation and initiate something more — Din had you fairly well pinned against the floor, his hips ramming his cock into you relentlessly, but you were able to shift your arms in a way that allowed for you to reach around the back of your thighs and spread yourself open even further for him. Your movement caught him off guard as his hips snapped into yours forcefully, his cock penetrating so far into you that you thought you may never recover from it — and the force of his thrust collapsed both of your bodies into the floor as a guttural fuck escaped from him. 

You felt his broad chest and the heaviness of his frame crushing you into the floor, but you didn’t mind, loving the pressure of his full body weight against you while his cock was buried inside you so deeply that you could feel him twitching inside of you, could feel each beat of his heart pulsating through his body. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he gasped, pushing himself up off of your body and off of the floor. “I don’t know what the fuck you just did, but I’m going to need you to do that again for me.” 

You grinned, somewhat delirious from all of the stimulation and physical sensations you had experienced here on this makeshift bed. And yet for all of the wonderful, amazing, beautiful things you had felt — you still hadn’t cum, and your very skin felt as though it was crawling with a fire that left you aching with every second that passed by. You wanted to cum, wanted Din to make you cum; and you wanted to make him cum in return, giving each other the release and bliss you had been wanting since your first meeting on Chandrila. If you were to tell the truth, you’d tell Din that you had wanted him from the very first day, even though you had fought so hard to quell those feelings. 

You couldn’t see well in the darkness that shrouded the cabin — couldn’t see anything, to be honest — but you could feel your hands connect with Din’s shoulders and you shoved him back down onto the floor, appreciating his willingness to follow your lead. Your hands traced gently down his body, feeling every hard line and ridge of him, feeling every scar, and loving every inch of him that he had allowed you to see, at least in this way. You swung your legs over his waist and positioned yourself above him, guiding his thick and still-wet cock back inside of your tight and enveloping cunt; the two of you gasped at the sudden, clenching contact and rush of adrenaline, and you began to ride him in earnest, loving the sound of your skin slapping against his as you crashed into him over and over and over again. 

“Gods, you just love it when I ride your thick cock like this, don’t you, Din?” You said with a malicious grin, hoping to draw out the same kind of dirty words he had given you earlier. “Just falling apart for me so easy—“

“Fuck, yes, I do love it my sweet —“ He choked out, his hands finding their way up your body and coming to rest at your breasts, tweaking your hardened nipples with his rough touch. “Love watching that tight pussy take my cock, love how you feel on me, love how you taste — you’re just so fucking incredible—”

“Show me how much you love it,” you challenged, an edge creeping into your voice. “Cum for me.” 

His groans turned into irregular grunts of pleasure as he moved to hold your body in place, restricting your movements as he fucked up into you, sounds spilling forth from him. “Believe me, I will cum for you — I’ll cum inside that sweet, perfect pussy. But you’re gonna cum for me first, sweet girl.” 

Din’s threat— or promise, depending on your perspective — echoed through you and a crashing tidal wave of need threatened to collapse your chest and inhibit your very breathing. Your body was positively aching with tension and strain now, your muscles screaming out in exhaustion — you needed to cum, you needed the release, you needed to fall over that peak and then rest next to Din. “Yes, please, please, please,” you cried, each word becoming more and more deranged and desperate than the last. 

“Tell me what you need, sweet girl,” Din panted roughly, continuing to hold your shaking body in place as he fucked into you relentlessly. 

You weren’t sure what you needed except more of Din, and you didn’t even know how to ask for that as he was clearly giving you everything he had, thrusting up into you and offering up each and every groan of pleasure that your pussy wrung from him. More. You just needed more. 

“Kiss me, Din Djarin.” 

He laughed softly and you could hear the smile in it; for all of the dirty words and debased, debauched actions, this sweetness was what you wanted and what you needed. He pulled your body in close to his, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before rolling the two of you over so you were now laying against the blankets. His cock never left your center, even in the transition; and then his hands brought your legs up to rest on his shoulders and he began drilling into you with an unholy force, crumpling your body in half with each thrust as he bent downwards to kiss you. He was panting and you could feel a bead of sweat drip from his forehead as he worked to get you there, fighting off his own orgasm, needing to get you there first. 

As his lips pressed repeatedly into your soft and hot flesh, you could feel it coming on; that tense and aching heat coiled within you, your back arched up from the floor, and your hands rose up to pull Din in closer to you, gripping his hair forcefully. You couldn’t see anything in the blackness of the ship but your vision was changing regardless, as your body readied itself to jump from that cliff, giving you the release you needed. “Din—“ you gasped out, your muscles constricting. 

“Yes, yes, cum for me sweet girl — wanna feel you cum on my cock,” Din grunted, thrusting into you with each word. He leaned in to kiss you once more and it was everything you needed. 

It felt as though a seismic charge went off inside the small ship, your muscles contracting and quaking as your body was taken over by wave after wave of undulating pleasure. Your skin felt like it was vibrating at a new frequency, each nerve ending heightened and feeling overstimulated as you cried out in unintelligible but unmistakeable pleasure. Your cunt clenched around Din’s cock, spasming with each new wave of pleasure that overtook your body. 

Din snarled at the feeling of you clenching and coming undone around him and you knew that he was close; you drug your nails against his scalp, his hair tangling between your fingers, and you leaned up to gently capture his earlobe between your teeth, tugging slightly. “Want you to cum for me, Din. Want you to cum inside me.” 

The rapid movements of his hips became increasingly irregular until you felt the heat of his release within you, his body collapsing on top of yours as he inhaled deep and ragged breaths, you could feel him shaking on top of you, could feel his muscles and his cock twitching as he was lost to the overwhelming pleasure of his orgasm. Hot ropes of Din’s cum coursed through your pulsing and throbbing cunt, coating you and filling you in a way that made you writhe in pleasure and self-satisfaction; you couldn’t help but think of the way you’d be left dripping from him, a mix of both of your orgasms coating you in a messy, magnificent bliss. When he finally pulled away from your feverish and trembling body, you felt the mix of fluids cascading down your thighs in a way that almost made you want to climb on top of him again. 

You were both left entirely breathless, every ounce of energy spent in giving the other what they needed and had been denied for so long. Din’s body rolled off of yours, allowing you to breathe deeply and you inhaled lungfuls of cool air, quieting the fire that coursed through your body. His chest taking deep and ragged breaths, he pulled you in close to his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as he sighed and kissed every inch of exposed skin that he could reach. You were utterly wrecked, entirely devastated, and more blissfully happy than you ever could have imagined you could be. 

This life was turning into everything that you had ever wanted, and feared you would never get. You felt tears of happiness pricking at the corner of your eyes, and you smiled into Din’s chest, never wanting to leave this moment. 

He must’ve felt the tears that had slipped out and onto him; bringing your face up to his, his hand cradling your cheek gently, he kissed your forehead. “Sweet girl, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you whispered, a brilliant grin spreading across your face. “Everything is perfect. You’re perfect. This life here, with you, is perfect.” 

You would later blame it on the rush of dopamine and oxytocin, but truth be told, you could no longer deny the truth to either yourself or to Din. Feeling emboldened and safe in this space with him, the truth tumbled forward from your lips, unable to be concealed any longer. 

“I love you, Din Djarin.” 

It felt beautiful and exhilarating to speak it out loud, to acknowledge the truth of your feelings. You didn’t even necessarily need for Din to say it back; that’s how secure you felt in this moment, in this feeling of love. You would love him endlessly, would love him through hell or high waters, would love him whether you were right next to him or lightyears away. You couldn’t hold back the truth, and nor did you want to. You loved Din Djarin, more than you had ever loved anything in existence, and while it was exhilaratingly terrifying, it also felt like the safest, most comforting thing in this galaxy. 

And  it was a whole new kind of bliss that was revealed to you when he spoke to you in response.

“And I love you.” 

[lisaleigh713]

AJ and the Weekend

My Aunt Jean just left to go back home and I wanted to set down what my weekend was like.  I am still quivering and having micro orgasms so pardon any misspelled words.  

Aunt Jean called a few days ago and asked if she could come spend the weekend with me alone.  “Of course you may.  I would love to see you again.”  AJ arrived on Frida afternoon in between all the rain we had.  Of course I greeted her with a nice hug and wonderful kiss.  All I had on was a pair of 6 inch stilettos and  a sheer black robe.  She in turn wanted to change into something a bit more comfortable, so I led her to the bedroom so she could change.

While AJ changed clothes, I made us both a drink.  After making us each 2 fingers of whiskey AJ emerged from the bedroom.  AJ had on a pair of 5 inch black stilettos and a red sheer robe.  We slammed our drinks and she asked for another and a little something else to send us over the edge.  “I have just the thing” I responded.

I grabbed a couple of MDMA’s and some grade a coke.  I requested AJ to bend over the the counter where the coke had been sliced into lines.  While she did a line, I licked her ass and slipped the X into her ass.  AJ, turned around and said, “my turn to do yours.”  I didn’t hesitate at all.  I bent over a bit to snort a line while AJ was licking my ass.  She slipped that X right into my ass with no effort.

We moved to the couch to talk and of course finish our drinks.  We sipped on our whiskey and spoke about my Uncle.  He wanted to come but AJ wanted this to be a girls only weekend.  I was just fine with that decision.  I asked about our cousins and she replied they were good but anxious to get back to Houston to see me again.  We talked for about an hour and we could both tell the X and whiskey plus the coke had us both in a very amorous mood.

We began kissing and fondling one another on the couch but decided to move to the bedroom where we had more room.  Once there the robes came off but the shoes stayed on.  We go into bed with one another and began deep kissing and playing with each others pussy and clit.  While doing so, I liked and nibbled AJ’s nipples like they were candy.  We moved into the 69 and I just couldn’t resist her ass.  With AJ on top of me, I licked from asshole to clit and back again.  Each time I hit her asshole, she would suck my clit harder.  

It was not long before the both of us was cumming.  She started squirting right into my mouth and on my face.  I did everything I could to capture / drink it all but it was so much I just couldn’t.  I began squirting shortly after AJ did and she did her best to drink it up while sucking on my clit.  We lay there, in the bed, together for a bit.  We were both still shaking and having micro orgasms.

After a bit of time it was time to get up and clean up.  We both rose and then AJ’s phone began to ring, it was my Uncle.  AJ had forgotten to call when she arrived and he had given her time due to the bad weather.  Whilst she spoke with him, I crawled between her legs and again began licking her pussy and asshole.  She put him on speaker phone so he could hear her cumming.  He was super excited and asked AJ what I was doing, so she gave him a play by play of what I was doing.  As our bodies were still very sensitive it didn’t take long for AJ to start cumming and squirting again all over my face and tits.  I stood and we kissed long and hard whilst rubbing our tits against one another.  AJ actually had moved her phone to facetime so my Uncle could see what was going on.

I excused myself to grab a shower.  I grabbed my drink and proceeded to the shower.  I kicked off my shoes and slipped into a nice hot shower.  Moments later AJ decided to join me.  We soaped each other up and washed each others hair.  Yes, we played with each a bit more til both of us came again.  We got out of the shower and dried our hair and re-applied our makeup.  We were going to go out to dinner.  We dressed as if we were sisters.  Our eyes were smoky grey and our lips a deep wet red color.  Our mani / pedi’s stayed the same and deep red color.  

Now to dress.  We both slipped into some black seamed stocking, a half cup bra, garter belts and a LBD with 5 inch black sling back stilettos.  Because of the rain, we jumped into my Range Rover and went to a very nice restaurant.  We walked in and all eyes moved to both of us.  AJ looked young and could easily pass for an older sister.  We ate but because this was a girls only weekend, we repelled all propositions.  I do have some of the numbers though.

We went to a nice lesbian bar I know of and danced til the wee hours of the morning.  Of course numerous women approached us both to which I have those numbers.  Never know when I might need some female company.  We left and went home where we had another session of love making.  

We got us Saturday morning and fixed breakfast.  We mainly had some coffee and fruit.  I asked, “AJ, did you bring your swimsuit?”  To which she replied “of course I did, I bought one just for this weekend.”  We decided to go to the lake and take the boat out so it was time to dress.  I had this black micro bikini I purchased a couple of weeks ago but had yet to wear it and AJ had the same but in white.  

My pussy was dripping wet just seeing her dressed in that white micro but we really needed to get to the dock.  Beside we would have time to fuck on my boat once out on the water.  My boat was waiting for us when we arrived.  The dock crew was used to seeing me in almost nothing but AJ was a new comer.  We both had a corresponding color wrap on which covered our bottom but was sheer so didn’t really cover much.  We wore our heels to the boat as the dock crew grabbed our cooler and bags.

The crew untied and off we went.  We were not in any hurry so we tootled around the lake until we were both getting a bit hungry and horny.  I know of a little cove where no one ever goes so I pointed the bow in the direction of and moved the throttle forward.  AJ wanted to drive a bit so we switched places.  As she drove I move in between her legs and moved the small fabric guarding her luscious pussy.  I licked her pussy and sucked on her clit while playing with her nipples.  Just before we arrived she had a nice orgasm.

We pulled into the cove and dropped anchor.  We went below to grab a bite to eat and of course a drink.  We came back up topside to eat and drink.  We talked again about Friday night and family.  I told AJ to bend over and I again slipped an X into her bum then turned around and she did mine.  We drank and did a bit of coke.  Then I had almost forgot someone had told me about poppers and I had bought a vial which I had left on the boat.  So I asked if she would like to try it and of course AJ said “hell yes.”

We both did a couple hits of poppers, so along with the X, coke and whiskey we were feeling very amorous.  We moved back down to the cabin and fucked each other for a couple of hours.  Neither one of us could move after.  We just laid there in the cabin, hearts pounding and heads swimming;  pussies were throbbing and our nipples jutting out from our chests.  It took about an hour to come back to earth and the sun was beginning to set, so we laid out on the bow to watch a beautiful sunset together.

“I almost forgot something, I will be right back,” I said to AJ.  I went below, removed my bikini and grabbed a double headed cock.  I brought it back topside and told AJ to close her eyes.  I moved her bikini to the side and slipped this fake cock into her ass and then slipped the other end into my ass.  I grabbed the poppers and we both did a couple of hits and then fucked each others ass and played with our pussies and clit until we came again.  We lay there, on the bow of my boat with a dildo sticking in each of our asses.  Stuck together as it were, in the dark, with only ambient light shining against our bodies.  

Now good and dark we motored back to the dock where the boys could see how fucked up we both were and could only smile.  We stumbled back to my car while the boys loaded it up.  I drove us home and we went inside and grabbed a shower together.  We played a bit more and went to bed.  

We fucked each other all Sunday morning up until the time AJ left a couple of hours ago.  I definitely can not wait until she returns again, hopefully next time with my Uncle and/or cousins.  

My pussy is dripping replaying this weekend in my mind so I think I will go grab an extra large dildo and fuck myself until I can’t see straight.  Hope everyone had a great weekend.

Love and Kisses,

Lisa

[isitgintimeyet]

Just A Friend

Previous

AO3

Another Sunday, another chapter. Hope it’s a good weekend for you all, despite these uncertain times. I always intended this story to be a bit of fluffy light relief from the real world. Thanks for all the support for it.

There will probably be another 3 chapters after this, depending on how the characters behave. I cant seem to make them do what I want sometimes!

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

Chapter 11: From Marriage to Mackenzie

It’s 1pm and I’m in a hotel room, still in a bathrobe, sipping Buck’s Fizz whilst a hairdresser wrestles with my wayward curls, finally managing to corral them into some sort of recognisable hair style.

Geillis is sitting on the edge of the bed incongruously dressed in tiara and bathrobe, her hair arranged in an elaborate updo. I catch her eye through the dressing table mirror and smile before my vision is obscured by a miasma of hairspray.

A few final tweaks of my curls and it’s done. I am just amazed that my hair can be cajoled into such glossy, bouncy curls, held behind one ear by an ornately decorated comb. With suitable compliments and thanks, Geillis and I bid goodbye to the hairdresser.

The bride stands up and adjusts the belt of her robe. She seems the epitome of calm.

“Are you not nervous, Geillis? You’ll be walking down the aisle in about an hour’s time.”

“Weel, I am a wee bit worried about a couple of things,” she admits. “I dinna ken how ma cousin Janie will behave. She may try tae proposition every man under the age of seventy five. And as fer Dougal’s Uncle Eric—he has been known tae get steamin’ drunk and puke in the rose beds. But about the marrying? Nah, I dinna have any nerves about that. I want tae spend ma life wi’ Dougal and that’s what today is all about. I have nae worries about making that commitment. He’s the one fer me. When ye ken, ye ken. Trust me, Claire.”

The pocket of her bathrobe begins to buzz. She quickly pulls out her phone and reads the message.

“I’d best go. That was Mam, fretting about something or other. Are ye ok getting dressed on yer own?”

“I’ve managed for the past twenty nine years or so. I dare say I can manage another day.” I sigh theatrically.

“I ken. Ye can manage on yer own. Ye always do. But thanks fer being here with me today. It means a lot tae have the people who mean the most tae me around,” she leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “But remember what I said, Claire, when ye ken, ye ken. Dinna ignore it.”

Pausing at the interconnecting doorway, she does a quick body shimmy and grins. “Woo hoo! I’m getting married. Canna believe it’s here now,”

From the adjoining room, I can hear a shouted response. “Geillis Duncan, ye get here now. Yer mam reckons that makeup lassie has done her eyeliner wonky. It looks fine tae me. Can ye come and talk some sense in tae the daft cow?”

“Alright, Da, I’m coming.” Geillis yells back before leaving to deal with her parents.

I sit down and study my bridesmaid’s dress, now hanging on the wardrobe door. I’m getting excited about the day ahead. Probably not as much as Geillis, obviously, but a host of butterflies appears to have taken residence in the pit of my stomach.

I’m truly thrilled for Geillis to be marrying Dougal—they love each other so much. But, also, it’s scary to me. She is willing, eager even, to commit to one person, to base her future life, her future happiness on one man. If they should ever leave…well, I’m not sure I’d be able to cope with that. If you love too hard, you can hurt too much. Trust me on that, I know. People leave you. Don’t give your heart to anyone, keep it hidden away, protected…intact.

The ping from my phone diverts me from this somber train of thought.

I’m downstairs at the hotel. Can you come and say hello?

I quickly type:

Come up to the 2nd floor. I’ll meet you by the lift.

Making sure the keycard is in my pocket, I slip my feet into the hotel’s complimentary slippers and shuffle out to meet Jamie.

I’m already waiting as the lift door opens and he emerges. My first thought is oh wow, as is my second...and third. He has made an effort for this wedding, and it’s certainly paid off. Eschewing the more formal Prince Charlie style, he’s wearing a charcoal grey jacket and waistcoat, perfectly matching the grey in his kilt. A crisp white shirt and burgundy tie complement the secondary colours in the tartan. His sporran is black leather, heavily etched or embossed. I can’t quite make out the detail. Then I feel myself blush as I realise I have been clearly staring at his...er, lower body. I look up quickly.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to have noticed. He looks me up and down and smiles. “Nice outfit,” he comments drily. “Is the bride wearing white towelling too? What’s the theme? Salon chic?”And is that part of the design?” He points to an orange stain on the front of my robe. I pull a face and tie the belt tighter, trying to tuck the offending piece of material out of sight.

“Must have spilled a drop of my Buck’s Fizz.”

“Drinking already? Dinna be staggering down the aisle.”

He reaches out towards my hair and pauses for a second before making a random circular motion with his hand. “And this…I like yer hair. It’s verra…verra…” he searches for the word. “... asymmetric.”

“Thank you,” I hold the ‘skirt’ of my robe and bob a little curtsy. “That’s totally what we were going for—asymmetric.”

He laughs. “Nah, seriously. Yer hair and yer makeup look grand. I’m sure ye’ll look lovely in yer dress.”

I gesture to my room. “I’d best finish getting ready.”

“Aye, I’ll see ye downstairs.” He presses the button for the lift.

“By the way, you look grand too.” I try to say it in an understated way. It’s true, but I don’t want him to read anything into the statement.

The lift arrives and he steps inside. As the doors close, he fires a parting shot. “Especially the sporran, eh?”

*********

Now in my bridesmaid’s dress, I practice a couple of pirouettes in front of the mirror before hearing a quick knock on the door to the adjoining room.

“Ye ready, Claire? Mam’s jes’ gone down. Only us three left.”

I walk through to the other room to be met by a riot of open suitcases, bags and boxes. A variety of towels, dressing gowns and footwear seem to be carpeting the floor.

“‘S ok,” Geillis’ voice comes from behind me. “It’s no’ ma problem. I’m no’ sleeping here tonight. I’ll be in the bridal suite. This’ll be Mam and Dad’s room.”

I turn to see my best friend now fully dressed and ready. Her father is hovering next to her, clad in kilt and full formal regalia. I always knew she would win that battle.

As beautiful as she looks, the thing that really strikes me is the way her father is watching her, with such love and pride. She returns his gaze and brings her forehead to rest against his cheek.

I swallow hard, fighting the desire to shed a tear. It’s such a precious image, so intimate, but also, I realise that, since Lamb died, I have nobody, no father figure, to share something like this. I feel a momentary pang of, not jealousy, but a feeling of regret over an emotion that I will never get to experience.

And then, just like that, the moment passes.

It always does.

Geillis passes me a creamy white posy tied with a simple ribbon and gathers up her bouquet of peonies, roses and fragrant eucalyptus.

“OK,” she takes a deep breath and breaks into a huge grin. “I think I’m late enough tae get Dougal jes’ a wee bit nervous. Time tae roll.”

*******

The hotel’s orangery provides a perfect setting for the wedding ceremony. Softly diffused sunlight filters through the white muslin drapes at the large windows. A slight breeze wafts the fabric gently, giving tantalising glimpses of the formal gardens outside.

At the end of the room, Dougal and Angus stand beside a large arch of succulent green foliage, staring straight ahead as Geillis and her father begin the procession down the aisle with me following.

Even before he turns to look, I can spot Jamie — his auburn curls are head and shoulders above those around him. He stays still at first, but as we draw near he turns around and grins before doing his funny blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes, which I have learnt, is Jamie’s attempt at a wink. I return his smile before focussing on the arch getting ever closer.

Dougal appears rooted to the spot, but Angus turns around and watches for a moment before giving me a perfectly executed wink. I smile politely even as I shudder inwardly. The sheer self confidence of that man is beyond belief. Then he disappears from my thoughts as Geillis reaches the arch and passes me her bouquet to hold. The joy on her and Dougal’s faces as they prepare to make their vows is wonderful and I’m so happy to be a part of it all.

***************

They say the sun shines on the righteous. Well, Geillis and Dougal must be exceptionally good, as it’s a perfect summer afternoon. It’s beautifully warm, but not too hot, as all the guests mingle in the gardens, admiring the beautiful surroundings whilst drinking chilled champagne.

The photographer has finished with the formal photographs, so I’m allowed to relax and enjoy a glass or two. I can still spot him wandering around, ready to take more natural, candid shots of the proceedings but nobody seems to mind.

I was initially worried about inviting Jamie to the wedding for a couple of reasons. The first was my friends. Of course, my friends are great, but Anna and Mary can sometimes have an issue with boundaries and I had visions of the ‘conversations’ they might try to have with Jamie — ‘nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition’ unless Anna and Mary are around.

The second reason was that Jamie would literally know only one person at this wedding —me. And that, when I was off doing official ‘wedding stuff’, he would be on his own, billy-no-mates. But, as I look around, I realise I had absolutely nothing to worry about on that score. He has the knack, it seems, to get on with everyone.

At the moment he’s talking to Geillis’s father, laughing and joking like they’re old friends. He notices me looking at him, lifts his empty glass up and points to me. I hold my glass up and nod. He excuses himself and strolls towards the bar.

There’s a slight touch on my elbow. “Hello, dear.”

I draw my attention to the old lady standing next to me—Geillis’ great aunt Frances. I’ve met her on a couple of occasions before and have always enjoyed her company. She’s a straight talker and makes no bones about it. “When ye get tae my age,” I remember her commenting to me “ye dinna have time tae beat about the bush, ye need tae say what ye think.” I like that in a person.

“Hello, how nice to see you.”

“Ye too,dear. I must say ye’re looking awfa bonnie in that dress. It’s a fine colour on ye.”

“Thank you. And you’re looking lovely yourself.”

Frances makes a self deprecating ‘hmph’ sound, dismissing my compliment with a wave of her hand. “Away wi’ ye. Ye do yer best wi’ what ye’ve still got. Which isna much in ma case.”

I shake my head. “Not at—“

But she decides to change the subject and moves on with her next question. “Is that yer young man over there?” She points at Jamie, heading towards us with two glasses of champagne. “He’s a handsome chap, is he no’? Mind ye, that’s no more than ye deserve. Sae, mebbe ye’ll be next?”

“No, we—“

I have no chance to say anything more, before Jamie is by my side and handing me one of the glasses. I take a sip as he notices that Frances has no drink and, without hesitation, he passes the second glass to her.

“Aren’t ye kind… er?” She accepts gratefully.

“Jamie.”

“Weel, Jamie, let me tell ye. It’s been a long while since a good looking young man has brought me a drink. I should make the most of it. Anyway, I was jes’ saying tae our Claire here, how bonnie she looks today. Does she no’?”

She fixes her gaze on Jamie, demanding an answer.

“Aye, she looks lovely.” His eyes meet mine for a second, before I look away and try to change the subject.

“Don’t you think Geillis looks beautiful, Frances?”

But, it seems that Frances has one line of conversation that she is keen to pursue. “Oh aye, she does. But, Jamie, I was jes’ saying tae Claire that mebbe she’ll be next. What d’ye think?”

Fortunately, I’m spared any response as a gong sounds and the maître d’ announces that dinner is served and that everyone should make their way inside to the dining room.

****************

Having narrowly avoided any embarrassment, I am somewhat apprehensive to see Frances at our table. Fortunately, Geillis’ cousin and baby are enough to divert her attention away from any matrimonial prospects that may or may not be on my horizon.

With Jamie sitting by my side, I catch him up on all the behind the scenes activity of my day and we fall into our pattern of easy conversation and gentle banter. From time to time, I can see Frances, opposite, watching us with a look of approval on her face, but she says nothing.

Once the speeches and toasts are over, there’s a palpable change in the guests. Jackets are draped over chair backs, sleeves rolled up and waistcoat buttons undone. I can spot more than one woman moving awkwardly in her chair, struggling to locate the shoes that were eased off out of sight under the table. Cheeks become flushed with an abundance of rich food and tongues become looser with a surfeit of fine wine.

I sip my whisky, savouring its peaty smokiness. Jamie is in a serious rugby related conversation with his neighbour. A rustle of fabric behind me announces the arrival of the bride, a look of frustration on her face.

She greets the table politely before whispering “Can I borrow ye, Claire?”

I make my excuses and follow her into a quieter room.

“What’s up, Geillis? Is everything alright?” I’m concerned that there’s something genuinely wrong.

“It’s his bloody family,” she hisses. “The Mackenzies, if ye give them an inch, they’ll take a fuckin’ mile.”

She takes a deep breath and continues. “Dougal invited his second cousin Gary and his wife tae our evening do. Jes’ the two of them mind. Sae they turn up an hour and a half early and try tae cadge dessert and brandies from the waiters.”

“Where are they now?”

“Och, they’re sitting outside wi’ a couple of spare bottles of wine.” She gestures angrily to the gardens visible through the window. “And they’ll be first in the queue fer the buffet this evening, nae doubt. And what's more, they took it upon themselves tae bring their three bairns too. Weel, I say bairns, but they’re all in their twenties so it’s no’ as if they dinna have a babysitter.”

She finally sits down and lets her shoulders relax.

I take her hand and try to look serious. If this is the worst thing that happens today, that’s not so bad. Although clearly, in Geillis’ eyes, this is a catastrophe. “It’s not going to spoil anything really is it? They didn’t gatecrash the meal or the speeches,” I speak in a soothing tone. “Are you ok now?”

She nods. “Happen ye’re right. I jes’ wanted tae get it off ma chest. And I kent what I was getting in tae wi’ his family. But tae drag Gregory, Alicia and Laoghaire uninvited wi’ them jes’ pisses me off.”

I stare at her. “Laoghaire? Laoghaire Mackenzie?”

“Aye, that’s right. Unusual name, is it no’? Ye dinna find many of them around—thank god.”