#the duality of those two languages and what they stand for and how he brings them together

[amyriadfthings]

I love the two scenes and transition in ep 3 before the party where Mary Jayne and Thomas look like they´re about to dance with each other in the dining room as Varian leaves (bestie behavior! they are so cute, i love their fast friendship so much💗 ) and then it cuts to Paul and Petit arriving for the party and Petit actually does start to dance and also sings in Fon and French and it´s so lovely and happy-making and joyful but also poignant and hits you in the feels

[cybsoo2]

heated red

╰┈➤ synopsis — Min Yoongi is a man of duality. Familiar with the sugary sweet side, you can’t help but be shocked at what hides behind closed doors.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!suga x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 3.5k

╰┈➤ content warning — murder, … DETAILED murder, gore, violence, strong language, yandere behavior, angst

Everything about Yoongi is sugary sweet. From head to toe, Min Yoongi is the sun of your universe. Every action and every gesture proves that he’s the world’s best boyfriend. 

You two have been dating for just over 2 years now, and it’s nothing short of perfection. At the beginning of your relationship, Yoongi could be mistaken as cold and uncaring; but his shy and thoughtful feelings are what brought you two together. It took some time for you both to become familiar with each other. Yet, Yoongi was determined in his attempts to get to know you. A rough relationship, still fresh and sensitive, bloomed into one of trust and time. Each touch that whispers against your skin says, “I know you, I understand you, I love you.” What Yoongi can't convey with the words that tongue-tie him, he settles to portray in his body language. 

His hands always feel so solid from the way they sink into your skin, assuring you of his presence and affection for you. Candy-coated words slide down your throat while he kisses you, mumbling confessions between breaths; “God, I’m so in love with you,” a breathless kiss in between, “I’d do anything for you.” No word he speaks is dishonest and each letter weighs with the seriousness of his admission. His eyes blind you in a heated red with how much fire burns beneath them. Burnt brown eyes, almost burdensome, frequently border on urgent. As if no matter how many times he says the words, it’ll never be enough for you to understand his devotion to you. 

Yoongi is loyal, kind, sweet, and everything else in between. You have no doubt that Yoongi will always continue to remain a constant comfort in your life. Although, no matter what way your brain has interpreted his presence, everyone else seems to think otherwise.

Regardless of who you cross paths with, friends, family, or foe, they plant seeds of doubt into your pretty little head. These troubling thoughts fester with wicked intentions and ideas. In Yoongi’s words, “The filth these people spit at you are just lies. Twisting themselves into your opinions and trying to cut me out. They’re just jealous. Don’t talk about them again.” When Yoongi speaks about the people that spill the blood that corrupts your mind, his face turns sour and his eyes shadow dark slits. This harsh look has played on your mind enough for you to stop bringing up the subject completely.

Yet these off comments and anxious looks continue to devour your mind. Whispers pick up in the wind about how Yoongi is a liar. They talk about the dead eyes that contradict the expressive cat-like ones that follow your motions. His heavy hands on your hips don’t match up to the tight grip he takes to the back of your friend’s necks. A warning, or a friendly gesture; you and those around you seem to have two very different ways of deciphering the deeper design of Yoongi’s actions. 

Today you felt like you were living life in a maze. Chasing demands from not only your boss, but Yoongi too. You spent the day running around the city until the sun set. 

You vividly remember how this morning had gone. Walking in through the elevator, shots of minimalistic grey meet your eye. Stale flowers and sweet perfume waft into the wind. You can’t help but feel small in the presence of such expensive luxury. Girls and guys decorated like dolls in diamonds. Even the blood on their hands shines like rubies. A strike upon the back of your head interrupts your staring.

“What are you doing standing there doing nothing? I’ve got things for you to do.” 

You’ve run yourself down running around like a headless chicken. Searching across town for the products and tasks you’ve been sent to complete. Vain efforts that are impractical and impossible. 

Once the hand hits 5 and your work is done for the day, Yoongi had texted you asking a few favours. No matter how drained you were, you could never refuse a request from him. You dragged your drowsy self into the driver’s seat and prayed the time would go by fast.

It did not. It seemed as if Yoongi was persistent that you stay running into endless walls and dead-ends. Too many things out of stock, nonexistent, or a million miles away. The stars start to shine in the sky, mirroring the way your eyes glisten with galaxies of exhaustion. 

The drive home is a blue blur. Your head mixes up time with tiredness, and your sore eyes paint watercolour tears over your surroundings. This bleary fog blinds you, and once it lifts the slightest bit, you find yourself standing at the front door. 

When you walk through the door, you wish you hadn’t. Yoongi’s kneeled over someone, it would look intimate if it wasn’t for the muffled screams and rageful roars that harmonize in the air. He’s shouting at her, choking and stumbling through laughter that never seizes. She’s trying to scream, but his hand holds a rag that’s shoved halfway down her throat. A dirted knife is held in his other.

You can barely recognize the women beneath her own blood and carnage, but you manage. You’re able to distinguish the bleached blonde hair that he rips from her scalp. The array of hair sprawled out around the two bodies guides your eyes to the bejeweled earrings you set your sights upon only hours earlier. This gore has glossed over the diamonds, leaving them dull and lifeless.

You remember the face that matched the gems, young and confident. That pearly white smile that once had you feeling envious has been knocked off her cocky grin. You’re able to pinpoint her place above you. Her, the idolized icon and you as her dirty dog. 

She’s your manager, or maybe she won’t be when Yoongi’s finished with her. She adopted you to be her pet. A plaything to possess in her position of power. Always replaceable and inevitably desperate, you played along with her game to keep your job. It paid well and the benefits were more than anyone could ever hope for. In a game of pain and promise, you chose the former in order to receive the latter. This tiresome torture laid an ache in your heart, yet Yoongi was there to stitch back the pieces. Giving yourself up to be teased and toyed with by a tyrant allowed you to have a peaceful life with Yoongi, separate from the harm.

Yet sometimes, in the blue afternoon when the world is set to silence, the stinging sadness slips through the cracks. You’ve never been good at keeping things hidden from Yoongi, and you’d like to assume the same for him too. You strained your sore throat through the crying and told Yoongi about everything that happens daily at work. Her taunts that leave you tense and the impossible tasks she’d give only to punish you after you failed to complete them. 

Your rampant rant had left you tired and you leaned up against his chest. The only sound that made sense in your mind was the rushing red flowing through his heart. A serene song that serenades you to sleep. You counted the beats as you drifted off into dreamland. 1, a heart that keeps Yoongi alive. 2, a heartbeat that means he’s here. 3, a heartache that tears him apart.

You couldn’t see it then, off in euphoria while Yoongi laid wide awake. But a bloodshot look with black pupils bled misery down his features. Hot and steady, sorrow fell off his face and the teardrops kissed your skin. Yoongi’s head and heart had been set ablaze into a state of chaos. Hot fury and cold desperation confused him. He’s angry and sad all at once. Although, much like any other time, his rage outweighed the anguish and fiery eyes ignited. 

This was 3 days ago. Yet now you stand amidst an annihilation. The bloodbath soaks every surface of your home. Lost pieces of hair, skin, and claret carnage find their way upon tabletops and splattered across the walls. The sight steals your breath, making you a mute statue in this red revelation. After minutes of struggling with a swollen tongue and stolen speech, you squeak out his name in surprise.

“Yo-Yoongi,” the words leave your lips tainted in tragedy. You can barely make out a single syllable from the flood of nausea that rushes through you. You sound so betrayed, it sends a hot hell-fire burning through Yoongi. The knife clatters to the floor when he whips his head up to face you.

“Y/n!” His gasp is laced with feverish panic that leaves his heart racing. Liquid white agony tangles itself through his veins. 

Once Yoongi directs all his attention to this distraction, the victim on the ground struggles against the dark burden of death. Her shrill scream pierces the silence as she whips her head back and forth in hysteria. Her own mindless panic causes her to smack her head against the wooden floorboards 10 times over. Blood sprays every which way as she mindlessly flails her lost limbs. It’s pathetic to watch her squirm under the inevitable circumstances. Severed stumps replace what was once her arms. Her legs fare no better; mutilated beyond repair, the joints cause their appendages to stick up in an unflattering way. 

The girl’s ear splitting shrieks muddled together with her own blood continue on without stopping. The inhumane noises are both maddening and horrifying to two different people. 

Yoongi feels his irritation rise to a breaking point. The fucked up bitch lying desperate on the floor is trying to ruin his chances of explanation. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roughly grabs her head and bashes it into the floor until she stops screaming. She’s left a mangled mess upon the ground. Skin slit in every direction, and cuts ripped apart from the force of his anger. Brain matter spills out the back of her dented cranium. Her whole body twitches before falling into a limp pile amongst the bloodshed. 

Yoongi stands back up from his place knelt over her corpse. He frantically attempts to wipe off the scarlet sins that stain his hands. With a wild fever, Yoongi rubs his hands raw onto his pants and shakes his head in stress. You can see the way the stress sinks into his eyes as well, red-rimmed and tearing up as they stare into you.

“Y/n, y/n please. Please listen.” Each word is slurred together from the tears and terror that take hold of him. He rushes toward you in desperation and you watch as his eyes widen when you step back. “Please, this doesn’t mean anything. I still love you, I LOVE YOU!” His hopelessness destroys his composure as he begins yelling in order to get his message across. Seeing you flinch and fail to hide the fear in your watery eyes leads Yoongi to take a different approach. “I love you, I love you. This is just proving how much you mean to me.” He’s reached you now. Standing six inches away and tugging your figure to fall into him. “I’d do anything for you.” He mumbles his declaration in a low tone. He matches your misty eyes and stares into you. 

He holds half your weight, keeping your knees from giving in and dropping you downwards. He keeps you pushed gently against the wall and pressed into his chest. His hands keep your head cradled gently as he moves to hug you close. 

He lays kisses along your jawline and makes his way up, hoping that if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to subdue the sadness. He’s counting the crystals as they fall and making sure they don’t double. 

Yoongi hates seeing you cry. His hands shake along with yours as the remorse for his actions flows through him. Although don’t be mistaken, his repentance should not be confused with regret. No, Yoongi doesn’t regret killing that filthy bitch at all. Pride swells in his chest and he chokes back a smile from reminiscing on her screams. Yoongi instead is regretful of not being more careful. He should’ve hidden this better. Shouldn’t have gotten caught up in the rush and been careless with his decisions. He wishes you never would’ve seen that.

Your tears leave tracks in the bloodshed he’s spilled upon you. Your cries have been shushed into small sniffles, but you feel all the same. Shock has taken over your limbs, leaving them heavy for him to carry. All thoughts have been blown out of your head at the drop of this bombshell. 

What were once lipstick marks are now bloodstains. He continues to kiss the pain away. Dragging his lips slowly up your neck and back down lower. These ruby smudges leave raised marks when his caressing begins to hold back an anger. If you could get your mouth to mutter easy words, then you would tell him that his lips sting. His kisses feel like bleach to bare skin. The trails he traces down your body leave shadows of his sins. Each peck he places on your pink cheeks holds the memories of the shouts he yelled only moments prior. 

“Let me get you cleaned up.” His husky whisper is placed at the base of your jaw. He pulls himself away far enough to look in your eyes. Your foreheads almost touching and your warm breath being shared between you. When you don’t resist he places a final kiss to your lips before steadying you against him once more. 

He’s patient and careful in the way he puppeteers your movements. Taking control of each limb as if it’s his own. He towers over you with the way he holds you. Your feet placed atop his, he walks you two, slow and steady, to the bedroom. Placing you down on the bed, he keeps you safe with your head nestled into his neck. He kisses the top of your head and lingers. Grabbing the hem of your shirt, he asks a question that only stills in the quiet.

“Good?” There’s no response. He bends down a tad bit further to try and look into your drowsy eyes. Your head hung so heavy against his collarbone only lets him move so far. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” He takes off your top, moving to your pants, and then follows with your underwear. Empathetic emotions sway his movements as every action is taken bit-by-bit. Taking your body’s behavior as a guiding force on what causes your anxiety to jump. Strong, sharp movements cause you to recoil and a voice that resembles even a hint of a shout or gravely tone sends shivers up your spine. Your goosebumps travel across Yoongi’s skin too. 

Now you’re left bare and sensitive under his skin. Yoongi works to avoid your empty eyes. Instead, he makes sure to support your vulnerable soul. You’ll remain in his arms where he’ll keep you warm and safe. He clings to your fading existence as he takes you into the bathroom. He holds a patient pace, wary of the wind that might steal away more pieces of you. 

He tears his clothes off in a blur, focused on attending to you. Sitting you on the edge of the bathtub, he reaches over to turn on the shower. Each minute is counted in Yoongi’s head as he waits for the water to warm up. One hand extended out to feel the heat, and the other rested on the crown of your head. You rest against his stomach, forehead sticking to his stress induced sweat. So limpid and lazy, you don’t even take the chance to outstretch yourself and grasp onto him. His waist is cold without your arms wrapped around it. Your brittle breath against his belly-button only startles the man instead of teasing a lustful heat that such a position would usually bring. You just lay like a dead doll against him. So silent and still you can almost hear the snakes that stir up a storm in his stomach. 

When the water is a tender temperature, Yoongi picks you up from the meat of your thighs and slides you two into the steam. You stay standing under the water for a while; waiting and watching as time continues its cascade. Yoongi tries to take away all the blood smeared across both of you. Slender hands slide across your skin, rubbing at the red until it washes away. 

His actions soon become more aimless as he grows selfishly desperate to feel your soul. His hands laid heavy upon your hips. His grip tightens and he places meaningless pecks anywhere he can find. His fingernails press a little too deep into your pink flesh, yet there’s no reaction to the pain. His hands work in a flurry to fist any piece of skin he can latch onto. Your wet bodies are so close you’re on the verge of blurring into one. So close, yet Yoongi still can’t feel you. There’s no life beneath his fingertips.

Your despondency startles him. Usually your energetic nature is what he relies on most. A permanent piece of his life that never changes and never falters. Just looking at you now, feeling the cold statue in his arms, he wants to cut himself to shreds attempting to bleed out this displeasure. Even if it is his own doing, he’ll make sure he’s also the one to fix you. 

Yoongi starts by shifting you both so you can sit in the base of the bathtub. He reaches to the shelf above your head and grabs the shampoo. His hands work their way through your hair. He detangles the knots from both your curls, and hopefully your mind. Yoongi has always been so meticulous in everything he does. He takes long, languid movements to assure no soap gets in your eyes. And when a droplet slips past his grasp, he’ll kiss away the escapee while grimacing at the suds his tongue tastes. 

His caring efforts are used to calm himself just as much as they are meant for you. He’s trying to distract himself from his uneven breathing that edges the line of a mental breakdown. His rasping continues as he now reaches for the second bottle above you. 

Once again, Yoongi works to lather the conditioner in his hands before smoothing it through your hair. He’s petting you how someone would comfort a dog, or console a crying child. Each easy touch he makes in order to not startle you any further. When he grabs the soap, he’s diligent with his motions. Efficient at scrubbing you clean, but tender in the way he maneuvers you. 

An hour washes itself down the drain. The water has run cold and the stream has cooled away. Yoongi takes your hands and wraps them around his neck before picking you up. He places you on the bathmat and reaches to grab a towel. You're patted dry before being wrapped in the dirty towel. Lifted up again, the man in front of you takes another dry towel off the rack. Yoongi is shaking from the frigid temperature that creeps around him. This feeling could be the least of his worries and he only pays attention to scaring away the icy droplets from your hair. He smooths your hair in one stroke with the towel then follows up by softening your strands with a brush. This two step process continues until Yoongi has been completely air-dried by the bitter cold. Random but repeated chills bite along his bare back and stir up shivers. 

Atrophy sets in when Yoongi begins to dress you. You're shock-still and there are no signs of it stopping. Unstirring and motionless, set to fall unless Yoongi was there to hold you. It’s significantly more difficult to dress you, so Yoongi only settles for underwear and one of his shirts. He decides to only wear boxers, opting to show you the most humane and vulnerable parts of himself. He leaves himself defenseless, ready to accept anything you give him. You’re pulled and pushed until you settle into the sheets. Both Yoongi and the bed wrap around you. Clinging to every empty space of you, they work to make you warm and soft for sleep. 

Yoongi pushes himself closer against you and tugs at the covers to bring them up higher. His bitten lips lay resting on the nape of your neck. He navigates his hands through the blankets to find your own. He noses the back of your neck and wishes pretty pleas for you to wake up like none of this ever happened

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” His melody of the sincerest apologies sings you to sleep. His hymn echoes off the shadowed walls of the bedroom and settles into background noise. The soft words vibrate against your back, almost resembling a purr. Saccharine sorrys and repeats of “Don’t be afraid, I’d never hurt you,” are mumbled until Yoongi loses his voice. His sore throat stings with a metallic taste. 

Feverish determination ends up sedating his sorrows. He’ll guide you into his good graces once again. He’s patient and gentle. As time tumbles onwards, he’ll be the best boyfriend once again, because everything about Yoongi is sugary sweet.

© cybsoo2 2024, all rights reserved

[agoodroughandtumble]

Like the Stars in the Sky Part 1 - Roronoa Zoro x Reader Drabble

Status: Ongoing

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Summary: A companion piece to A Man of Little Words

Warning(s): 18+ Language, implied smut

A/n: A Man of Little Words can be found here

-

Roronoa Zoro had never been one for conversations – why tell someone what he was thinking when a sword (or two) would be more than sufficient. He was one for gestures. His feelings were as perfectly obvious to him, as easy to trace as the stars in the night’s sky – moving but always consistent. The one thing he was, without fail or doubt, always consistent about was you, although like those stars in the sky the context was always moving. And although he understood with perfectly clarity the duality and contradictions of those feelings, it didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

You annoyed him. You spoke too much. You reacted too dramatically and your face shone far too brightly. You were his own, infuriating north star. He loved you. He loved your blasé attitude. He loved that you always clung onto him when he was inside you. The soft sounds and almost intoxicating moans you made when he found a particularly sensitive spot. In his darker, needier moments he could almost convince himself that those sighs and moans were his and his alone. He hated it. Hated himself. Hated that you had slipped through the cracks, that one drunken night had turned his whole world upside down – and that he had let it. But somewhere between your warm smile and warm thighs he had lost himself completely.

Zoro was fully aware that he was putting you on a pedestal but how couldn’t he when your fingers left red lines along his spine and your thighs gripped his hips so tightly he thought his bones were going to shatter. How he welcomed it, how he needed to be needed. He’d fucked you as if it was his last night on earth, as if you were the only thing grounding him to this plane – the gravitational pull too much for him to bare. Zoro had never believed in much, but fuck if he didn’t believe in you.

As he sat by the mast listening to Usopp his eyes wander to yours. You looked relaxed, happy, completely unaware of the raging storm threatening to engulf him at any moment, so untouchable, and distant, and so, so uninterested in him. He took another sip of his sake, head tilted back, eyes now closed and tried in vain to block out the sound of your laughter at Usopp’s increasingly exaggerated heroics. He was glad to be on watch tonight so he could sneak away without any questioning looks but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. Not when you were so close to him. He would indulge himself just a little, just enough that when he eventually left your warmth the sensation would still linger, like the light of a long dead star.

He must have had more sake than he realised. As he eventually forced himself to stand up, he realised – only when you were stared up at him – that his hand was outstretched towards you, and the words left his mouth before his brain had time to register what he was saying. “It’s my watch tonight – keep me company?”

[A Man of Little Words]

[Like The Stars in the Sky Part 2]

[kookstempo]

say something, say anything - kth, jjk

pairing(s): taehyung x reader, jungkook x reader (love triangle) genre(s): fluff and angst? word count: 6.2K

warnings: fights (nothing physical), some strong language, mentions of insecurities and not feeling enough.

summary: in the process of figuring out whether Taehyung likes you the way you like him, you don't expect to fall for one of his close friends, Jungkook, and all the chaos that ensues.

alternate summary: just because taehyung isn't willing to give you 100% doesn't mean no one is.

masterlist 💚 what about part two?

A/N: thanks to my lovely @daechwitatamic for the support as my beta reader and an amazing friend.

There’s a boy running through your mind almost 24/7. The way his sweet, hazel eyes look at you make you feel like the most special woman on Earth. A charming, boxy smile that always puts you at ease whenever he flashes it at you. Yet, his duality makes you weak in the knees - his oozing confidence one of the many reasons you’re deeply attracted to him. 

It’s one of those cold, breezy nights where Taehyung’s arms find their place around your waist, trying to provide you with as much warmth as possible. 

You’re standing in front of the firepit. His hold is relaxing and warm. You move your body to wrap your arms around his front, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. He hums in surprise and pulls you closer to him, tightening his hold on your waist.

“All good, darling?” His silky voice keeps relaxing you even more than you ever thought could be possible.

His cologne fills your nostrils. The feeling of every bit of coldness leaving your body is accompanied by a squeeze on your waist from the man.

“Mhm, the smoke was starting to hurt my eyes a bit. Just wanted to shield myself with you.”

In the same way moments like these ones bring you peace, they shatter your heart at the end of the day. Taehyung resembles the perfect lover: warm, affectionate, assertive… The list could go on. Be that as it may, he turns into a different person whenever your friends are around. 

That game he plays has you dizzy, but you don’t want it to end, as much as it hurts. You feel stuck in the same place, like the way to win is the same way you lose the game; it has you stuck, making you feel trapped and confused. Are you good enough for him? Is he not sure of what he wants with you, or if he even wants something at all?

Just in time, Taehyung releases you from his grasp. The boys greet you one by one, and Taehyung has moved to the other side of the room with Jimin and Yoongi.

The night is becoming colder, your shivers can’t go unnoticed by now. Hoseok heads inside to retrieve a blanket for you, making sure you’re entirely tucked in with it before letting you go. 

“Do you want a hug?” A voice behind you murmurs.

You turn to locate said voice and find Jungkook staring at your trembling figure, arms wide open. Without much thought, you throw yourself at him, and he accepts your body. He sways you side to side, making you laugh. Jungkook had noticed how you and Taehyung were hugging before they came in. He doesn’t understand his friend's actions, though. 

Tired of this game, if Taehyung won’t give you what you deserve, he will. Or at the very least, he could open your eyes to what was going on.

“That furrowed brow, arms crossed over her chest, unwavering gaze… she’s pissed.”

“Uh, yes? I am inviting all of you to come paint with me because that way we can bond with each other, have some fun, do something different,” you move to stand in front of them, frown replaced by a pout. “And none of you want to join?”

There’s an unspoken conversation going on between them. The not-so-subtle glances they send each other pissing you off more. The moment you see Taehyung nudge Jimin on the side with his elbow, you’re over it. Grabbing your tools, you walk to the empty dining room, placing the small canvas and the acrylics on the table.

The noise coming from the living room is distracting, but you’re willing to show them how fun it can be. When you tie your hair, it’s showtime - soon enough, you’re halfway done with the painting, hands a colorful mess like the palette that’s resting on the table. You want to scratch your face so badly, but there’s paint on your fingers. 

“Want me to scratch your face for you?” Jungkook suggests, walking up to where you are.

You look at him narrowing your eyes, scoffing playfully at him.

“No, thanks. I’ll manage.” Teasingly upset, you bite your lip to hide the smile that’s threatening to slip when Jungkook sits beside you and admires your canvas.

“Don’t get so moody with me… I thought about it and wanted to know if I could join you? I hate it when people don’t pay attention to me when I’m doing something.”

You coo at him and move your things to the side so there is space for him. The canvas is big enough for you to paint together. Jungkook is shy at first, quietly suggesting things that could make the color effects look better. When he notices that you’re open to his ideas, he becomes bolder and helps you with the painting instead of just sitting around. The dining room is soon filled with laughter from both of you, the sound of fast footsteps when you spill some paint on the floor, and silence every now and then when you’re both concentrating on something. 

Legs numb, you stand up when the painting is 95% finished - Jungkook touching up on some details - and move to the bathroom so you can wash your hands. You run into Jimin on your way back and give him a wide smile, courtesy of being with Jungkook and having your mood lifted. 

“Nice painting you guys did… I’ll join you next time - I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jungkook so excited and creative in a long time.” Jimin praises, ruffling your hair.

A sigh leaves your lips before you can control it, taking your glasses off so you can rub your eyes. Your boss handed your team a new project, resulting in heavier workdays for you and the other people. The sound of the chair beside you scraping against the floor causes you to turn to whoever moved it, seeking some comfort. 

“Rough day?” Jin rubs your arm, grinning when you lean your head on his shoulder. 

Jin is always there whenever you need it. It’s like he can sense - even from a mile away - your distress. His hands move to play with your locks, combing through them carefully to not hurt you. Turning the screen of your computer so he can get a better look at your work, he gives some suggestions that could make the file you’re working on easier and greater. 

It’s between his explanation that both Namjoon, Jungkook, and Jimin come out of their rooms, almost in sync. The oldest one heads to the living room; he seems to be looking for something he lost (not uncommon for him). The other two join you. At this point, Jimin should have cracked one of his jokes, or teased you somehow so he could get a reaction from you (his love language with you). However, you don’t notice the way Jin silently tells him not to because of your stress and exhaustion.

The moment you reach for your glasses to continue working on the project, a tattooed hand snatches them from where they rest on the table.

Whining, you start, “Jungkook, give me my glasses back, please.” 

“Not until you give me a kiss.” 

If the teasing doesn’t come from Jimin, it comes from Jungkook, apparently. Speaking of Jimin, the boy snickers at Jungkook’s condition.

“Yah, Jungkookie. Let the girl breathe.” Jimin tries to help you. You wait in vain for him to hand the glasses back to you.

“If you give me my glasses back, I can get done with today’s work a lot faster… which means I’ll spend more time with you.” Your bribery doesn’t affect him, apparently. He lifts the hand holding the glasses, making them more out of reach.

It’s clear he won’t back down - getting up, you walk up to him and give him a peck on the cheek. He shakes his head, rejecting the kiss.

“Nuh-uh, not there. Don’t play dumb now.”

He wants you to kiss him where? You’ve been tempted many, many times to kiss him. Sure.

But you can’t just give in in hope you get your glasses back. 

As if he’s able to hear your mental debate, Namjoon speaks up for you.

“As someone who wears glasses, and is looking for them, please give the little lady her glasses back. And then come here so you can help me look.” 

 “Namjoon hyung! I was so close, she was already standing up.”

Jin’s windshield laugh brings you to laughter, too. Jungkook is pouting, arms crossed over his chest. You put your glasses back on and clear your throat, trying to cease your laughter. Throwing the pouty boy a wink, you walk past him to help Namjoon.

You don’t notice Jungkook stay behind with Seokjin, nor do you hear the conversation Jungkook starts since they are whispering.

“Hyung, I had a suggestion for you… would you let Y/N cook dinner with me so she can take her mind off of work for a while?” 

The proposition is tempting enough for Seokjin, but he doesn’t know whether you’ll actually want to since you seem very tired, and cooking for 8 to 9 people takes patience.

“If you think she’ll be up for it, then by all means.” Seokjin consents to the youngest’s proposition, holding back a proud smile when he begins babbling about your love for cooking.

“You should see her face, hyung. She loves cooking so much, I’m sure she’ll find comfort in doing so. Thank you, you won’t be disappointed - she is a great cook and I have learned from you.” 

Jungkook turns around so he can now propose the idea to you, marching a little too excited.

Taehyung’s day had been a mess since very early. The first thing that pissed him off was the lack of coffee beans in the house - he couldn’t recall whose turn it was to go to the supermarket, but he was sure it wasn’t his. Reluctantly accepting that he’d have to buy a coffee on his way to work, he finished getting ready. Then, the damn coffee again. This time, the barista at Starbucks had messed up his order and he had to wait 15 minutes outside, only to become desperate and head to work so he wouldn’t be more late than he already was. A few other mishaps had occurred: the printer not working, the pile of documents on his desk growing by the hour…

But the cherry on top? What he came home to.

Trying to leave most of the work finished that day, Taehyung had skipped lunch so he wouldn’t waste the half-hour he was given for lunch. It was almost 7:00 PM when Jin had texted him to know whether he was coming for dinner or not, talking about having to calculate enough food for 9 people - immersed in many numbers, words, and different documents, he had failed to read that part of the text and had just replied with a simple “yes”.

The moment he walked into the house, his ears caught the sound of small conversation and laughter coming from both the dining room and the kitchen. One of those waves of laughter sounded like yours; Taehyung had to convince himself that it was not you, it couldn’t be, since you hadn’t texted him during the day - not like he had wasted minutes of his busy workday to check for new messages, nope - so he went straight to the dining room.

“Hey, Tae! You’re finally home. Some of us are starving so we couldn’t wait for you, sorry.” Namjoon greets him with a pat on the back, sitting down next to Jin, with a plate full of food.

“Where are Y/N and Jungkook?” Yoongi asks through a mouthful of pasta.

“In the kitchen, they are just plating the remaining dish,” Jin replies from where he’s sat, Taehyung in his line of sight.

“They cooked dinner? I thought it was you, hyung.” Jimin is curious now. He remembers Seokjin mentioning he would take care of dinner.

“Y/N’s boss gave her the rest of the day off because she has been staying extra hours. She was feeling stressed, so Jungkook asked me if they could take care of dinner together since Y/N loves cooking.” 

He is mad.

Sure, there are no coffee beans in the house but there are many different ingredients for Jungkook and you to feed nine people. How fucking ironic. And, now that he recalls, Seokjin had mentioned nine people. 

Fuck!

That’s the only reason he’s mad. He cannot be mad over the fact that Jungkook hadn’t told him you were coming over. You are friends after all and he can’t complain… right? Nonetheless, the thought of if he had known, he wouldn’t have stayed so long at work won’t leave his mind. But of course, things with Jeon were odd nowadays and he didn’t tell him.

Jungkook isn’t the only one to blame, though. You normally text him whenever you want or plan to drop by their house to hang out. He remembers leaving you on read a few days ago, and you hadn’t texted him to ask how he’s doing, like you tend to do.

He heaves a long, deep sigh at the thought, loosening his tie with one hand and moving all the way to the other side of the table so he can sit far away from both of you.

Your phone vibrates in your hand not once, but twice. Tae’s contact name pops up on the top of your screen, two text messages and one has a picture. You open the message three minutes later, only to cover your mouth at the picture he sent.

Taetae [10:20 AM]: good morning, sweet lady. are you awake yet?

Taetae [10:22 AM]: bc i just got out of the shower and i’m walking to my closet. i’ll be there to pick you up in twenty minutes.

Taehyung’s shirtless torso is pretty obvious from the selfie he just sent. His collarbones are visible and a bit of his chest is, too. That selfie is distracting you from the fact that from the twenty minutes he mentions, you only have 18 left. Typing a quick “ok, shit”, you leave your phone on the bed and run to your closet, thanking whoever is listening for giving you the great idea of taking a shower earlier, because those 18 minutes - now like 16 - would have flown away inside the shower. What are his plans? You don’t know. But the day is way too sunny for you to even consider wearing pants.

While you’re running around trying to find your curling iron, the sound of the doorbell makes you freeze in the middle of the living room, only for you to run to the nearest mirror to check your appearance. Once you’re deemed presentable, you open the door to let him inside.

“Okay, I only need to find my curling iron… once I do, it’ll take me 10 minutes to get my hair done. Are you okay with that? Uh, why are you laughing?” 

Taehyung’s giggles interrupt you. He walks to you and pulls you in by the waist, giving you a long kiss before he pulls away.

“You are beautiful just like this, Y/N. If you are ready, we can leave. But I can wait for you to curl your hair, though.” He smiles down at you, waiting for you to make a decision.

How does he expect you to make a decision when every single fiber of your body is trying to process the kiss he just gave you? You nod, slightly dumbfounded, going to your room to grab your purse and your phone. 

The park Taehyung chose for whatever you guys will be doing has to be one of the most beautiful green areas you’ve ever been to. Trees are surrounding almost every square meter and due to the fact that it’s spring season, everything is colorful and blooming. He parks the car in the street and points to an area farther from where you guys are - a small bench next to some roses. 

“I just need to get some things out of the car. Can you walk over there? I’ll catch up once I’m done.” Taehyung unlocks the car and you agree, albeit confused.

The fresh breeze hits you when you get out of the car. Spring is one of your favorite seasons - everything blooms, the weather is nice to go out (not too hot or too cold) and there are so many things to do. Which is why you’re wondering what Taehyung has planned for today; his outfit gives you no clue about what he has in store, just the fact that you are in the park and he has to get things out of the car - that he doesn’t want you to see yet - for your little imagination to run wild. You walk to the aforementioned bench and sit on it, realizing it’s a swinging one. Softly swinging on it, you wait for Taehyung until you spot him a few meters away from the bench - hands full with a basket, two blankets, and a small speaker. 

“You did not…”

If happiness had a color, you’d be engulfed by it now. In one of those late-night conversations with Tae, you remember telling him how much you loved picnics. His boxy smile makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He sets the picnic box beside you and begins placing the biggest blanket on the grass. 

“Y/N,” he warns, hearing the basket being opened. “Wait, okay?”

“You’re no fun.” You pout, close the basket, and shift on your seat so you’re further away from it.

His shoulders shake from laughter. Once everything is set, he pulls you up with one hand and with the other grabs the basket, leaving a peck on your lips before he sits down on the blanket, waiting for you.

“See where patience takes you? Come on, now you can open the basket.” 

He’s eager to see your reaction. Taehyung had talked to Seokjin a couple of days ago to gather information about all your favorite foods, candies, drinks… and most of them are ones he loves, too. Your hands make their way to the brown basket and he has to stifle the giggle that threatens to leave his body when you almost knock the basket over in your rush. 

“Oh, I haven’t eaten these gummies in a while!” You exclaim, grabbing the three packages and placing them next to the bottles of juice he had also bought. 

It takes a while for you to finish unloading the basket and decide what you want to eat first, something about the ice cream being tempting enough to pay little attention to the croissants Seokjin knows you love, and Taehyung not wanting you to have ice cream for your first meal. He can’t help himself - the look of excitement on your face and the million kisses you’re giving him lure him to allow you to dig into the ice cream.

The time you spend laying around in the grass, stuffing your faces with food, goes by quite quickly. It’s now almost one o’clock and the sun is brighter than it was earlier. 

“Can I take a picture of you?” 

The question escapes your mouth before you can control it - he looks too good to just “let the look go” and you want a picture to remember this special moment. Every time you’re with him, you let your guard down; like every bit of doubt about your relationship resets to zero and only the good parts are to be seen. Because that’s how it has always been: things are wonderful until the love privation passes over it like a dark cloud and turns everything dark.

“How about we take a picture together? Sounds good?” The boy suggests and you accept.

His next move surprises you, though: he pulls you to his lap and grabs your phone, opening the camera app and looking for the perfect angle. You hope he doesn’t notice the flush in your cheeks at the intimate position, trying to hide it by running your fingers through your hair so your hair won’t look all crazy. After both of you are ready, he snaps a couple of pictures - in one of those, he makes you look at him while he plants a kiss on your forehead.

As you’re trying your hardest not to scream at what just happened, now off of his lap, his voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“I wanted to ask you something, Y/N… What is going on between Jungkook and you?”

What? Between who and who? 

“Jungkook? Uhh, I might need more context of what you’re referring to…” 

And how do you respond to this? Where is all this doubt and nervousness coming from, too? It should be a simple answer.

“That is the only context I can give. You didn’t talk to him before and now it’s like you’re constantly with him, the other day you were at my house and I didn’t find out until I got there.” His tone expresses disapproval and confusion… maybe even sadness.

“Oh, well… Like you just said, we’ve grown closer, that’s all. Jeon is a great guy.” You affirm, busying yourself with the tupperwares that need to be put back in the basket.

But is that really all for you? Why did you hesitate so much when trying to give Taehyung an answer? He’s right when he says that you guys didn’t even talk before - but the more you’ve conversed with Jungkook, the more important he has become to you. This still doesn’t explain the nervousness or the million thoughts that ran through your mind when thinking about what is going on.

The excitement Jungkook shows whenever he is invested in something is something you find adorable. He had called you at 8:00 in the morning saying he’d be in your house - if you agreed, of course - in the afternoon so he could show you this new TV show he started watching. Jungkook’s presence is always pleasing and guarantees you a good time… which is now interrupted.

Your phone rings for the third time in the past five minutes, making you groan in frustration. 

“It seems like it’s important. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have called more than once. Answer him, I’ll wait.” Jungkook suggests, a reassuring smile on his face.

You grab the phone and wait a few more seconds before sliding your finger to answer the call.

“Hello? Is everything okay?” is the first thing you ask once you hear the noise coming from the other side.

Taehyung had told you he was going out, so for him to be calling means there must be something wrong.

“Y/N!! My beautiful lady, how are you?” His words are slurred, loud laughter coming from behind him.

“Soberer than you are, apparently…” You trail off, glancing at Jungkook sideways, who pretends to not be paying attention.

You’re 99% sure he didn’t hear what you said. You give Jungkook a small smile and redirect your focus to the boy on the line when he speaks again.

“Listen, I’m here with some friends and they are being excessively coupley and sweet with each other… Would you mind coming so we can do that, too?”

As much as your heart is yelling let’s do it, you know he’s not in a good state of mind at the moment. Taehyung wanting you around while his friends are there? Too good to be true. You know that if you show up, you’ll end up feeling gloomy, expecting something that will probably not happen. The embarrassment you’ll save yourself from if you decide to stay home is bigger than the desire of hopefully being exclusive and public with him.

“Where is here? I have no idea where you are, Tae. Nevertheless, I’ll pass. Jungkook is here and we’re watching a new TV show. Maybe another day?” 

It’s not in you to be rude - you’d love to tell him to fuck off, though - when it comes to him. He starts explaining how it won’t be the same without you there and how much he wants to hold and kiss you - you don’t digest any of it. 

The game has started. Round Two: Which lover will you get if you decide to go? The loving, charismatic, but drunk Taehyung, or the cold, unaffected by your presence, yet honest Taehyung you know and sadly have fallen for? 

Jungkook grabs your free hand and intertwines his fingers with yours. He rubs the back of your hand and squeezes it. Without a second thought, you mutter a goodbye to the boy on the phone and hang up. A dry chuckle escapes your mouth before you’re able to control the sob that follows it. You shake your head in disbelief.

“When did I allow the situation to turn into this?” You point to your phone that’s on the coffee table, ringing again. 

The boy beside you pulls you closer to his body, enveloping you in a tight hug where you let it all out, wetting his shirt with your tears.

“It’s not just your heart that’s being broken, Y/N. You deserve more than being used and thinking you deserve nothing. I know it’s not in me to convince you, but more you convincing yourself… just promise me you’ll think about it, please?” 

The way he pronounces the last word makes you hug him tighter. You notice he’s pained by the situation like you are3. But you are not inside his head to understand how much it hurts seeing the girl you have feelings for being hurt by someone else she has feelings for.

“I will, Kook. Thank you and I’m sorry I put you on the horns of a dilemma…” He giggles at your choice of words and plants a kiss on your nose. 

The show begins playing again. Jungkook’s warm, comforting presence makes you forget all the pain for the night.

This week kicked your ass. Not once but several times. 

The unopened wine bottle in your fridge will be the potent, sweet reward you need on a Friday night. Taking your heels off as soon as you’re in your apartment, you sigh in relief. Everything was bothering you today: the new heels, the dress you were forced to wear for the meeting, the exhaustion… too much. Tonight’s plan is simple: wine, a warm bath, a face mask, and some patches for the bags under your eyes. 

The bath makes you sleepy - relaxation seeping through your bones. Your body smells like the new shower gel you bought on your last trip to Bath and Body Works, and the cold wine glass in your hand is making your mouth water with the idea of finally indulging in it.

Just as you’re about to dig into your pizza slice - after the mask has dried enough so you won’t stain anything - the doorbell rings. You’re not expecting anyone, your phone is calls and messages free… and it’s 20 minutes past eight - everyone you know is out partying or at their own house relaxing like you planned to. Suppressing the groan that threatens to leave your lips - loudly - you walk to the front door, yanking it open. 

“I was about to call you, thought you weren’t home or that you wouldn’t open the door… Oh, am I interrupting something?” Taehyung points to your mask-wearing face, smirking slightly. 

The hand he can’t see is clutching the doorknob to the point your knuckles are white. What is he doing here? It’s been a week since that phone call and even though you were avoiding him, you were doing it subtly so he wouldn’t be suspicious. He has done that to you before. You need to think about what Jungkook had told you and his presence resets all the cons you had already established.

Remembering to answer his question, you clear your throat.

“You’re not… I was going to eat some pizza, probably re-watch the last season of Grey’s Anatomy, take these off,” you point at your mask and patches. “And probably go to sleep. What are you doing here?” You’re confused, did he say he was going to come over tonight and you’d forgotten about it? 

He makes his way into your apartment and you take a deep breath to stop yourself from breaking down right there and then. You don’t need this tonight, tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. Looking for a way to busy yourself so you won’t be close to him, you go to the kitchen to get another wine glass for him. Placing the glasses on the coffee table, you plop down on the couch, knees turned to the door.

“Why are you so far away, angel? Come here.” Taehyung complains, tapping on the empty spot beside him.

Angel doesn’t sound like you remembered. All the happiness you used to feel when he called you that is now replaced with sorrow and uncertainty. You pause the show and turn to him. If you don’t get it out of your chest now, you’ll keep believing and telling yourself that you’re probably not what he’s looking for, but that it’s better to have those crumbs rather than nothing at all. 

“We need to talk, and I need you to be honest.” You murmur, getting comfier on your side of the couch and facing him directly.

Bracing up for the next words, you look at him.

“Are you actually looking for something here with me? Or is it fun for you to just play with my feelings?” 

He’s taken aback. Your words make no sense to him. He leaves the wine glass he had grabbed on the table and sits upright, a deep frown sitting on his face.

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” He complains, looking at you like you’re saying nonsense.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, not drunk, and will tell me you want me to hang out with your friends as we do behind closed doors. Maybe one day you’ll be clear with your intentions and either give me all or nothing. We have been at this… whatever the fuck this is supposed to be for more than 5 months. And I think you know I’d do everything for you so you love taking advantage of that. You are in love with the idea of me being in love with you.”

“Where is this coming from? You’re so upset that I don’t want to make us official? Is that what this is about?” He snaps, rolling his eyes like you’re some immature child.

There it is. He just said it and most likely didn’t notice. He doesn’t want to make your relationship official. 

You’re about to reply, but his words come first.

“You’re so fucking difficult to satisfy. It’s like I can’t enjoy being single because you desperately want everything to be official.”

If this was about you wanting to clear things up, there’s nothing left to be cleared up now. 

You’re not on the same page and he just proved it. Now you’re enraged.

“How does that make me the bad guy here? Why am I the one to blame? Am I different? I also fucking fall in love, Taehyung. And it’s not me wanting to make things official, it’s the fact that you don’t have the affective responsibility you should. You don’t care about my feelings; you are satisfied with yourself by keeping me around. Do I deserve nothing?”

You struck a nerve. The anger has left his face and he seems hurt now.

“I really don’t know what you want. I don’t see myself having a relationship right now, and you should have been able to tell the moment I kept us private.” He scratches his head, standing up from the couch. 

He moves to the kitchen, wine glass in hand, and leaves it next to the sink. All these actions make you realize you finally agreed on something with him: he’s leaving. 

“That’s not privacy, that’s being kept a secret. There’s a difference. I think we’re done here, Tae. We’re not on the same page and I won’t stick around for this anymore.” 

As you walk to the door and open it, you wait and wait, and wait for him to say something. Anything at all. He never does. He simply walks past you and closes the door behind him.

You’ve been glued to Jungkook the whole night. Taehyung is fuming. He thought you wouldn’t show up because of the incident nights ago, but you’re here, and he should have known better. Since none of the boys know about the fight that had happened because of the “secret” relationship you had engaged in, the only thing both of you can do is play it cool as if nothing had ever happened. Act like the good friends you are - well, used to be. The thing he finds hilarious is how indiscreet you’re being: you’re avoiding him. He wants to believe there is nothing going on with Jungkook - like you had told him that day at the park - and you’re with him just because. 

It becomes hard to believe the moment Jungkook grabs your hand and pulls you to sit very close to him while you wait for the chicken to come out of the oven.

It becomes harder to believe when you get all shy from the little kisses he leaves on your cheek. 

Taehyung approaches Jungkook when you stand up from his lap and go to the bathroom, one question clear in mind.

“What is going on between you and Y/N? And don’t come to me with a fucking ‘nothing’ because she told me that and this,” he gestures with his hands around to where he is sitting, “doesn’t look like fucking nothing.” 

“Hello to you, too. Unlike you, I had the courage to actually act on my feelings and not leave her hanging around. But to answer your question: nothing, yet.” Jungkook explains, standing up so he’s face to face with Taehyung when he steps closer to him.

“Oh, please. Shut the fuck up because you have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Do I not? How about I tell all of them in fine detail how she has spent nights, in my arms if I shall mention, crying because she doesn’t know whether you want something to do with her. How insecure you’ve left her because she knew from the start that what you were giving her wasn’t even half of what she deserved, but never gave up on it until she finally realized?”

Jungkook is challenging him. And it hits harder when he picks up on what his friend is saying.

“You’re the fucking reason she broke up with me. You’re the one who got into her mind and convinced her of something that is not true.” 

Someone has to grab Taehyung from the arm before he launches himself over Jungkook, fist ready just to collide somewhere on Jungkook’s body.

“Yes, I was the one who told her to think about it. What you gonna do about it, hm? It’s not like you can recover something that was never there.”

“You fucking knew. You fucking knew, and still played me dirty. You couldn’t stand knowing I had some advantage over you for once.” Taehyung growls, trying to shake the hands of whoever is holding him off.

“Taehyung, that’s enough.” Yoongi stands up, moving to stand in-between the boys now that they’re nose to nose, about to punch each other.

Your head is spinning. Yes, it was clear that Taehyung had feelings for you, but he never moved forward with you. Falling for Jungkook was something unexpected, and knowing now that it had turned into some stupid competition between them has your heart aching and you feeling guilty. You step out of the hallway and walk back to the living room with fear, you can’t ignore what is going on, but you have no idea how you could help or stop the situation.

“Call it what you want - you weren’t man enough to act on it. And what fucking advantage are you talking about? Promising her one thing and turning into a total dickhead the moment you’re not alone is pathetic.” Jungkook retorts, launching himself towards Taehyung, being stopped by Namjoon. 

You hear someone mutter an oh, fuck behind you. 

“She shouldn’t stay here.” Hoseok places a hand on your shoulder and guides you to Yoongi’s backyard, hugging you tightly trying to shield you from what has begun in the living room.

You’ve seen this before, those playful fights where Namjoon and Jin start arguing and Jimin takes upon the task of distracting the others. Now, it’s a more serious conflict and Hoseok escorts you outside so the others can take care of the fight.

Maybe next time they should talk things through. Before they end up hurting each other like they just did.

[lightsinthedistancee]

Under the Cover of War: FO!Poe Dameron x Resistance!Reader

Pairing: FO!Poe Dameron x Resistance!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: “‘Let’s go,’ he murmurs. ‘Let’s run.’ His gaze is fixed on you, begging for this. He needs you—he needs you to be there for him so that he has a place in the galaxy, a place he would never have otherwise. ‘Please.’”

Following the destruction of the Hosnian System, a promise and a dire decision are made by you and Poe.

Warnings: Language

“Why?”

The single word is clipped, volatile, dangerously soft in nature. It’s a question, a plead, an accusation, all at once. It seems to scream in the silence, to imply a million other queries that Poe doesn’t want to answer.

He simply remains quiet as he stares at your back turned to him. You sit on the edge of the bed, breath shaking, refusing to even look at him.

He inhales, blinking rapidly. “Sweetheart—“

“Why?” This time, it’s a scream. The sound is ragged, painful, your voice cracking. It makes him flinch, makes him draw into himself.

The loud cry echoes, disintegrates as the seconds pass.

He wishes he could transport himself back to five minutes ago, before either of your holos had rung. Before the First Order had reported a victory to him, before the Resistance had reported a devastating, unfathomable loss to you.

He wants to return to when he’d laid beside you, running his fingers down your sides, when the memory of pressing you into the sheets was still fresh in his mind.

But somehow he knows that whatever the two of you have will never return in any way.

“How could you?” you whisper, the shock of five of the galaxy’s most populous planets being obliterated in mere minutes still in the process of shattering you to pieces.

Poe wants to shrink into the air, disappear in moments. He knows you’re crying, that you can’t handle it. He’d be lying if he said he himself was handling it at all.

“I…I don’t know what happened.” He stares at the sheets, tears running down his own face. He can’t imagine it. The deaths of tens of trillions. Their screams, the pain they must have felt in the blinding light of imminent death.

Your hands tighten into fists as you shake. Your form is locked in tension, perhaps about to abruptly turn around and strike him, perhaps about to break and collapse into a distraught pile of bone and flesh. “You’re a liar.”

The words are akin to a strike itself. He near hisses, unstable in his new knowledge. “Why the fuck would they tell me? I’m not even a colonel.” His volume rises, swirling in the atmosphere, ready to completely burst free. “I didn’t have a damn thing to do with it—“

“But you certainly have something to do with those who ordered it!” You finally turn to him. You’re livid. Eyes red with tears, lips in a tight line, a glare that threatens to break him.

And your statement is not something he can deny. He deflates, silent. He can feel your eyes on him expectantly, but nothing comes.

When enough time passes, you stand from the bed, grabbing your things from the bedside table. As your fingers delicately wrap around the blaster you regularly carry around, he briefly thinks that perhaps you’re about to turn around and shoot him.

But you don’t, and something new finds home beside your anger: a heartbreaking sense of disappointment.

It’s on instinct when his hand shoots out, grasping your arm. “No, wait…please. Don’t go,” he says quietly.

You’re all he has. There’s nothing more to say other than that. Life in the Order is a cold one, always has been. While he may not agree with the side you’ve chosen, you’re the sole warmth in his life, the sole radiant light.

You jerk in his grip, but he tightens it, eyes unashamedly pleading with you, begging you to not leave him.

Even in the place you always meet him, buried beneath layers of rock, surrounded by passages of clandestine activity necessary in your illicitness, his meetings with you never fail to be the only times he’s truly happy.

“Please…,” he pleads once more, thumb running over your knuckles.

A debate takes place on your features, and he can read you better than he can anyone else. He’s the person you’d let into your heart, the person you’d revealed every personal secret to. He’s the one who’d whispered ‘I love you’ one fateful night, the one to whom you’d whispered it back. He’s the one that had challenged your blind loyalty to any ideology, the one to whom you’d done the same.

He can see all those things viciously, ruthlessly grappling with the horrifying events that had just transpired: bodies being ripped to shreds, building being reduced to dust, life being annihilated in fire.

And in an act of emotional obscurity, the two opponents are shockingly close.

It’s evident which wins out when you limply fall back to the bed, body slumping to lie down, eyes tiredly closed.

“Then tell me why,” you whisper, barely audible.

“Why what?”

“I want to know why you joined the people who did…this.”

And at that simple request, he feels his walls rise. Even if they’d fallen long ago when he was around you, they’d never truly disappeared.

“I thought we don’t talk about stuff like that,” says Poe quietly.

“Well, I changed my fucking mind.”

He gazes around the room, reminded of the sole thing that prevents full, unconditional commitment to the other. The space they are in is a brutal reminder of the fact, for it presents itself in sets of two, an embodiment of duality.

Two blasters on top of the bedside table. One polished and new, the other dull and thoroughly used.

Two sets of boots clumsily scattered by the door. One shiny, lacking a single scuff mark, one that’s appearance suggests it’s been passed through several owners.

Two jackets. One with the hexagonal, sixteen-rayed symbol of the First Order, one with the starbird of the Resistance.

It’s a glaringly horrid representation of the two of you, never destined to be the same.

“Did your tongue also vanish along with the five planets?”

He slowly comes back to the present with your words, forcing away his disconnect.

It’s not something he can afford right now. Maintaining his privacy, hiding the events of his past, concealing the cause of his motives—he can’t afford any of that if he wants you.

And somehow, all he does want is you. You, you, you—to the point that he wonders if it’s unhealthy, if it’s even real and true, but that’s something he refuses to consider in the moment.

Even though you’d seen some of the darkness through him, he is certain that your loyalty to light is stronger, if only marginally, and that means he has to tell. He has to reveal.

“My mother,” he simply says, gaze unfocused. “She was a rebel pilot. She died.”

The slight stirring of your body freezes. He’d never talked of his family’s loyalties; he’d always given the impression that they’d passively existed in the deluge of light and dark that had overtaken the galaxy.

“She’s why I joined.” He flinches at the memory, grimacing at the pain he’d felt as a boy. “She died because of rebellion recklessness. Because of belief in blind hope.”

The anger—it’s simmering once more, bubbling higher, inching further and further to the edge of his chest.

And he can tell yours is too. Your fingers grip at the sheets as your eyes narrow. “Reckless…blind…hope?” He’s questioning your belief, accusing it of something dangerously irrational, and you yearn to lash back on instinct, to defend the beliefs you’d lived your life by—even as your own doubts of it conceal themselves in the background.

He laughs bitterly, his voice rising again. “Don’t kid yourself. That’s what the New Republic lived off of, and it was a fucking mess.”

You tense up, practically shrieking your next words, wholly, viciously attacking him back. “Who are you to say that—“

“There were people revolting in the streets!” he yells, his voice perhaps even louder than yours had been. “There were people in the Outer Rim starving! It was chaos—“

“And the First Order is what? Orderly?”

“They’re better than you and your—“

And he falls silent all of a sudden. He stops himself.

He knows where this is going. It’d happened and been resolved before, but he has a sneaking suspicion that that won’t be the case if the two of you continue down this road.

“Fuck,” he groans under his breath, his back slumped as he rubs his face with his hands.

“Me and my what?” you ask quietly.

He just shakes his head.

You fall back to your laying down position, head burying in the sheets, trying to block everything out. He’s right. He’s entirely right. The flaw in the Light, the flaw in the Republic, but you can’t bring yourself to denounce the loyalty you’d inherited.

He sniffles, hiding his tears behind his hands, and his figure—he knows it’s one of pure pain. As good as he’d gotten at hiding his emotions, they always seem to show themselves in your presence, no matter how hard he tries to defeat them, and it’s undeniable that you feel them to the fullest.

“You say ‘mama’ in your sleep sometimes,” you whisper all of a sudden.

At the revelation, he goes still. It’s an unsettling thought…that perhaps you’d known of his weakness long before he’d willingly showed you, long before he thought you deserved to know.

That maybe you’d heard the words of him crying out for his mother before you’d even known the slightest deeply-personal thing about him, when you’d only known the feeling of him inside you and the feeling of his lips on yours and the weight of his body as he slept beside yours.

His reluctance to look at you only increases tenfold when the shame floods in. The shame of a lifetime at this point—of weakness regarding his family, of putting blaster bolts in people who didn’t deserve them, of not being able to let go of his past, something he’d been striving for his whole life.

It all externally devolves into a mere fit of subtle trembles.

“Poe?” Your tone is soft now, gentle. You’re on your knees, sitting up, a single hand on the side of his face joining the space between the two of you. A certain mixture of concern and inquisitiveness finds home in your eyes, and for a second, he thinks your expression reflects one of a person staring at a beaten-down, once-aggressive animal.

“I regret it—joining the Order,” he simply says, voice cracking. The gas, plasma, fire, flesh, and bone of the destroyed system fill his imagination. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Only if you mean it.” There’s still no sympathy to your voice, but there’s a softer edge to it, the kind that’s always existed but disappears in every fight.

“I do.” He leans back into the pillows, forearm over his eyes. It feels as if this has been going on for far too long, for he’s exhausted.

Your hand finds its way into his curls, tracing from his hairline to the base of his neck. It’s hauntingly reminiscent of what he’d felt so passionately and tenderly before the conflict had even begun.

“All darkness dies in the light,” you whisper.

It’s an ambiguous statement to many, but he automatically knows what you’re asking of him—you want his darkness to die in your light.

And while part of him begs and yearns to submit to your wish, something about your words perturbs him—the words unsaid. His darkness…the one he’d held for so long, you don’t want it to disappear, you don’t want it to transform, no, you want it to die. You want him to kill it.

“I can’t,” he says softly, fingers fumbling with the sheets, almost hoping to blindly find you.

“The Light Side’ll—“

“I’m done with the fucking sides,” he interjects, his words lined with a sharp edge. A puff of air leaves his lips as he desperately wishes for calm, one with at least some semblance of permanence. He finally looks at you, eyes now completely devoid of any anger or menace they’d held before, just the sadness of someone who’d made one too many wrong choices. “It’s just pain either way, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” you admit, a brief expression of hesitance crossing your face. “But you have to choose.” The hesitance turns to anguish, a revelation in its most subtle form. “There’s more pain if you don’t, and perhaps…perhaps that’s why I chose my side.”

He props himself up on his forearms at the mere implication—the implication that your unwavering loyalty to the light is not so unwavering, that you’d gone head in like he had with his loyalty and was now beginning to doubt things.

“Some don’t choose—“

“And they suffer for it,” you interrupt, finishing his statement with your own thoughts. It’s something you’ve seen your whole life: those who don’t choose being made to do so—often in violence.

He laces his fingers with yours, delicately wrapping each of your digits around his palm.“We’ve suffered our entire lives, darling,” he muses. “Born into a galaxy at war, a brief respite, and then yet another one…just suffering, suffering, suffering…within us, around us…what’s a little more?”

The whole room seems to freeze as you peer at him, part curiosity, part doubt, part disbelief. “What are you suggesting?”

“I think you know,” he says softly. The warmth staring back at you is undeniably something you would die for.

“Say it.” Your whisper is said with the deepest conviction, awaiting the words that would cement your decision, perhaps a decision you won’t know until you hear the offer leave his lips.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs. “Let’s run.” His gaze is fixed on you, begging for this. He needs you—he needs you to be there for him so that he has a place in the galaxy, a place he would never have otherwise. “Please.”

Your breath shakes, just barely, contemplating, debating. There’s an inevitable weight to war, the kind that crushes people to pieces, and the temptation to run from such a force—it feels right. It feels right to be free, to live safer, to be with whom you want. “There’ll be sacrifices to make.”

“There’ll be sacrifices either way,” he insists, and you’re certain he’s right. “Darling….” His words fade off, and he surges forward, gently locking his lips with yours. It’s tender and pleading, the ultimate question asked once again through touch.

“Poe….” The way you say his name is filled with something decisive, something deliberate. The seconds pass. He waits. “Let’s go.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Taglist (for everything): @dark-academics-and-florals @theultimateslashgirl @princessxkenobi @djjarins @jitterbugs927 @whovianayesha | Taglist (for Poe): @synical-paradox @paper-n-ashes @spider-starry | This fic: @silkandribbons (i believed you expressed interest once; hope you don’t mind!) @spicemaidenfic (this just seems like your jam tbh)

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[justanotherblonde23]

I Want You - A Din Djarin Story

Author’s Note: Hey there, internet friends. So I had an ask from my friend @hdlynnslibrary that I can’ find to save my life. Luckily, I wrote it down! “Hi Kat! My darling! I must admit to feeling #horny okay? Soooo what about a prompt for my fav space man Din? Like maybe with an #inexperienced reader?” Oh Heather, my love, ask and you shall receive! What started out as a little somethin became 14 pages, double spaced, 12 point Times New Roman font. So my darling, I hope you enjoy this Din x reader fic, it was made with LOTS of love <3

Warnings: SMUT, there is definately sexy times going on over here, all aboard the horny train, leaving the station as we speak. Choo-fuckin-choo! Also, language because I am me and since I was born and raised in Boston and I have been swearing like a goddamn sailor since, well, ever lol. Oh, and there’s a slight breeding kink, just an FYI. I’m sorry, it just all came out and I couldn’t help it and Din Djarin wants his clan to expand, okay? 

Thank you to all who read, like, comment, reblog, etc. It warms my heart that you all are enjoying my work. Please let me know what you think of this one :-)

You had been traveling with Din on the Razor Crest for the past year or so. He found you on Arvala-7, working alongside Kuiil. You were good with your hands, fast with a blaster, and most importantly, you connected with the Child. From the second that kid saw you, he decided that you were his. He was the largest reason that you were here right now. How anyone could resist those big eyes, his floppy ears, and that cute baby smile. He turned your heart to putty. 

Your days were spent mostly on the Crest, keeping an eye on the little one and tending to the ship the best you could. The baby required a fair bit of effort, but you didn’t mind; he had become like your own child without you even realizing it. 

Somewhere along the way, you had become closer with the Mandalorian that you traveled with. Clipped sentences became more extended conversations as you gently urged him out of his shell. Soon, he became curious about you, asking all sorts of unimportant questions, ranging from where you grew up to what your favorite color was. Dinners alone with the kid turned into Mando joining you, lifting his helmet ever so slightly so that he could take a sip of the broth you made or a bite of the ration pack you heated up. Every time he did this, you made sure to keep your eyes on your plate, never wanting to disrespect his Creed in any way. 

As the months progressed, your feelings for one stoic Mandalorian grew. You caught yourself lingering in the cockpit more when after you put the little one down at night. You also caught yourself staring on more than one occasion, and you knew for a fact that Mando saw you, too. How could you not stare at that imposing figure that you shared a home with? The duality of the man was awe-inspiring, to be sure. He was a fearsome warrior, and you had witnessed his prowess first hand many a time. He brought bounties in nonstop, always jetting off to the next one before the last quarry had been frozen away in carbonite for a day. And then there was the gentleness that he had with the baby. You could tell that this was his first time taking care of another person by himself. Sometimes he was a bit rough around the edges, but he did try his best. He was learning how to be the best parent he could for the kid, and watching that play out warmed your heart. 

Often times, when he took the kid up to the cockpit so that you could use the refresher and wash the day away, you could hear him up there talking to the kid gently. Sometimes he speaks in Basic; other times, he speaks in what you assume is Mando’a. Every once in a while, you hear him sing the baby a lullaby on those restless nights where nothing seems to calm that sweet baby down. The first time you heard him sing softly to the kid, you knew that you loved him. 

You never felt right acting on your feelings; you didn’t know how he thought about you. Also, you were terrified of making a fool of yourself. Truth be told, you have never been in a man’s bed before. The life of a refugee of the Empire didn’t leave much time for amorous encounters. By the time you found Kuiil, all you wanted was to keep your head down and do your work. If you happened to meet someone along the way, fantastic, but you had more pressing matters to attend to, like surviving in the desert. 

That all changed one night when you least expected it. Mando had taken the kid to soothe him and put him to sleep, so you took the opportunity to use the fresher. You had been working hard that day, repairing areas of the Crest that needed maintenance while juggling an inquisitive little one. You took your time, relishing the way that the water felt against your bare skin, the warmth seeping into your muscles and soothing your bones. You wouldn’t tell anyone, but you viewed water as a gift from the Maker itself. For the first time in your life, you didn’t have to scrounge and save every last drop. You’d never had the luxury of using actual water the bathe daily; you’d never been in the financial position to have such a thing. For the Galaxy working class, a sonic was the best you could hope for most of the time. It cleansed the body of dirt and grime just fine, but it wasn’t pleasant like water was. 

In all honesty, your idea of a luxuriously long shower was well under ten minutes, but it was a dream come true for you. After you were clean and smelling of the fresh soap that you used, it was time for you to get out. You grabbed the small towel, drying your body, and then reached for your clothes. Your hands floundered around a bit until you realized that you had inadvertently forgotten to bring a new pair of clothes or your sleep shirt in with you. You had been in too much of a rush to hand off the baby and get just a few moments to yourself. 

You groaned at your flightiness. Kriff, that only left you with two options: you could either put your dirty clothes back on, or you could try to make your way back to your sleeping quarters wrapped in this tiny ass towel. Neither option particularly appealed to you, but your desire for cleanliness finally won out. 

You gathered up your belongings and quietly opened the refresher door, careful not to be too loud. It usually took a bit of time to calm the baby down enough for him to go to sleep, and you didn’t want to interrupt that process. The lights in the hold were dimmed, leaving you with the ability only to see a few steps in front of you. 

Unfortunately, your quest to be stealthy was in vain. You had forgotten that you had moved a particular toolbox during your work project this morning. Said toolbox ended up being placed right where you could smack your little toe on it. You yelped in pain, dropping everything in your arms in favor of hopping up and down on one foot and clutching the other in your hands. This caused the towel to also fall to the ground, leaving you bare. A noise drew your attention up, and your eyes met a helmet, staring right back. Mando was standing right in front of you, apparently drawn by the noise. 

You dropped your foot, standing up straight, eyes wide in shock. You didn’t move; you barely breathed. Your mind was short-circuiting, and you didn’t even have the sense to pick up your towel off the ground. Your body was overflowing with embarrassment, horror, and- was that arousal? Stars, you were standing here, completely bare, across from the Mandalorian who has every inch of himself covered. 

Ever so slowly, he reached down and grabbed the towel you had dropped, carefully wrapping it back around you. His hand accidentally brushed your breast, causing you to suck in a breath of surprise. He murmured his apologies, beginning to withdraw his hands, but you were faster. You reached out, stilling his retreating hands and placing them back on your body. You wanted this, you wanted him, and you wanted to make sure that he knew it. 

He tilted his helmet curiously, waiting for you to give him a prompt. He took in your labored breathing, your increased heart rate, the way you bit your lip. Your eyes met his visor, and he could barely even see your eye color because your pupils were so blown with lust and desire. He groaned a deep, low sound in his chest at your obvious reaction to his presence. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?” he ground out, trying to keep himself in check. 

You moved your hands, gently cradling his helmet where his cheeks would be, breathing in his scent swirling so close to you. You could smell the blaster residue, the leather, the metal of his beskar, the soap you both used in the shower, and that smell that was uniquely his. You’d never get tired of it, not in this life or the next. 

“I want you,” was your reply. “Touch me, Mando, please.”

“Din,” came his reply, almost in a whisper, as if it was something sacred. 

You frowned, your nose scrunched up in confusion. You studied this helmet, eyes searching for answers.��

“My name, it’s Din. Din Djarin.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, eyes wide with confusion. You knew the sacredness of a name in this Galaxy. Stars, you hadn’t even told him your own name for a solid three months. The only reason he had found out was because he overheard you talking to the kid one day. A name was even more sacred to a Mandalorian. It was precious, something to be guarded with the utmost care. You’d never even wagered that he’d give it to you, ever. 

“You can use it, but with just me and the kid around. No one else gets to know it, no one but you.” 

You nodded, understanding just how much it had taken for him to tell you. His name was a gift, something that you would keep close and cherish. 

“Din,” you spoke the Mandalorian’s name for the first time, testing it on your tongue, relishing the taste of it in your mouth. It was a good name, a solid name, a name fitting for the warrior before you. “Din Djarin, a beautiful name.” 

Hearing his name in your mouth set Din’s soul on fire. The way you spoke it, the way you had considered it and acknowledged the importance of what he had just given you, it made him want to hear it again and again. He wanted to listen to you moan his name in ecstasy, begging him for more, begging him for pleasure. He wanted to hear you yell it, mutter it, say it in everyday conversation. He wanted to hear his name drip from your lips for the rest of his life. 

That night was the first time he took you and gave you pleasure. You had come on his tongue and fingers three times before you were strung out and exhausted. You fell asleep in his bunk wrapped tightly in his arms. That was two months ago. 

You still had yet to take him fully, to allow him to be inside of you. You had admitted that you were nervous, that you had no experience to work off of. Din had been nothing but patient and kind, never pressuring you into anything that you weren’t comfortable with. He had told you that, “We have all the time in the world, sweet girl. There’s no need to rush.” You believed him wholeheartedly, but in the past weeks, you had found yourself wanting more. Sure, you were still frightened, you didn’t know what you were doing, but that burn and ache inside of you kept getting more intense as the days went by. You know that Din would take care of you. 

It’s been a rough day, and that’s an understatement. You helped with the bounty this time because the information you were given indicated that this quarry was heavily guarded. Mando couldn’t say no to an extra blaster covering his ass. Thankfully, this mission was on Tatooine, meaning that you could leave the little one with Peli. Maker knows that woman loves your little green bean; how could she not? Green bean loves her right back and seems to be particularly fond of the pit droids. You think it has something to do with the fact that he can bonk their noses to make them spring to life, but you can’t be sure. 

Unfortunately, it turns out that this asshole was much more protected than you had been led to believe. You would have some choice words for Greef Karga to pass along to whoever had commissioned this kriffing bounty. You both had more or less emerged unscathed, but there would most certainly be bruises covering you two from head to toe. 

Once the bounty was frozen away in carbonite, you could breathe a little better. He wouldn’t be giving you any trouble now. When Peli saw that state you were in, she insisted that she keep the little one for the night, which was a relief. As much as you loved that sweet little boy, you needed a breather. Hopefully, you’d be able to spend some much needed time with just you and your Mandalorian. 

You found yourself on Din’s lap with a blindfold covering your eyes so he could kiss you. You would rather not see anything at all and have his lips on yours than have your sight with his helmet on. You both were in your underclothes, your legs straddling him. 

That’s when the kisses began. There was something about kissing Din Djarin that was otherworldly. The way he poured all his love and care into a kiss never ceases to blow you away. He always started so gently, building you up and setting you on fire. How could anything be that good, that pleasurable? He licked into your mouth, moaning at your taste. Your Mandalorian loved to kiss you. He nipped at your bottom lip, causing you to gasp, pleasure shooting straight down to your core. 

He moved his kisses to your jaw and down the column of your neck, leaving bruising in his wake. Din whispered in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you tasted, how you were just for him. The thought that you were his, that this fearsome warrior had opened himself up enough to let you in, it urged you forward. 

You began to rock back and forth on his thigh, chasing that feeling of bliss. He stopped you for a moment, helping you wiggle out of your panties, before urging you to start once more. This felt even better, your slick dripping out onto his thigh, helping you create beautiful friction. By the sounds he was making, Din was enjoying it, too. The feeling of his muscles hard beneath you, your clit rubbing deliciously against him, was heavenly. You could feel the sparks in your tummy, the clench of your cunt around nothing; you were so close. 

Din urged you on, his hands at your hips, moving you. He muttered about how gorgeous you were as you took your pleasure on his thigh, how he wanted to see you cum on him, how he wanted to taste your sweet pussy after you came. His words were what finally did you in, the dam bursting and your orgasm hitting you full force. Your hips began to stutter, but your Mandalorian kept you moving, riding the waves of pleasure, extending your bliss. Finally, your whines led him to stop; you were far too sensitive to continue. You panted, trying to catch your breath. 

As you sat there, your head on Din’s shoulder, centering yourself once more, you realized what exactly was pressing against your thigh. You could feel his rock hard, dripping cock, just within reach. The thought of it made your pussy clench and your mouth water. You wanted Din Djarin, all of him, in every way possible. You wanted to feel him inside of you, wrecking you and making you see stars. 

“Din,” you murmured, “I want you.” 

He nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing you in. “You have me, Mesh’la, any way you want me.”

You sat up straight on his lap, facing him. If you didn’t have a blindfold on, you’re sure you’d be looking him directly in the eye. “No, I want you. I want you inside of me; I want your cock, Din.” 

Your Mandalorian groaned at your admission. There was nothing he wanted more. He took in the earnest expression on your face, looking for any sign of hesitance or anxiety. He never wanted you to feel pressured into doing anything that you didn’t want to do. He didn’t want you to feel as if you needed to do something to please him. He wanted you to explore sex at your own pace, never another’s. 

“Cyare, are you sure? There is no rush for us. My satisfaction comes from the fact that I can satisfy you and that you trust me enough to allow me to be the first to touch you in this way. There is no timetable besides your wants, needs, and desires, mesh’la. I don’t want you to pressure yourself.” 

You smiled at his words, his voice so soft and sweet for you. He was always so considerate, never rushing you or telling you that you were going too slowly. The kindness and care this great warrior continuously showed you reminded you of this complicated man’s duality. You felt safe with him, and you wanted all of him. 

“Din, baby, no, I don’t feel pressured. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now. I want to feel you inside of me; I want you to make love to me, please.” 

He cradled your face in his palms for a moment, his thumbs gliding over your cheeks. Then, he kissed you. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was full of passion, sinking you deeper into arousal. He kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that he loved, and maybe he did. Perhaps you and the kid were his whole heart. His tongue expertly explored your mouth, causing you to mewl and moan. He knew just what would get you going. 

He pulled away, sucking in precious oxygen as you did the same. Carefully, he turned the both of you around and laid you down on his cot. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the galaxy, not by a long shot. It was designed more for efficiency than comfort. The thing was, though, you didn’t care. It was Din’s, and he was willing to share it with you. You could feel him hovering over you, his breath warm against your face. 

“Let me taste you, sweet girl. Let me get you ready to take my cock.”

You gasped, feeling his cock rock back and forth, covering himself in your slick. You were at a loss for words, so many sensations happening all at once. All you could manage was a nod, and a whimpered, “Please, Din.” 

Your Mandalorian kissed his way down your body, leaving behind bite marks and bruises where he wanted to cause heightened sensations. Before he even made it to your pussy, you were already painfully wet for him. You could feel his breath ghosting over the place where you wanted him the most. You lifted your hips in an attempt to spur him on, but all it got you was a muscular arm forcing your hips back down to the cot. 

“Patience, cyar’ika, I want you to feel every ounce of pleasure that I can wring out of you. Enjoy the moment, feel the suspense, don’t simply rush to the finish line, little one.” 

You yelped as you felt him bite into the juncture of your hip and thigh, sucking in hard to leave a mark. He soothed the skin with his tongue, so close to where you needed him, but not close enough. He repeated the process on the other side, marking you in a place only the two of you would ever see, like a secret that you both would share. 

Unexpectedly, his tongue licked a broad stripe from the bottom of your slit to your clit. You sighed; that was the feeling you so desperately wanted. He lapped at your cunt like a man starved, and you were the best thing on the menu. He knew how to work you into a frenzy, and quickly, he played your body like an instrument that he had been practicing on for a lifetime. You quaked and shook as your second orgasm of the night took hold, bursting and pulling you ever forward into the bliss you so desperately craved. 

Even after you had ridden out your orgasm, Din didn’t stop. He worked you over, inserting one finger and then another inside of you, hitting that one spot inside you that made you see stars over and over. His mouth never stopped, his tongue lazily drawing loose circles around your clit, never slowing down, but keeping a steady pace. Your hips fought to lift off the cot, simultaneously fighting and chasing that feeling of ecstasy. When he scissored his fingers inside of you and twisted his wrist just so, you lost it once more. A scream that sounded something like his name tore out of your throat as the stars exploded behind your eyes. 

You felt like you were floating in space, freely and without a care in the world. You reached a new height of pleasure that you’d never even imagined before. You could touch the sky and would never ever come down. You thought every encounter with your Mandalorian was pure rapture, but this was beyond anything you had ever felt before. You were panting, gasping for the oxygen your body so desperately needed, and you felt better than you ever had before. As your head left the clouds, you realized you had a dopey smile on your face, and your lover was covering you with kisses everywhere he could reach. 

Vaguely, you heard his whispers in the dark. You were so good for me, mesh’la. You looked so beautiful cumming on my fingers and tongue. You taste divine, starshine. Those words went straight to your heart and to your pussy, flooding you with more arousal than you had ever thought possible. A deep kiss on your lips finally brought you back to the present, the warm body on top of you centering your mind. 

“Are you ready for my cock, sweet girl? Do you still want to feel me inside of you? I promise I’ll go slow.”

You nodded in response, your words failing you. 

“I need to hear you say it, cyare. I need to hear you tell me that you want this, that you’re sure.” 

Your head lolled a bit as you processed his words, still feeling slightly hazy. 

“Din Djarin, I want you inside of me. Please, please, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.”

He chuckled at your pleas, a smile pressed into the crook of your neck. 

“I’ll be most delighted to give you what you want, sweet girl. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Are you ready for me?”

You breathed out a yes as you felt him coat himself in your slick, making sure he could ease into you. You knew he was quite large. You had curiously wondered aloud one day if all men were built like that. Even though his size intimidated you, you wanted everything he could give you. The excitement fizzled in your belly; you were getting wetter by the second. 

Ever so slowly, your Mandalorian lined himself up with you and began to press in. You gasped at the feeling of just the head of his cock inside of you, the blunt tip spearing into you. He paused before he began to move again. Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed himself into you, stopping ever so often to make sure that you had time to adjust to him. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the girls in your hometown had made it seem. Maybe they hadn’t been with the proper lovers, or perhaps the boys they were sleeping with were just inexperienced and too young. All you knew was that there was a pinch of pain, yes, but the pleasure outweighed any discomfort you may have felt. 

You could feel every delicious inch of him inside you, splitting you open and filling you up like nothing ever had before. You could feel every ridge and vein as he inched his way into you. You couldn’t even put a name to this feeling, but you wanted more. Eventually, he was fully seated inside of you; your hips flush against his own. You felt so full, stuffed to the brim, and Maker, you loved it. He waited for a minute or two, allowing you to adjust to him and have a chance to take in all these new sensations. You had thought his fingers were terrific, but they were nothing compared to the feel of his cock deep inside of you. 

He kissed you. It was all teeth, tongue, and lips, and stars; it was perfect. He devoured your mouth, taking what was his. You couldn’t help the little sounds that sprung up from your throat when he did that. He answered you with guttural groans of his own. You could feel the way those sounds made his chest rumble; you could feel it in your chest pressed against him. 

He grabbed your leg, propping it up on his hip, and he began to move. He never went too fast for you or too hard, keeping a steady pace that kept you comfortable but still dragged you forward to a fourth orgasm. You didn’t even know you had it in you until Din used two of his fingers to assault your clit, encouraging that bundle of nerves to give you one more burst of pleasure. The combination of his cock deep inside you and his fingers on your clit was enough to send you toppling over the edge once more. This orgasm was more intense than the others, blazing white-hot through your veins and setting your soul on fire. If you thought you had been screaming before, you were mistaken. You writhed and squirmed under your lover, your pleasure causing your body to shake like a leaf. You sobbed his name over and over, tears spilling out of your eyes from sheer ecstasy. 

Your Mandalorian groaned deeply at the feel of your pussy clamping down on him like a vice. You were so tight, to begin with, and your orgasm grabbed him and shoved him into his orgasm. As he emptied himself deep within you, he couldn’t help but mumble praises. “Oh Mesh’la, you’re so tight for me, so beautiful laid bare just for me. You’re such a good girl, a sweet girl, my girl. I’ll give you whatever you want, baby. Adventure, new experiences, my love- fuck if you want it, I’ll give you warriors, children of our own.” 

You both laid there for a while afterward, basking in the glow of post-sex haze. You carded your fingers through his curls, gently scratching his scalp as he pressed sweet kisses into your skin. He was still inside you; neither of you could bear the thought of being parted just yet. You could stay like this forever, caught in this in-between time, not yet floating back into reality. 

“I would like that,” you murmured, never stopping your movements in his hair. 

“Like what, cyare?” 

“For you to give me warriors of our own, Din.”

You could feel him twitch inside you, clearly interested. His head shot up, studying yours closely, looking for any falsehood or hesitance in your blindfolded face. 

“You mean it?” He breathed out. 

You grinned, feeling around for his face. You traced his sharp jawline, the proud cure of his nose, the pout of his plump lips. This was the face of the man you loved, the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Wherever he was in the Galaxy, that was home. 

“Yes, my love, I mean it. We have our little green bean, and eventually, he’s going to need some friends to play with. We wouldn’t want him to be lonely. And besides, there’s no one I’d rather raise warriors with than you.”

You heard a faint sniffle before his lips were on yours once more. You had a family, but there was always room to add more to this clan of three. 

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[fantasyinvader]

@fireemblems24

Since @teaveetamer already posted their document on the game, I figured I’m going to go ahead as well since I promised you I’d do this. Part of it is me being impatient and just want to get writing this over with, I’ll admit, but it’s better than something I scribble at the last minute.

Okay, let’s start off with something simple. The route split. There is a meaning behind this you might not be aware of. See, Byleth’s personal class isn’t the Enlightened One in the original text. It’s Nirvana.  While it does take some cues from Hindu tradition, namely fusing with the Creator God...dess, in Three Houses it’s tied to a more Buddhist outlook. Namely, the duality between enlightenment and ignorance.

Let me explain. In Buddhist tradition, when he was attempting to reach Nirvana, a being called Mara tried to tempt Buddha away from that using his daughters. In their mythology, Mara represents spiritual death and among other things making bad things look good. However, the story goes that Buddha did not fall for the trap and in order to celebrate this a flag is used as the symbol. This is known as the Banner of Victory.

In Silver Snow, Byleth is presented with a flag. Not only does this flag appear as the route’s save icon, it’s also confirmed to be the game’s Fire Emblem. In addition, the developers have also said that the worldbuilding of Three Houses was done to support Silver Snow. Silver Snow is supposed to represent truth.

But what does that mean for Crimson Flower? It’s meant to be this path of temptation. Even the Japanese name for the route reflects this, as Safflowers don’t represent love like the red rose mentioned in the opening theme but rather attraction. Attraction and used in bouquets to say “I’m trying to attract you.” Even in the game itself, the choices that unlock CF are presented as changing the story.

What’s more, there’s implications.After joining Edelgard’s army, a NPC will talk about how he doesn’t think he should believe everything she says. This is way after Kostas dying, saying he should never have listened to her. There’s another NPC who, in the Japanese, heavily implies Edelgard is using propaganda to try and sway the unsupportive public to her side. We have the aftermath of Arianrhod, with her lying to the Black Eagles. Hell, the full version of the game’s theme song reveals she lied to Byleth during the events of White Clouds. Likewise, there’s a lot of little tidbits hidden in the route that imply it is far less heroic than it initially appears. Stuff like how Edelgard is starving her people to wage this war, how she abandoned the war she started for five years to search for Byleth, how she’s still using Crest Beasts, the fact the troops you liberated at Brigid were Imperial troops rather than Brigid militia like in the other routes (and notice how Catherine says “we just asked Brigid to not support the Empire” in contrast to Petra saying they’re forcing Brigid to join them? Other routes reveal that Brigid would join Rhea in a heartbeat if Petra wasn’t under Edelgard’s control), all optional but they’re there. Just like how her route has endings that contradict each other all over the place, talking about giving the people liberty while Hubert’s imply it’s a police state killing those who don’t accept their new overlord. Or how the Church is still around post-war, just under Edelgard’s control. Or how Byleth’s solo ending makes it still sound like they can use the Sword of the Creator, while the Jeritza ending shows them using the Sword of Seiros. Various bits of information floating around the game also debunk her narrative, if you know where to look. Crests and the Church don’t have as much power as she makes them out to, the Empire was founded on meritocracy but those in charge used their power to oppress the masses, and the Empire’s split with the Church happened because the Southern Church rebelled against their leadership and was crushed by the emperor at the time.

There’s so much evidence that things are changing in Fodlan, with new power structures and attempted reforms, while the Japanese text makes it clear Edelgard wants to put things back to how they used to be. She’s not a reformer, she seeking restoration of the Empire.

Even Byleth’s romance with Edelgard is suspect in the Japanese text. Ferdinand and Hubert’s paired ending makes it clear that Edelgard is jealous of how close they are, while her supports with Byleth flat out say Byleth has become more distant (and likely undoing their development during White Clouds). In addition, Japanese Hubert and Byleth’s support ends with Hubert saying they can be two particular birds flying alongside the eagle that is Edelgard. This bird is from Chinese mythology, representing eternal love...and bringing death, destruction and misery. It has very negative implications, hence why using the mandarin duck is seen as more appropriate since it also means love without any of the other stuff.

CF is the path of ignorance. Hell, the Japanese script says as much when Dimitri calls you out on walking the path of the beast. Nirvana is meant to be extinguishing the flames of hatred, greed and ignorance within yourself, while the path of the beast is one of hatred, greed and ignorance. CF is the antithesis of what Byleth’s story is supposed to be, hence why they lose their powers in it’s ending and aren’t a leader in Fodlan despite having proven themselves capable of the task. Instead, various endings show Edelgard restoring the nobility, albeit with far more control over them. Hell, the Japanese script uses the words conquest a lot more than the English one, the devs even referring to it as such while Silver Snow is the Empire Route and that part of the meaning behind CF is simply getting rid of those who stand in your way. Nothing about liberty or humanity, just Edelgard taking all power for herself.

Or in other words, she’s the hegemon that’s referred to in Byleth’s CF title. This was actually confirmed to be a reference to China’s Mandate of Heaven, and is meant to stand in contrast to Azure Moon. The gist is that unlike the Divine Right of Kings, where a leader has a right to rule given to them by God and everyone else can just suck it up, the Mandate treats their rule as a privilege. If you’re a cruel leader, corrupt,you put yourself ahead of your subjects, or just simply an oppressive tyrant, then you’re walking the path of the Hegemon. The Heavens will then give signs to the people, telling them they need to overthrow you and install a new leader. That’s what Edelgard is supposed to represent, and her route has confirmed rebellions against her. Ironically, her portrait at the end of CF is based off of Napoleon’s coronation portrait, which was meant to emphasize his own divine right to rule. That hand staff is supposed to represent being given God’s approval to rule, it’s call the Staff of Justice...except what we see in the game is inverted from the real thing.

Meanwhile, Dimitri’s path is that of the Righteous Kings. He’s a benevolent leader, one who puts the people first, giving them power and by overthrowing Edelgard he enacted justice. Dimitri at the end of AM and during CF is meant to be the good king, while Edelgard is always the tyrant. Hell, the terms for these in Japanese are used as expressions. Hegemon has very negative implications, like a power-tripping middle manager, while Righteous King has positive ones and can even be used to say a particular way of doing things is the proper way to do things.

Also worth noting that Azure Moon is the only route where you can pretty much save everyone sans Edelgard, Hubert and Jeritza. It seems to be the route that most emphasizes compassion over learning the full truth (hence, it doesn’t feature the flag like SS/VW).

Hell, the same final boss theme plays at the end of CF and AM. It’s Edelgard’s theme, using her own musical cues and stuff. Rhea might be the final boss of CF, but the music makes Edelgard the bad guy. Likewise, there’s many cues in the game linking Rhea with light/dawn and Edelgard with shadows/darkness, even Rhea’s lilies represent purity compared to Edelgard’s safflower.

Claude also has light based symbolism, and the devs confirmed he’s a good guy. He’s supposed to be Fodlan’s new guiding light after Rhea dies and the collapse of Fodlan’s institutions. In essence, he’s a direct contrast to Edelgard. While Edelgard thinks she knows everything and won’t change her mind, Claude learns the real truth and his views change with the route (mostly implied due to his supports). Claude reveals said truth, while Edelgard will keep pushing lies that suit her. The endings were Edelgard loyalists and TWSITD rise up to try and retake Fodlan are less hidden than the rebellions against Edelgard. Claude treats Byleth as an equal, whereas Edelgard pulls rank and says she can only see them as an equal when they propose. Claude doesn’t fall for attempts by TWSITD to turn him against the Church in VW, which creates the impression that they were the ones responsible for turning Edelgard against Rhea for simply being not human.

Claude is legit, especially considering the fraud that is Edelgard. You can’t save everyone as Claude, since the story prioritizes the truth (with SS being in the middle) but there’s a case to be made that it’s meant to be Claude’s path to his own form of enlightenment so he can be your true equal and partner.

So, that’s kinda it. Each of the three main routes are meant to contrast CF in some way. AM is more focused on compassion and saving Dimitri from himself, at the cost of learning the full truth. VW pushes the truth more, but you’re not able to save those you could in other routes. SS is somewhere in the middle, where you can save everyone you take into your class, Rhea if you have supports with her, and Dedue if you can keep him alive. The language the devs used makes them all out to be hero routes, whereas CF is the villain route once you dig under the surface. It’s the route of lies, it leads to tyranny, it lacks sincere compassion, but it doesn’t tell you that because you’re meant to be ignorant because you decided to join her. You put Edelgard ahead of the good of Fodlan, leaving it in darkness while she talks about being it’s light.

The main thrust of the game is SS vs. CF, but VW and AM serve to further illustrate why CF is the wrong way of doing things.

The devs took it a step further in the Nintendo Dream interview. Take all of what I just said, and consider the fact they wanted the players to immerse themselves in Fodlan. They want people to see all the evidence against Edelgard, hence why fighting her = Enlightenment. BUT they also talked about wanting to play a trick on players, and when people complained about how hard it was to “walk with Edelgard” during testing they made it easier to access CF. CF is the trick my friend, it’s the player thinking they’re the good guy when in reality they’re playing the game’s villain route.

[screpdoodle]

Duality - Chapter Three (The Plan to End All Plans)

(At least the plan to sink the ship)

Glumshanks had always been told that humans were bad news. From the moment he was hatched, it had been drilled into him. Mabu were spineless, Chompies were a nuisance, and humans were deadly - even as few and far between as they were. But now, as he watched Kaos sorting himself out, he started to realize how odd of a concept that was. Of course, Glumshanks assumed not all humans were as miniscule as this one, but even so, Kaos just seemed like any other peaceful creature Skylands had to offer. Sure, he was pretty loud, and a tad intimidating, but he didn't seem all too strong, or all that destructive. Nothing like the images he had always imagined when his parents told him stories of humans. Glumshanks leaned back against the closest crate, his ears flattening against the sides of his head as the battering ram clanged against the hull once again.

“Okay, okay," Kaos waved his hands, grabbing Glumshanks' attention. "Fill me in on what in the Outlands is even going on here."

"My brothers are trying to sink the shi-"

"Yes yes yes, I know that already!" Kaos hissed. "Why are they trying to?"

Glumshanks sighed, scuffing his foot against the ground lightly. "Well, so we can get a good grade."

"A good grade?"

Glumshanks nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Yyyep. Thropp thought if we could sink a ship for demolition class we'd be able to bring back the cargo and get the highest grade in the class."

There was another clang, then an indignant roar from Thropp. "COME ON!! EVEN GLUMSHANKS COULD HAVE FINISHED THIS BY NOW!!"

Kaos winced, clapping his hands over his ears. "Ancients, he has absolutely no volume control."

"Imagine living with him," Glumshanks gave a dry chuckle, then sighed, looking to the ground. "So. Are you going to tell me what this plan of yours is, or…?"

He looked back over to Kaos, who was staring off to the side, his mind clearly elsewhere. After some hesitation, Glumshanks reached out, tapping on Kaos' shoulder. The tiny human jumped, his eyes wide.

"Plan?"

"Oh!" Kaos brushed himself off. "Yes, yes. The plan."

He gestured for Glumshanks to come closer. Glumshanks raised an eyebrow, but obliged anyway, kneeling down to Kaos' height. He was immediately caught off guard by Kaos swinging his arm around his shoulders, pulling him down even more.

"Alright," he whispered, grinning. "I'm going to need you to distract those lugs while I-"

"No. No way," Glumshanks shook his head, pulling away. "If I get in the way Thropp said he'd tie me to the end of the battering ram for 'extra support'."

His apathetic demeanor was all but gone, true fear shining through in the troll's grey eyes. Kaos frowned, putting his hand on Glumshanks' shoulder.

"Listen, Glumshunks."

"Glumshanks."

"At least I was close. You'll be fine, I promise. Before they even realize you're not simply there for idle chit chat, I'll already be done with my half of the whole ordeal. There's no way I'd let you become the paint color for that section of the hull."

"I didn't need that image in my mind, but thanks."

Kaos snickered, patting Glumshanks on the shoulder. "Come on, you trust me, don't you?"

Glumshanks hesitated. The two of them had literally just met. Would he really be putting his well being in the tiny hands of a human he knew nothing about? Glumshanks looked back over at his brothers, watching as they rammed the wall once more, Thropp shouting something about them being nothing more than 'spineless snot monsters'. He could see the section was starting to buckle, the copper colored plating cracking open at the point of impact, light starting to filter in. Yes, yes he was. Glumshanks looked back to Kaos, then held out his hand.

"You promise I'll be okay?"

"Pinky promise," Kaos smiled, taking Glumshanks' hand, before pulling the gangly troll back down to his height. "Now, here's what I need you to do."

Kaos lifted up Glumshanks' ear, lowering his voice to a whisper. Glumshanks could feel his heart beating within his chest, but he tried his best to ignore it, just focusing on the words Kaos was saying. The more he listened, the more confused he became, but Glumshanks just nodded along. Hopefully, he wouldn't regret this.

Glumshanks bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, wringing his hands together nervously. He glanced back at Kaos, who gave him a thumbs up before slipping out of sight. Glumshanks managed a smile back, took a deep breath, then stepped forward.

"H-Hey, guys?" Glumshanks raised his hand, his voice barely audible over the sound of splintering wood. At this rate, the battering ram was going to split in half before the hull broke, but he didn't want to risk it. At any rate, they'd probably just start ramming into the wall themselves "Guys?"

The other trolls whipped their heads around, dropping the battering ram. (Which subsequently landed on Haldir's foot, causing him to scream and jump back). The others paid him no mind though, aside from a small snicker.

"What's up, runt. You're supposed to be watching the human," Thropp muttered, pushing past Haldir as he attempted to nurse his, probably broken, foot.

"I- I know. I made sure he was secure," Glumshanks felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead, but he tried his best to ignore it. "I-I was just wondering. Why are we doing this?"

"You know why, Glumshanks. We need to get an A on this project or-"

"But, it's not the right ship. You know that. There's no reason we should be here still. They won't accept a school ship for the project anyway-"

Glumshanks yelped as Thropp swiped at him, snarling. "Be quiet! You're flunking the class anyway, what would you know!!"

"I- I knew this wasn't the right ship when we first snuck onboard!" Glumshanks retorted, standing his ground. He could feel his legs turning to Jell-o beneath him, his hands balled into fists. "But you didn't listen!"

"Uh, Thropp?"

"Not now Ascral!! Can't you see I'm busy!?" Thropp whipped around to face his other siblings, practically frothing at the mouth.

"But- this is important? I can't hear the engine anymore."

"I can't either," Zhoark piped up. "Do you think we landed?"

"Of course not, dimwit! There's no way we're there yet!"

Thropp pushed Ascral out of the way, peering through the crack that had formed in the hull. Glumshanks wiped the sweat from his forehead, nearly collapsing then and there. He could see Thropp's body language shift from enraged, to confused, right back to enraged once again. He whirled around, a vein on the side of his face bulging.

"Why isn't the ship moving!?"

Kaos had crawled into the space between two of the crates, hidden from view. He listened intently to the trolls bickering, resisting the urge to peer over and risk getting seen. Despite his worries, he had to admit Glumshanks wasn't doing too horrible at being the distraction. Of course, he could have done much better if his expertise wasn't needed for the other half of the plan, but he'd let that slide. Kaos turned back to his work, tuning out the trolls to the best of his ability. In front of him was a metal box, a hole cut into its surface where the speaker had previously sat. Inside, Kaos could make out a tangle of wires wrapped around a few loose gears, rust and mildew coating their surfaces. Kaos reached in, moving some of the wires to the side, a slimy residue coating his calloused fingers. He pulled out an old cog, or at least what he assumed was once a cog, now only a corroded lump of an indescribable metal. Kaos set it on the ground, then covered his nose, the smell finally reaching him. It definitely wasn't the worst smell, but it wasn't what you would expect an old speaker box to smell like. Wet copper mixed with rotting cherry pie. Amazing what time did to old technology, he thought, though he could have sworn a few years buried amongst crates and cleaning supplies wouldn’t have done something like this. Sure, the ship leaked from time to time, so the insides being a little damp was to be expected; but full of a viscous substance that he could only describe as the color of 'moldy puke'? That definitely wasn’t supposed to be there.

Kaos reached into the speaker, breaking the stale skin that covered the surface. Kaos remembered trying to hack the com system; the ship had been stalled one day on the way to school, so bored and wanting to try out something he had read about the day before, Kaos had taken down one of the speakers and rewired it. He had intended for it to only play electro-swing music (a genre he was particularly fond of) - but instead he had caused all of them to emit an ear piercing whaling that had made his ears ring for days after. Needless to say, the experiment had been a failure - aside from causing the ship to go into a momentary panic. As Kaos recalled the memory, the fondness he felt started slipping into disgust. They had ridiculed him. When he had been caught, he had been kept him contained like nothing more than a common criminal - until of course they docked and he was escorted off. Kaos clenched his fists, his vision growing blurry. He could hear Thropp shouting, but he didn't bother to try and make out the words They had stared, hushed whispers exchanged between friends, judging stares trained on him, like every student considered themselves to be judge, jury and executioner. They knew nothing, and yet they held themselves high enough to make split second decisions based on appearance and rumors. The weird kid had been messing with the intercom. That was all they knew. And yet they held the audacity to judge him like they knew him. They knew nothing. Nor would they ever get the chance to. To them, Kaos would forever be the odd kid, always getting himself into trouble. Always stirring the pot. Always at the back of the class. Always alone. Not even a month of detention could wipe those stares from his mind, nor those thoughts from theirs. He would always just be 'that kid'.

Tick tick tick tick.

And, there it was. Kaos shook his head, a chill running up his spine. The nails tapping on a chalkboard in the back of his mind, the noise clawing its way to the forefront of his psyche. He checked around to make sure it wasn't just one of the trolls making noise; a foolish endeavor on his part. He knew the difference. This was all him.

Tick tick tick

Kaos took a deep breath, closing his eyes, that damned noise continuing to play on repeat. Ever since he could remember, he had been able to hear it, working its way through his thoughts whenever he got overwhelmed by his emotions. Sometimes a blessing in disguise, other times a rhythmic curse doomed to settle at the forefront for hours on end. Though today, it seemed to be merciful, already beginning to fade.

Tick tick

He could hear the trolls yammering on once more, his vision clearing (along with the headache-inducing noise). Curiously, he peeked over the crate he was huddled behind. He watched as Thropp pushed Ascral (or who he assumed was Ascral) out of the way of the crack in the wall, shoving his ugly face as close as it could get. He raised a brow, but decided he would ask Glumshanks about it later, simply returning to his work. The work he himself had so unceremoniously interrupted with his stupid daydreaming.

Tick

Kaos sunk back down to the floor, returning his attention to the speaker. He preemptively held his breath as he reached back into the metal box, feeling around inside. He had broken the crust already, leaving the gelatinous mess uncovered and even more putrid than before. Bracing himself, he plunged his hand down into the slime, a sensation of cold and clammy washing over him from his fingertips. Kaos gagged, covering his mouth with his free hand, plunging his other deeper into the mess. It squelched in response, almost seeming to squirm against his grasp. He was wrist deep now, having gotten a good hold on it. The less times he needed to go in, the better, so the more he pulled out in one go, the better it was for him. Kaos scrunched his eyes closed tight, then pulled. Nothing happened. He opened one eye, frowning. The slime hadn't even budged. He tugged on it again, still to no avail. Kaos grabbed his wrist, pulling with all of his tiny might. With a sickening pop, the slime gave way, sending him rolling backwards.The mess flew from his hand, slapping against the hull and sliding down with a squeal, leaving a trail of glistening slime in its wake. Kaos watched from the floor as the mass wriggled away behind some boxes, then looked over when he heard Glumshanks clear his throat in a panic. The troll’s conversation had trailed off, befuddled stares watching the creature slink out of sight. Luckily, it didn’t seem like they had noticed Kaos peeking out from his hiding spot, but that probably wouldn’t last for long, seeing as their curiosity had already peaked.

“M-Maybe we should just get back to work?” Glumshanks spoke up, sweat trickling down his brow. “This hull won’t, uh, breach on its own after all-”

Thropp pushed Glumshanks to the side with more force than necessary, lumbering towards the crates. Kaos scrambled back to the speaker, his heart pounding in his ears. He swore, if it was any louder, Thropp would be able to hear it. As he knelt down in front of the speaker, now free of whatever that creature had been, his mind began whirring to life. He began getting to work, ignoring the looming danger that was quickly approaching - hopefully that creature itself would keep Thropp’s attention long enough for Kaos to finish. Kaos grabbed a box marked "spare parts", rummaging through it as quietly as he could, going back and forth between searching for parts and removing the old ones, his hands starting to work on their own. It was like a puzzle he had done hundreds of times, his brain piecing things together like it was second nature to him. He refitted wires, recoiled copper spools, ignored the egg sack in the corner of the box as he worked to fix problems before he even realized he had thought of them. It was like magic, his fingers gliding and movements fluid. It would almost be like meditation if Kaos didn’t practically feel the breath of that goliath troll on the back of his neck. Kaos grabbed a small power core from the box, silently praying to the Ancients before sliding it into place, then fitting the actual speaker part back into its place with a tiny click; a click that seemed to echo through the room, like the bullet from a gun. Kaos looked over his shoulder in a panic, only letting his breath out when he realized Thropp’s attention was still captured by the trail of slime, Glumshanks desperately trying to keep it that way. Their eyes met for a split second, Kaos giving a quick thumbs up before motioning for him to continue with the distraction. He watched for a moment before crawling behind the speaker, taking a deep breath. It had worked once before, it had to work if he was trying to do it on purpose, right? Everything was riding on his shoulders… and Kaos had never felt more powerful.

Glumshanks moved his sweat slick hair out of his eyes, looking back to his brother, who was fishing around behind one of the larger crates, trying to grab ahold of whatever that large, slug-like creature was. Glumshanks knew he needed to work quickly, his brothers' attention spans were even shorter than their fuses, and Kaos needed time to get the machine up and running. Again, Glumshanks doubted why he was even trusting this human, but if this worked it would turn out better than whatever this ‘plan’ was that Thropp had concocted. If he had to choose one madman over the other, he’d have to take the one that didn’t include sending them all falling into the endless expanse of Skylands. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, his ears twitching up at the soft sound of whirring that filled the air. Thropp paused, clearly hearing it too. He looked to the others, who shook their heads in response, just as confused as him. Glumshanks had to resist looking back to Kaos, to see if it was working. His hands twitched, ready to cover his ears at a moment’s notice. Thropp peered behind the crate, as if expecting the slug to be emitting this strange noise. At that moment, Glumshanks looked back. Kaos had spilled his backpack onto the ground, the speaker perched up on a stack of boxes, and an odd looking remote now clutched in his hand. He was fiddling with the dial, then covering his ears, before doing it again. His expression furrowing more and more with each attempt. He hit the side of the remote, trying not to scream. Glumshanks raised a brow as a purple spark ran across the remote, the lightbulb at the end bursting, before an ear-piercing shriek rang through the air. Kaos screamed, his voice immediately drowned out, tossing the remote to the side as smoke began curling from the gaps. Glumshanks plugged his ears, his head starting to spin as his knees buckled. The troll watched through blurred vision as Thropp fell to one knee, clamping his comically large hands over his equally large ears. His mouth was moving, but Glumshanks couldn’t make out what he was saying, let alone actually hear him. None of the others could either, clearly, absolutely losing their minds over by the battering ram. He was about to look back, to see if Kaos was making the most of the situation, when he saw the little brunet making a break for the door, almost bumping into him. Glumshank’s heart skipped a beat before he scrambled after Kaos, barely noticing when the door was slammed in their faces. Thropp spat at them, swiping to grab Kaos, who only narrowly dodged. Kaos scrambled back, bumping into Ascral, causing him to trip over the battering ram and topple onto Zhoark and Haldir. Thropp reeled forward, only to fall face first, tripped up by Glumshanks foot stuck across his path at the last minute. Kaos looked over to Glumshanks, his mouth opening a smidge before twisting into a grin. Glumshanks motioned to the door with a quick tilt of his head, the two scrambling over while the others were incapacitated. Kaos got to the door first, struggling to twist the lock wheel, practically climbing on the door to try to get it to budge. Glumshanks gently nudged him to the side after a moment, trying to keep a level head as he tried to turn the handle. Nothing. Glumshanks saw Kaos mouth something about an automatic lock before he kicked the door with all of his might, hopping back as he clutched his foot immediately afterwards. Glumshanks rolled his eyes, then paused, noticing a distinct lack of ringing filling the air (aside from the ones lingering in his ears). He hesitantly looked back to the speaker, his stomach dropping as Thropp gave the remnants one last stomp, grinding it into the floor with his heel. When he looked up, his beady eyes immediately focussed in on the pair, his lips twisting into a snarl.

“I knew something was up with you, Glumshanks,” Thropp towered over them, sneering. “You never show this much interest, I should have known something was up.”

“I mean, you could have taken longer to figure it out.” Glumshanks shrugged, looking to the side, trying to mask his fear with disaffectiveness.

The facade didn’t last for very long though before Thropp picked him up by the collar of his top, spit flying from his mouth as he snarled. “You know, I always knew you were a reject. I just never thought you’d end up helping a human of all creatures.”

Before Glumshanks could retort, Kaos stomped on Thropp’s big toe, causing him to drop Glumshanks with a cry of indignation. He whipped his head around to stare bullets at the small human, who glared right back, arms crossed across his chest.

“You really should treat your brother with more respect. Who else is gonna put you buffoons in their place?”

Thropp grabbed Kaos by the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer than needed.

“You best watch your tongue, human. Before I remove it.” He pulled his head up, barking at the three others. “Boys! Grab the rope! We got some loose ends to take care of.”

Thropp finished tightening the ropes more than needed, shoving the pair back once he got to his feet, a cocky smirk on his face. Despite the bite marks that lined his arms, courtesy of Kaos, he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he seemed amused. Kaos squirmed, his back pressed up against Glumshanks’. He watched as Thropp lumbered away, back towards the battering ram, chuckling about his ‘cunning’ and ‘wiles’.

“So… got a plan to get us out of this one,” Glumshanks muttered, legs curled up to his chest. He didn’t even bother trying to look back at Kaos.

Kaos flinched at the sound of the battering ram resuming. All of that for nothing. He tried to find the knot holding the ropes tight, but it was nowhere within reach, at least for his stumpy little arms to reach. He huffed, shoulders slumping. That was, until the sound of something new reached his ears. The other trolls paused, looking towards the door. Kaos elbowed Glumshanks, raising a brow. Behind the locked door, footsteps were making their way down the stairs.

<- previous chapter | next chapter ->

[ilcaeryx]

Tenacity: Chapter 9 - Cannibalism [Takami Keigo | Hawks/Reader]

SUMMARY: Your nightly Twitter sleuthing brings up an inappropriate question about Keigo and he spends the evening denying you any straight answers. 

TAGS: One-shot, Hawks/Reader, Takami Keigo/Reader, comedy, cute, fluff, pillow talk

NOTES: This is a part of the Tenacity one-shot compilation!!! Celebrating that it’s Friday with a one-shot featuring Hawks! I had tons of fun writing this. I can’t wait until he properly shows up in the anime.

Your boyfriend Keigo patrolled the roads and rooftops of your city during the day, a professional ensuring the citizens’ safety from villains. When he returned back home for the night, you devoted a good 15 minutes before bedtime to scroll endlessly on your phone, an amateur guardian of his Twitter tag. If you were honest, you were more like a trigger-happy vigilante than a righteous guardian. The perfect duo, to be honest.

Was he aware of your nightly sleuthing?

No. Not the fact that you were basically the head of his protection squad, at least.

Because your spare time always went by fast, your bed time approached and you got comfortable under the sheets. You checked for new Tweets under the ‘wingherohawks’ tag… thirst tweets, hate tweets or whatever the world tossed at you. This had been a routine since months back, when Keigo had whined about being unable to DM you during the day. Mind you, it hadn’t even been during the honeymoon period of your relationship; you two had been together for a solid two years now and this hadn’t been a thing prior, keeping things to the usual phone messages. However, as he had risen in hero rank he saw a need to use his social media platform often, so the two of you became much more familiar with Twitter as a result. 

There was a contrasting duality to reading what anonymous people wrote about him. While you loved the thirst tags because of their relatability, though they did make you cringe at times, you silently raged whenever you came across something that could be constructed as hate or pointless negativity. Thus, you had unofficially taken on the Hawks’ Protection Squad leader position – a one person crew reporting whatever nastiness you came across. You thought it made a difference, as he had been visibly more relaxed while browsing during the evening.

This night, your feed was pretty innocent for once. You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting a smile at a recent picture snapped of Keigo patrolling the streets, taken from his profile. It must have been after confronting a villain, as he was pushing back his hair with a dreamy expression on his face. He was intensely photogenic.

Humming, you liked the picture and continued scrolling downwards. 

“Chicken, when are you coming to bed?” you asked loudly, peering over your duvet towards the hallway. A second later, the shuffling of feathers against each other and feet slapping against the floor rang out. Your chicken did not enter the bedroom, standing by the entrance like a vampire awaiting an invitation. Holding a bowl beneath his face with one hand, he fished up some noodles.

“Angel,” he greeted you in a creamy tone and guided his chopsticks his mouth. The dark outlines around his eyes made his eyes seem like those of a cheetah, perceptive and predatory. It was an interesting diversion compared to his general relaxed body language. After slurping the last of the noodles, he wiped his hand over his lips and pointed at you with his chopsticks. “I’ll join you after I’m done eating, I promise.”

There was nothing to read online… so you were bored. This one day, you would let him break the rules of the house. “I allow you to eat in our bed now, so you can sit here.”

Keigo did a double-take and pursed his lips. “That’s not suspicious at all. What are you up to?”

“Nothing, I just want your company,” you said and padded the empty, cold space by your side next to the bed’s edge. “Your fat ass can fit here, don’t worry.”

You let out an entertained howl as he feigned a hurt expression, concealing his cheeks and eyes. “I was just about to say that you were going to kill me with cuteness someday.”

“I am cute the majority of the time and I’m pretty certain I’ll be the death of you. Be nice to me, Takami Keigo, or you’ll regret it.”

He whined and stumbled inside, shooing you tenderly to the side. Sitting down, he continued to eat. 

“What are you eating?” You rotated until you were on your side, your stomach pressed against his back.

“Leftovers from yesterday, since you didn’t devour everything. Do you want some?”

“Eh, I already brushed my teeth. Thank you for the offer.” You would 100% regret saying that later. That would be a problem for future Y/N, though.

You could hear his lips curve upwards  while answering. “Suit yourself.”

For a good twenty minutes, because Keigo never ate like a starving man, you caressed his back while he made his way through the bowl. Occasionally you exchanged quips but you didn’t demand anything other than his presence next to you.

You were content.

When Keigo had completed his night routine he crawled up in bed next to you, encroaching into your space.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice fuzzy in the darkness. Rolling over, you nestled your head on his arm, his biceps warm against your cheek. When he drew his wing above your body and upwards, it was kind of like resting inside a tent. Feeling his silky feathers against your arm was very pleasant. With great care, he adjusted himself into comfort.

Suddenly recalling that you had to turn on your alarms, you quickly brought up your phone and did so.

“I’ve never been this turned off in my life. Bringing out your phone when you’re talking to another human being.”He stroked stray hair-strands out of your face with his free hand, twining them behind your ear, speaking to you with affection despite the harsh words.

“Unless you want to wake up at 10AM, I have to turn on the alarm.”

“To be honest, I’d love that.”

“Same.” A notification popped up and out of curiosity you tapped it. Then you read it. The Tweet that made you peace out and put your phone away. However, you refused to live with that question blistering inside you without affecting Keigo. “Chicken. I have a weird question for you.”

He hummed in a positive manner, so you proceeded.

“You’re human, right?”

Keigo ceased brushing your hair, his fingers remaining at the tip of your ear. “Well, you’ve seen me naked. You can be the judge of that.”

“I would personally say yes to that question. You’ve got hawk wings, though.”

“I wonder where this is going to end…”

“Just trust me. Look, if you’re mostly human and your wings are hawk wings, do your wings taste like human or fowl?” You didn’t want him to roll over because of your borderline creepy question, so you grasped his shoulder and pulled yourself to his naked chest.

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard this question. Damn, I wouldn’t complain if it was the last time.”

Without thinking, you burst out, “So you don’t know the answer to the question?”

“My future bride,” he said and kissed the top of your head, “consider what you just implied.”

“C’mon, self-cannibalism isn’t that bad. Hold on, what do you mean with future bride?” Whatever tiredness had settled into your limbs dispersed. You weren’t sure if he was kidding or not because his tone had been neutral, as if he were stating a fact.

“Please, stop struggling and go to sleep.”

“Keigo, what did you mean with future bride? Did you say that just to throw me off?” You brought yourself up on an elbow and showed your canines before digging your teeth into his shoulder. It was a timid bite, not worthy of the orchestrated ouch he exclaimed.

“You’re actually a cannibal in disguise!”

“That’s hardly kinkier than what we usually do. Elaborate on the bride thing.”

 “Heh, you’ll find out someday. If you’re nice to me, of course.” Keigo’s chest vibrated against your forehead as he laughed lowly.

None of you had brought up marriage before. It made you ponder whether he was pulling your leg or if he had been thinking about it. Would he be that cruel? Perhaps you would deserve it after the coming question.

“Chicken,” you said, your voice unsteady with laughter. “You have an unlimited amount of feathers, right? Have you ever thought of making dakimakuras containing your feathers? I think they would sell well. Hell, I would probably even get one myself.”

You must have broken him because he didn’t move nor speak for a good 30 seconds.

“I’ll make you one for your birthday,” he eventually said, sounding somewhat thoughtful.

“Seriously?!”

“No. You’ve got the real thing here,” he slid his free hand down your arm and brought your hand to his chest, “and you’re asking for a dakimakura? You’re breaking my heart, Y/N.”

Low-key disappointed, you drew your nails against his skin. You enjoyed how his breath quickened as you drew them between his chest muscles to the top of his stomach, yet not further. “You’re a tease. You’re absolutely horrible to me, Keigo.”

Your chicken didn’t seem interested in trading retorts anymore, so you shut up and awaited what would happen next.

Enjoyed this? Give it a like or reblog. You can also follow me for more or check out my other one-shots and drabbles.

Inspired by EXO-CBX's Blooming Day.

[xhaotixaesthetica]

Property of the Pirate King

 Starlink Intergalactic Navigator 

READ THE TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains abuse, abusive relationships, threats, violence, major character death, kidnap, human slavery, emotional manipulation, disturbing sexual themes, and profanity. The behaviors and relationships depicted below are abusive and unhealthy. These are not examples of healthy relationships, it’s actually the opposite. This is meant to imagine the members of Ateez in a popular anime trope and it in no way represents their real-life personalities and characters. Real-life ATEEZ are actually known for being some of the kindest, most respectful idols in the industry. It’s fiction, it’s for fun, PLEASE DON’T READ IT IF YOU KNOW YOU WON’T LIKE IT OR THIS KIND OF STUFF DISTURBS YOU!

Author’s Note: @zafira-profundis​ Thanks so much for requesting and liking my work, you’re my second ever request and I love you :3 I didn’t feel qualified to make the reader fully blind, because I’m not and I don’t know enough about it. So I compromised and gave them really bad eyesight, but it doesn’t come up much in the story. I’m not particularly happy with this, but I really tried my best and I hope everything else is in line with your request and you enjoy the story!

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 3.1K+

You are in: The Golden Wasteland Star System 

Every second that you spent at Lord Yang’s side was like agony to San.

He hated the way he would touch you. Hated the way he put his disgusting mouth on you and give you sloppy, wet kisses full of tongue that you obviously didn’t want but were unable to refuse.

Ever since Lord Yang bought you two years ago from a group of sketchy, no-name traders on the eastern border of his sand land, all San wanted to do was lock you up and have you for himself.

Like him, you were born a slave. Beaten and weary from everyone who’d ever owned you and all the people who’d tried to take advantage of your impaired eyesight. San was trained to kill and fight for his master since before he could walk while you were a personal slave, bound to serve the needs of your master, whatever they may be.

The desert lands that you were born into were scorching, exhausting, and ripe with death, evil, and danger, things that San was well familiar with.

But you...you were like the moon to him. Like a cool oasis in the nighttime. Just seeing you calmed him down and gave him the strength to survive another day.

You never talked to him. There were few words you ever said and few people you ever spoke to. And somehow, you still managed to be the object of San’s obsessions. The thing he’d chosen to latch onto in his mind’s last-ditch effort to stay sane in these hellish sand-dunes.

San stands ram-rod straight, a posture that was beaten into him long ago, in the doorway of one of Lord Yang’s many parlor rooms while you sit in Lord Yang’s lap, both of you bored and stiff after so long of hearing the old men converse with one another on various sordid business affairs.

Your eyes are glassy and far away as you try to ignore your master’s fingers rubbing slow, sickening circles onto the bone of your hip.

San stares at you out of his peripheral vision, something he’s gotten very good at in the last two years.

It’s any other day: hot, stifling, and miserable until San hears the words fall from his master’s lips.

“Gentlemen, I’ve come to a decision that it would benefit me to sell some of my pets. As a token of my respect to our close business relationship, I’m offering you first pick.”

You showed no movement. You’d been sold many times before and you were used to owners growing bored of their playthings and exchanging them for newer, more amusing ones until the cycle would repeat itself again.

San, however, was very on-edge.

He’d feared these words since the day his master bought you. But you’d been here for two years. Longer than any of his other slaves.

He’d just assumed that, like him, you were there to stay.

Surely, Lord Yang couldn’t mean that he was selling you?

Oblivious to the dilemma of the killer in the corner of the room, the five other men hummed appreciatively. “Which ones are you looking to get rid of?”

It was rare for you and San to ever make eye-contact, but it happened at that moment. You both knew. You could feel it in your bones.

“Ah, the older ones. Momo, Aisha, Yunho, Y/N, and a couple of others.”

With those few words, San could feel his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. If it hadn’t been for his years of training in mastering his facial expressions and body language, he would have crumpled to the floor and cried.

You were leaving him. You were being sold and you would leave him.

“They’re still young, very pretty. They’d fetch a fine price. They’ve just been with me for too long. I’ve grown tired of them.”

San decided right then and there that he’d kill every single man in this room.

No one would ever buy you again.

He’d kill them all and take you with him.

He couldn’t be without you, he just couldn’t.

Without his oasis, he’d die. He’d burn to death from the inside out in this wretched, wicked wasteland.

San had always been Lord Yang’s favorite. He was faithful and loyal. His duality amused him, his normally smiley disposition masking a hidden dark persona that was released when he fought and sometimes at random throughout the day. Plus, the boy had grown up by Lord Yang’s side, learning to protect his master and guard his life before he could even speak.

San was simultaneously like his favorite dog and the son he’d never had.

And San savored the look of betrayal in his eyes when they shot open in the middle of the night, right after San had taken his blade to his throat.

The same blade that had been the demise of so many at his master’s bidding, was now his undoing.

The night air was cooler, the sand still warm under your feet from the heat of the day as you trailed behind San.

You didn’t know how he’d managed to do it. To kill not only your master, but five other powerful men without any of their bodyguards being alerted and still find time to steal water, provisions, and equipment for the long journey ahead.

San’s first priority was you and he knew he might not be able to sneak you out if he tried to wake and free every single slave. So he settled for freeing you, Yunho, Mina, and Aisha.

Mina and Aisha went in separate directions at the beginning. They, like Yunho, were stolen and were not born slaves. They had families to return to and mouths to feed.

Yunho trailed alongside you and San for about an hour before he, too, had to diverge his path from yours.

Yunho had been a slave for three years and you hoped with all your heart that he reunited with his mother and younger brother, Jongho, even after so long.

You and San were the only ones with no home to return to.

You didn’t know where he was taking you and you hadn’t asked, but you suspected he was trying to escape the desert.

Few people had ever made it that far, but there were plenty of tales to tempt them. Tales of lands with an abundance of water and plants. Where there were no sand lords like the late Lord Yang and people were free, without being slaves.

You doubted that there even was anything beyond the sand lands, but you were willing to try. You had a better chance of surviving with San than you did by yourself, and it’s not like you had anywhere else to be.

Days passed with the consistent cycle of sleeping during the day and traveling at night with meals and water in between.

It was tough getting used to San being so close to you. You were used to his bright smile and bubbly disposition and random fits of anger and silence from two years of serving the same master, but it was different experiencing it up close.

You were the only ones you had to talk to now and San’s chatter never ceased, you didn’t even know what he had to talk about, you were both in the desert for god’s sake.

But as annoying as he could get, you much preferred this San to the one that would make an appearance sometimes. That rarer San was quieter, yes, but he stared at you with the hunger of a predator, licking his lips like you were something to eat.

As the days dragged on, you were beginning to think you were right.

You and San passed sand land after sand land, not seeming to be any closer to getting out of this scorching hell-hole.

But the more towns you passed and the more black and white flags with orange stripes that you two saw, you were beginning to have other things on your minds. There wasn’t a single person in any part of this desert that didn’t have their blood turn cold at the sight of those flags.

They’re the mark of Ateez and the Pirate King.

If there was anyone’s territory you didn’t want to be caught in, it was the Pirate King’s.

“It’s ok,” San said one day as you both laid in a sand cave to get some rest. You were too far from a sand land to find an inn and even though you were very exposed like this, there was no other option. This was better than getting second-degree burns under the hot sun.

“I’ll protect you,” he told you with a bright smile and a giggle before turning over.

You weren’t so convinced, lying awake for at least a couple of hours before you finally managed to fall into a restless slumber.

There was a bounty on San’s head for the six important men he killed, and most likely one on yours too for running off with him. If the Pirate King decided to turn you both in for the money, you didn’t stand much of a chance.

San was an outstanding fighter, but he was still just one man. Every man has their limitations.

San, as you would come to find, did not know his.

“How many kids do you think we’ll have?” he asked one day at one of the rare oases you’d been able to find.

You paused from where you were washing off some of the sand and grime that was quick to build upon your skin.

Had you just heard him correctly?

“I....I don’t want kids,” you said quietly. Not here, in this cruel desert wasteland. You’d never bring a child here to have them ripped away from you and sold off, as so many were. And you certainly wouldn’t have one with San.

The minute the words escaped your mouth, you could tell that his entire demeanor changed, even without being able to really see much more than the blurry blob of his frame at this distance.

His eyes seemed to be darker and his movements a bit jerkier as he looked at you blankly before a smirk slowly spread across his lips.

“We’ll have three. Yeah, three’s a good number. And the first son will be named after me.”

You said nothing as San switched modes again, voice soft and melodious once more as he went back to washing his hair.

You knew that whenever you two reached your destination, you had to find a way to get away from him.

The longer you stayed with him, the more delusional he seemed to become.

The first time you see the Pirate King’s face is a few days later when you wake up and see him leaning over you with a smirk.

It’s hard to make out any of the details of his face when you pair your fear with your strained and impaired eyesight, but the one thing you so recognize is his hair. It’s an intense blue, the color of the ocean it’s rumored he sailed on from the island of his birth.

“Hello kitten,” he drawled.

You looked frantically around the sand cave that you and San had decided to camp out in for the night.

He was nowhere to be seen.

And neither was the cave. Or the clothes you’d been in.

You were in a lavish room, your body decked out in fine silks and sparkling jewelry. Things you’d wear when you were in the presence of your slave owner.

How long had you been asleep? How had he done all this without you noticing? What had he done to San?

“S-San,” you sputtered out to him, unable to see the way his expression darkened at the name. “Where’s San?”

“Don’t worry about him, love,” he said, the underlying tone of malice and warning in his voice made you tremble.

“I’ve been watching you for the past couple of days. I know who he is and what he’s done. If I left you with him, you’d be running in circles the rest of your life, sleeping in caves and wondering where your next meal was going to come from as you tried to avoid the bounty hunters that want to bring the sand lords San’s head on a silver platter.”

He was closer now, so close you actually see how dark his eyes were as he caressed your cheek.

“You deserve more than that, kitten. Now that you’re mine, you’ll have everything that you could ever want.”

Everything but being away from you, you whispered in your mind, not daring to speak the words aloud.

Being a sand lord’s slave was one thing, but the Pirate King...You’d heard of the things this man has done, the atrocities he’s committed. The Pirate King is a monster.

His world was a lawless, bloody web of death, chaos, and misery that you could never escape from.

You thought escaping from Lord Yang was a good thing, but if this was where it landed you then you desperately wished you could take it all back.

And what of your traveling companion?

He was a mad man but he’d risked his life protecting you on multiple occasions and you were scared of what would happen if you were left along with the man in front of you for even a second longer.

“I want to see San,” you whispered with all the courage you had welled inside of you, eyes squeezed shut and already flinching away from Hongjoong’s reaction.

It was silent for a beat before he scoffed, ignoring your yelp of shock as he hauled you to your feet.

“OK, kitten. Let’s go see San.” he laughed, a cruel sound that made you feel like hail beating against your ears.

You were halfway out of the door when a force suddenly slammed you against the doorway. It was Hongjoong, eyes glaring at you, dark and cold and furious. His hand was locked around your throat, cutting off your oxygen supply, his grip so tight that you felt your feet start to lift from the ground.

His voice was sugary sweet, words far too slow for the rate at which your lungs were starting to burn.

“I’ll let you have this one thing, kitten. You don’t know me and I haven’t trained you yet, so it’s ok.”

Your nails dug into his skin, a fruitless attempt to get him off of you but he just kept going like he didn’t feel it. The sweetness was gone from his voice now. It was cold and monotoned as he slammed you against the wall, your body going limp for a moment at the pain that exploded in your skull.

“I’m your owner. You do what I tell you, understand? From now on, you only want what I say you can want. Do you understand me, kitten?”

You nodded frantically and he let you go, looking at you in disgust as you collapsed in a heap on the floor, gasping for air and whimpering at the pain in your head.

Hongjoong just nudged you impatiently with his foot.

“Get up. You wanted to go see San, remember?”

Hongjoong made you hold his hand as you walked down the many corridors of his palace and you obliged out of fear of both him and all the vile, suspicious characters he seemed to have lurking around his otherwise immaculate architecture.

Minutes passed before you and Hongjoong entered a courtyard in the center of the palace. It was dark and cool, a dome of black glass overhead shielding you from the beaming sun and plants even grew here.

But you didn’t like the way everyone leered at you, whispering about Hongjoong’s new Pirate Queen as he marched you both up to a stone dais where an immaculate golden throne sat on the far side.

It was only once the Pirate King had seated you on his lap and you looked around a little that you realized San lay in chains on the other end of the dais.

Instantly, the thought struck you that the man before you, probably about to be killed, was undoubtedly the one you were better off with.

San knew it too. You couldn’t really see his face, not at this distance, but you could just tell in the way his dark-clad blurry figure moved.

He chuckled darkly as Hongjoong’s guards shuffled him toward the center of the dais. The silhouettes of the tons of people in the room were moving wildly, your ears ringing with cheers as people clapped for the most action they had seen in a while.

They didn’t care that a man was about to die. Death seemed to be the status quo under Hongjoon’s rule, not only an everyday occurrence but a pleasure.

“I love you!” San cackled wildly.

No, you don’t, you wanted to say as tears streamed down your cheeks. You don’t know how to love anything. But you don’t know hate either and that’s why I’m scared for you to leave me here with him. You’re the lesser of two evils.

But nothing would come out.

You were acutely aware of the man whose lap you sat on. You knew he was watching you and you knew you would be already be punished for shedding tears for another man.

As the cheers rose, you were infinitely glad for your terrible vision. You already wished you couldn’t hear, not because of the crowds but because of San’s terrifying laughter as he was pushed onto his knees and surrounding by jeers for his death.

You’d never heard a laugh that sounded so little like a symptom of happiness. San’s laughter was something that could bring the end of days and for a moment you wished it did.

And then it was over.

Not really, they hadn’t killed San yet. It seemed like they were planning on drawing this out as long as possible.

No, the laughter was over. San was crying now. Sobbing. Begging.

“Y/N, I don’t want to leave you!”

“Please help me, it hurts!”

“Don’t let them hurt me, you’re supposed to love me!”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you heard his voice, so soft and sweet and sad. So different to the bone-chilling laughter that had just escaped him moments before. He almost sounded like a child. Like someone that even the most cold-hearted of people should never be able to hurt.

But Hongjoong can. And he will.

You didn’t love San and you never had, but he was about to be killed because of Hongjoong’s obsession for you and he was begging you to save him and you just can’t.

“No, no, kitten,” Hongjoong’s hands are rough and not gentle at all as he snaps your head back into position, forcing you to look at the blurry sights of a tall man standing over San’s hunched, chained figure with something long and and shiny.

“You’ll see every detail of his death that you’re able to. After this, you’ll really be mine. The property of the Pirate King.”

The Golden Wasteland Star System 

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator 

[medievalfangirl]

A Letter From a (very enthusiastic) Fan.

It’s me again! Haha

First of all I’d like to apologize for possible typos since English isn’t my first language but I hope you can understand the general ideia.

When I found your fic, I was a little hesitant to start reading it because usually time travelling stories to the middle ages never seem to completely portray the danger and violence it was known for. I cannot tell you how many stories I read in which the female lead spends all her time at the alehouse spending the money that we have no idea where it came from, being completely accepted for society even though she’s not like them, magically learning how to use a sword the first time she holds it and being her sassy arrogant herself with no punishment whatsoever for her disrespectful behavior. Oh yeah and everybody seems to love and admire her even though she’s just a pain in the ass.

Now that I got that out of my system, I just wanted to say what a pleasant and beautiful surprise it was to run into AGFTF. Girl, that’s MASTER WRITING! I fell for the story instantly because it’s so incredibly realistic (given the circumstances)! Adeline was held captive for months before she was rescued, she was mistreated and suffered for her loose tongue, she realized through the most despicable way that woman’s rights back then were none at all, she even got her period at the worst possible time ever for fuck’s sake! Adeline had to work to pay for her ale she didn’t create gold out of straw like some Rumpelstilkin lead, she faced the prejudice for being a woman and she took a normal amount of time to learn how to use weapons. You absolutely nailed all the descriptions and realism, thank you so much for that.

About Adeline. So hard for me too love a lead usually I just like them but I didn’t stand a chance against Adeline. SHE’S SO FUCKING FUNNY! Every time she has an inappropriate thought or just a sassy one I shit myself so hard I’m laughing. She’s so relatable and yet so unique. Her clumsiness is not Bella Swan/Anastasia Steel kind of thing, it’s something ridiculously funny and more important: the characters think that too. They’re not charmed by the way she fell of a hill and lost her unicorn panties, they’re amused by it as any real person would be. Every time I feel something’s about to go wrong for her or Adeline just makes a dumbass decision I cover my eyes like “oh, no, Adeline, not again”, but I do it laughing and with lots of loves for her. Taking a darker turn, the way she faces what happened at Dunholm is a shitty unhealthy way but it’s how most of us deal with a trauma and I can only hope she’ll learn how to deal with it in time. I love how she’s not obviously a brave warrior but totally determined to prove herself to everyone including herself and this will prove to be a hard journey mainly when she lives by the Murphy’s Law. Although it’s already very clear to me how much she’s matured and developed in that three years passage of time. I’d like to give you my top five moments of Adeline:

Adeline almost flashing Alfred, the Great. (WHAT WAS THAT HAHAHAHA I LAUGHED MY GUTS OUT);

Adeline having her hair braided by Sihtric at the alehouse (I loved this part so much it was like receiving a warm hug during the hardest winter and their friendship is EVERYTHING);

Adeline and Finan talking by the fire at the camp back from Balbury (they’ll have a topic specially for their relationship just you wait);

Adeline learning how to use a bow;

Adeline braiding Dorito’s mane alongside Finan.

Shall we talk about the marvelous job you did with the characters? We shall. It’s like I’m watching a spin-off from TLK because their personalities are FLAWLESS. I can see them talking to me. Hild being that perfect herself, too good a woman for God alone; Sihtric always so silent but also friendly and compassionate; and Finan. Oh dear God, Finan. There’s no other way to describe him other than quoting Adeline:

“I liked the duality of his nature: he laughed so easily but he wasn’t a man to be messed with – he’d fight his corner, and fight twice as hard for his friends”. Girl, you made me cry. In a good way. That is everything I love about Finan and that’s why I was so happy to see that it’s also what Adeline likes about him.

Now last but definitely NOT least.

Finan and Adeline. Sweet Lord that lies in heaven what a perfect ship. Slow-Burn? It’s more like Slow-Motion-Burn, girl. I’m a person with zero patience and you made me CRAVE for a little romance between these two from the beginning. I just kept praying and hoping they’d have some involvement soon but you made me wait and boy was it worth it. You know, it wasn’t tiresome to wait for those too to start flirting because I just adored Adeline’s relationship with everybody else (Sihtric, Hild, Clapa… even Uhtred and Gisela).

I started to feel the reciprocity when Finan chased her outside the hall and Adeline challenged him for a fight. I actually giggled in every scene they had together after the small ruse for the loaf of bread because that’s what took me to sail my shipp. The small bickering, the smirks and smiles they exchanged, flirty Finan implying “he didn’t know he’d have to EAT anything” (I had mad goosebumps I had). You built their relationship with patience and through crumbs I happily fed on only to realize that they were satisfying me and making me beg for more. It was so beautiful to see their friendship turning into something else and now all I want to see is their wedding. Just kidding but not so much.

I get a little excited when a story has everything I was looking for so I’m sorry I actually wrote you a letter hahaha if you managed to read it all, I just wanted to thank you one more time for taking the time and talent to telling us Adeline’s story. I’ll probably write another letter when I’m finished with the 25 chapters and then I’ll just leave a comment on the chapters like a normal person hahaha

Thank you again and congratulations!

XOXO

A response from a very grateful author who cried at least three times reading your letter

Saying a simple thank you feels a little redundant considering the magnitude of emotion your letter brought me, but that’s where I’ll start. THANK YOU! 🥰🥰 You’ve filled my heart with such happiness it’s difficult to put into words. So, again, thank you! 💕

My goal from the beginning with this story was to try and tell a realistic (or at least, as realistic as time travel can be) story, with a character who struggled, and learnt the hard way that this experience wouldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows. I didn’t want to write a ‘main character’ in the way that she is automatically liked and respected and admired, just because she’s The Main Character. I wanted to write about a real person, with flaws, who handles things poorly, and who some people dislike. Because real life is messy like that.  

So to have you tell me not only did you find the story realistic as I dearly wished, but it exceeded your expectations? I’m delighted, and blow away a little to be honest. You’ve broken down the story and how you felt about it in such detail, really taking your time, and I feel totally and utterly honoured. 

I can’t tell you how happy I am that you like Adeline so much!  “oh, no, Adeline, not again” truly is her catchphrase, because while she tries, she is nothing short of a disaster at times. I’m so, so happy you feel you can relate to her and enjoy her journey. I agree with you - I think most of us aren’t good with serious trauma. We get there, but it takes time, and a fair few mistakes first. Again, I’m pleased as punch that you like that she handled things badly, that she’s scared but determined, and trying to grow. You’ve picked up on every single theme I’ve been trying to portray with her as if you’ve been in my head for a sneaky look, and it’s incredible. You’re so insightful and thoughtful 🥰🥰

Taking the time to rank your favourite Adeline moments? Well, you’ve reduced me to happy tears once again. Seriously, I’m just a mushy mess at this point. THANK YOU💕

Ahhh, Finan. Straight away I’ll apologise because you’re so right - Slow-Motion-Burn sums this up perfectly😂 I did wonder if readers would find the wait until the romance a drag, so I’m relieved and happy (you’ve made me happy rather a lot, so i apologise for being repetitive) you enjoyed the build up, and friendships with the rest of the Coccham family. I wanted to push Finan and Adeline towards each other in a way that felt natural, and have this gradual realisation from them both that, oh shit, this person means a lot to me. And the flirting? So much fun to write, so I can assure you that will continue forever, to the wedding and beyond (oh i promise, you’ll have that wedding). 

One final thing - please don’t apologise for being a beautiful, kind soul who took the time to share their thoughts and bring a huge, huge amount of happiness to my day. As you can see, I write essays too, so we’re in this together!

Thank you so, so, so much 🥰���💕

[get-your-fics]

Duality - Chapter One

Summary: Your life as Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend was pretty simple, actually. Well, as simple as things can get in Gotham. But it gets a lot more complicated when you meet Jeremiah Valeska, Jerome’s twin brother.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x reader, Jeremiah Valeska x reader, Jerome Valeska x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, kidnapping, stalking, mentions of abuse

You covered your boyfriend’s eyes with your hands. “Guess who?”

You couldn’t see the smile on his face, but you could hear it in Bruce’s voice. “Hmm, let me think. (Y/N)?”

You removed your hands and sat down on the stool next to him. “Guilty as charged.” A wide grin spread over your features. “You know, for having as much training as you do, you’re rather easy to sneak up on.”

He let out a slight chuckle. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You quirked a brow. “I don’t know. Am I?”

His lips twitched upwards in the faintest hint of a smile. “What day is it today?”

You pursed your lips playfully. “Could it be...” the corners of your lips lifted into a teasing smile, “your birthday?”

“Wow, first guess.” He grabbed a cake stand that was on the island and slid it towards you. You got up on your knees on the stool and leaned on the island with your hands to look closer at it. It was a vanilla bundt cake drizzled with frosting.

“Aw, Bruce! My favorite!” Suspicion started to slip in, and you snapped your head to look at him. “Wait, you didn’t get this cake just for me, did you?” Despite the stoic expression on his face, you could read the guilty look in his eyes. “Bruce, it’s your birthday. Not mine.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t really care much about my birthday anyway. You know that.”

You sighed. It was true. You did know that. He hadn’t cared much about his birthday in recent years, but he used to... once. Before his parents’ death. You could remember a time when he would invite all his friends over to Wayne Manor, and there would be a full spread of food laid out on the dining table. He would blow out birthday candles and open presents. They would stuff their faces full of cake, frosting smeared all over their cheeks, and race around the grounds, leaving Alfred to chase after them.

But that was a long time ago. Things had changed. Well, not everything, you thought. You were still here. You had been best friends with Bruce since elementary school, so it was only natural that you two would start dating. After his parents died, he stopped going to school and talking to his old friends, but, being the stubborn person that you were, you refused to give up on him. You supported him and helped him get through that tough time, and your relationship blossomed as a result. It wasn’t easy, being his girlfriend. At times it felt like all of Gotham was out to get him. But moments like this, where it was just you two in his kitchen, smiling and chatting and laughing, made it all worth it.

“Well, happy birthday.” You slid into his lap and draped your arms over his shoulders. “I’m sure we can find some way to celebrate.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him. He stared up at you with a smirk on his face. “I hope that’s a promise.”

You leaned down and connected your lips in a soft kiss. Your hand ran up his neck to cup his cheek. He traced your bottom lip with his tongue, asking for entrance, and you parted your lips. Just as his tongue entered your mouth, you heard footsteps approaching from down the hall.

“Master Bruce.” You hopped out of Bruce’s lap just as Alfred walked in. You kept your head down and swiped at your mouth with the back of your hand, too afraid to look at Alfred’s face to see if he had seen or not. If he had, his voice didn’t tell it. “We have visitors.”

You did look up, however, when Jim Gordon and Lucius Fox stormed in with a sense of urgency. Oh, great. You leaned against the island, your shoulders slumping a bit. Of course, on Bruce’s birthday.

“Bruce, we need your help.” Jim marched right over to the tv.

Bruce stood up and followed him. “What happened?”

Jim turned on the tv to a random news channel, and when you saw the face that came on the screen, you gasped. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room as you stared at Jerome on the tv. He had a scar running around the periphery of his face and dark circles under his eyes. His red lips were stretched into an unnatural smile, and it sent shivers down your spine at seeing his image again after who knew how long.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to keep a guy waiting?” Jerome rested his chin on his closed fist. “Bring me my hostages, James. My trigger finger is getting itchy.” He raised a gloved hand that was clutching a remote of some sorts.

Jim turned to face Bruce. “The hostages he wants are his brother and you.”

“Wait.” You pushed yourself off of the island and walked closer to them. “Jerome has a brother?”

“What?” Alfred jumped in. “You’re having a laugh. No bloody way.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but, Bruce, you have to trust me,” Jim begged. “Lucius and I have a plan.”

“Okay, you know what?” Jerome said, and all of our attention turned back to him. “I don’t think you’re taking me seriously enough.” He stared directly into the camera. “Well, all right. Let’s see. Eeny, meeny, miny, mo. One of these people have got to go.”

He pressed a button on the remote with his knee. You waited with bated breath for something to happen, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, you looked on in horror as a man’s head in the background exploded in a burst of flesh and blood. The tv erupted with screams, and you covered your mouth with your hand. You felt like you were going to be sick. You should’ve gotten used to violence in Gotham by now, but it still made your stomach churn.

“Oh.” Jerome pointed back at the headless body behind him. “It’s that guy.” He shrugged. “Oh, well.”

Alfred looked back at Bruce. “Did you see what just happened?” he asked in a hushed whisper. “That man’s a raving, bloody lunatic. He can’t be trusted.”

“Bruce.” You stepped forward and wrapped your fingers around his arm. “You can’t be seriously considering this.”

“Bruce, listen to me,” Jim pleaded. “With your help, we can prevent more deaths.”

There was a moment of silence as Bruce weighed his options. You kept your grip on his arm strong, chewing your bottom lip in anticipation. He sucked in a deep breath before asking, “What’s the plan?”

You and Alfred exchanged a worried glance. Lucius clicked open a briefcase he had set down on the table. “Jerome is using a short-wave radio trigger with a dead man’s switch,” Jim explained. “If we can cut the signal, he won’t be able to activate the explosives.”

“This,” Lucius held up some sort of sleek, black device, “emits a powerful signal that disables all radio waves close to it.” He handed it to Bruce. “Once within a few feet of Jerome’s device, his trigger will be useless.”

“It will give us the time for the snipers to get a clean shot on Jerome, Firefly, and the others,” Jim finished.

“If I wear this, then that gets you time to take them out?” Bruce clarified.

He nodded. “Correct.”

“Are you sure it’s gonna work?” Alfred asked.

“I’m positive.” Lucius bit the inside of his cheek. “Ninety-nine percent positive.”

Your eyes widened, and your hold on his arm tightened. “Bruce, please don’t do this.” You stared up at him, your eyes beginning to water. “It’s dangerous.”

He looked down at you, and his hand closed over yours before he shot you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, (Y/N). Everything is going to be fine.”

You sighed and let your hand slip from his arm. He always felt like the whole city of Gotham rested on his shoulders, especially when it came to Jerome.

Bruce looked back at Jim and Lucius. “What are we waiting for?” His gaze shifted to the tv. “Those people need our help.”

Jim patted him on his shoulder. “Good man.” Lucius grabbed his briefcase, and he and Jim pushed past you and Bruce on their way back down the hall.

Alfred looked awkwardly between you and Bruce. “I’ll give you two a moment then.” He kept his gaze glued to the ground as he ducked out of the kitchen.

Once you were alone, you turned to face him. “I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

His thick brows were drawn together, and his mouth was pulled taut into a straight line. “You know that I have to.” His voice was low and dark. Then, his features shifted out of his grave expression as his eyes brightened and his lips tugged into a small smile. He rested his hands gently on your shoulders and pulled you close to him, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “We can celebrate my birthday when we get back.”

If we get back, you wanted to correct him, but you held your tongue. He held you against his chest, his arms draped around your waist. You grabbed onto his shoulders and rested your head on his shoulder. Behind him, you could still see Jerome’s pale face on the tv. A face you wish wasn’t so familiar.

CHAPTER TWO

[silvertaetae]

KTH: New Beginnings {Preview}

Pairing: Vet!Taehyung x College!Reader (and Yuta and the reader used to date :/)

Warnings: Mentions of/ Death, Half of this angst, other is super fluffy, plus a dash of smut, Tae being absolutely whipped because he is, Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it, Kids.) Oral (fem reviving), Some degrading terms, language, Tae’s (scary ass) duality, chocking (because have you seen Tae’s hands?), DoCtOr kIM ;)) , honestly just straight filth, stubborn reader. (and a dog who really wants the magic to happen.)

Summary: (okay hear me out. One: my other summaries all flopped because of...Two: I cant do the summary and not give away some of the story which...I mean I’m still editing so I might just change the whole beginning part, but it’ll be here when the story is published.)

A/N: I just want to let you know. I have two beginnings to this story and still don’t know which one to use. The one you’re reading now is shorter because if I did the other one this preview would be like 8,000 words long ..... whoops. So I don’t know if I’ll use the other one because it’s kind've of descriptive on the relationship of Yuta and Y/N. Also please give me feedback, because this is my first fic and I want it to be great and thank you for taking time out your day to read this (hoooorrrible piece of work.)!!! 💓💓💓💓

“Y/N- Yuta died last night.” Jennie's voice cracked. That was the moment everything stopped. No birds were singing. No cars outside honk their horns rushing to get to work. There was nothing. Nothing, but a static silence that filled the air. Tears slip past your eyes unconsciously.

“What?” You manage to crack out.

“Yuta died in a car crash.” It felt so unreal to hear those words. Not when you could still hear his laugh. When you could still feel his arms around you. When you still remember his smile. His lips. His touch. His voice. His everything. How could he have been gone when you could remember everything so vividly. There was no way. Every moment of the life you had flashed before your eyes. That’s all gone? Then his last words repeat through your head.

‘As if anything could keep me away from you.’

He told you he’d come back. He promised he’d come back.

He promised you.

You still smell his warm vanilla and cinnamon scent. You look down and see his shirt. The shirt he wore last night before changing. Before he went off and lived his final moments. Before he said I love you for the last time.

“Y/N say something.” Jennie tried to read any emotion she could get from you. Heart beating fast, tears brimming, stomach-churning, head pounding. Yuta’s gone?

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” You get up from the table and run to the bathroom, hearing Jennie not that far behind you. You swing the bathroom door open and fall to the floor in front of the toilet. You feel Jennie rub your back and keep your hair from falling. It felt like someone tied bricks to your ankles and left you to die in an overbearing thick sadness. The feeling making you sick to your stomach. You gag and cry and puke and wail. Everything coming out at once. “Fuck! Fuck! I told him-” You swing your head back over the toilet. “- not to go. If I had just-” Your throat burns as you gag. “-if I had just got him to stay. He'd be here. It's my fault.” Your head is back over the toilet. “He’s dead because I couldn't get him to stay! Yuta’s dead because of me!”

“Y/N you didn't do anything wrong. Don't blame yourself. It’s gonna be okay Y/N.” Jennie whispers trying to calm you down.

That was one year ago. You’re now twenty-three years old. It’s been one year without Yuta. One year without hearing his voice. One year without feeling his touch. One year without waking up to him by your side. One year without any of the stupid fights. One year without exchanging ‘I love you’s. One full year without your first love. He had to have a closed-casket funeral. His body and face to destroyed to show. You knew that if you saw the wax figure of Yuta you would be able to control yourself from touching it and crying. It would make you think he was real. That he was still here with you. That he hadn’t left you here, heartbroken. Many people came to his funeral. You met some of his cousins and best friends. You cried with his family and broke down during your speech. The wake was silent and you fought the urge to walk out. You always visit his grave. Make it a requirement to see it at least three times every month, but you always go more than that. You sit there in silence and don’t really think at all. Always bringing him flowers, whenever the one you brought before start to wilt. Still blaming yourself for his death. The first few months were awful, but they were filled with anger. You were enraged at the fact that life continued without him. That people lived their so perfectly as if someone so great hadn’t lost their life. How a world could still function and be okay when he was gone. The rage hit hard, but soon it was gone. The fire that once roared, was put out and left a cold and stagnant body.

Since his death, you’ve been more shut off., as predicted. Your bubbly personality became only a past memory to your time with Yuta. Everything you are is melancholy. Nothing was important. Not food. Not bills. Not even yourself. Life became blander. Falling into a schedule. The most important or disappointing thing, however, is that all the color in your life is now gone. The colorful world around you seemed to be robbed of all the shades of beauty it held before. Now it was only figments of ashy white, gray and black that clouded your visions. No more magic ran through the air bringing the life you once had back. You’d look in the mirror and see nothing. No soul or emotion insight. Eyes hollow and empty. Just an abandoned shell walking around all these people with meaning in their lives. People who haven’t lost a purpose. The only shred of happiness you have left is Cooper, which seem to be fading.

“Hey, Cooper.” He stayed still not even lifting his head. Any other time this would’ve been normal. After Yuta died Cooper would wait for him by the door waiting for an arrival that would never happen. Even though he wasn’t as chipper as he used to be he’d still look up at you whenever you came home from work. “Cooper.” He still didn’t move. “C’ mon now Cooper.” When he still didn't move your stomach dropped. You ran to his side and drop to your knees. His eyes were open and they were following you. You slipped your hand under his chest. He still had a pulse. It was weaker than normal. “No. No. No. Cooper, please get up.” When he didn’t and whimpered you started crying. That’s how you found yourself speeding downtown to get the closest vet clinic you could find. You carried, your now seventy pound, dog crying. “Someone, please! He’s not moving!” You cry out and fight to keep Cooper up.

“Ma’am. What’s wrong?” A receptionist came up to you.

“He’s not moving. He won’t move at all. Please help him. I can’t lose him.” The last part comes out as a whisper.

“Alright. Let me take him.” You don’t want to let go. Last time you let someone you love go they died. Just the mere thought of losing Cooper makes all this pain become so much more real. That was something you weren’t ready for. Thoughts flash and you hold Cooper closer. Walls crumble and you tremble and shake at what was flying through your head. The image of being alone burned into your mind and you Cooper tight. Breath quacking and heart slamming against your chest. Your eyes squeeze tight and everything seems so chaotic. Then, a rich soothing voice broke your thoughts.

“I promise you he will be okay. I swear on my life that he will come back to you.” His voice was calming. Like a reminder to take a deep breath, a luxury you had been depriving yourself of for such a long time. A hand rubs circles on your back and you catch your breath. Somehow coaxed into letting go of Cooper. You lift him into the hands of the receptionist. A lot of loud shouts follow, but your heart is beating too fast for you to notice anything. It’s deafening at this point. The hand leaves your back and you're left standing in the middle of a vet clinic, at six in the afternoon, looking like a mad man. Finding your way to a chair, memories flood back and soon you’re crying again. He's the only thing of Yuta left. The only shred of happiness that was left after Yuta died. He’s all you had. Cooper can’t leave you to. You know people are looking at you like you are crazy, but you don’t care. You’re shaking in your seat afraid that you’ll lose him. You know people think you’re overreacting. Hell if you from two years ago saw this they would think you’re being overdramatic, but this. This is almost too much. Cooper is like your child. He’s Yuta and your child. You refuse to lose him as well. You try to lift your head, but once again your body felt heavy. The sun beams down on your neck as you shake and shudder. “If anyone is listening, I beg of you don’t take him. I’ve lost love. I can’t lose my only happiness. I can’t.” Begs and please leave your mouth in a whisper. Your pleas soon slow down and your mouthparts only a little. Exhaustion taking over your body.

You’re awoken to a loud bark. Your mind stirs and head throbs, still unaware of the surroundings. The memories of past events hit, full force. The frown that once painted your face came back. Slowly you blink and the current environment becomes clear. The vet clinic. Why were you still here? You stretch wincing at how your body pops, from falling asleep on such an uncomfortable surface. It was silent in the clinic. You look around, searching to see if anyone was still here. There wasn’t a soul in sight and only one dim light showing from a room down a hallway. It smelled of bleach and other cleaning supplies and your stomach churned. The moon, which was now distorted from the rain covering the window, shined through. The realization of how late it actually was became prevalent. The normally chattery city had died down and rested for the night. The only sound being cars that went over puddles and the light music from them. Then there was a bark. A familiar one. You lurch out of the chair and follow Cooper’s bark to a door, reading the metal bar.

Dr. Kim Taehyung

You open the door and see something that you haven’t seen in a long time. Cooper’s once-forgotten gleam in his eyes is returned as he lays on someone. You see a hand petting his head, but not who the hand belongs to.

“I know Cooper, but you got to let her rest too.” Cooper shakes his head and makes eye contact with you jumping off the figure, running to you.

“Cooper!” You drop to your knees, arms open and Cooper runs into you. He barks at you and he looks so joyful. “I’ve missed you to buddy.”

“Cooper’s giving you a run for your money in that department.” The man giggles and you recognize the voice. It’s the man from earlier. The one who got you to let go Cooper with just a few words. Before you can get a good look at him Cooper is trying to lick your face and you weave his tongue just in time. “Here let me help you up.” You reach out for the man’s hand and Cooper finally gets off of you.

“Thank you.” You finally take a good look at the man and you see something that you thought was long forgotten. When you make eye contact the room gets brighter. He had dark curly brown hair that almost went past his eyes. His eyes a rich brown that seem glint even in the darkly lit room. An arched nose that crinkled in joy the mole to the left of the tip standing out. A boxy smile that showed off all his teeth. Round cheeks that reminded you of a newborn. Honey glazed skin that seems to shine and brighten the room. He was beautiful, to say the least. Especially compared to your pale and thin state.

“Y/N right?” He bit lip, looking as if he was holding something back.

“How’d you know?”

“It’s on Cooper’s name tag.”

“Oh. Right.” There was a moment of silence that passed. You stared at him and his never wavering smile. This feeling felt all too familiar. “I- Can you tell me what’s wrong with Cooper?”

“Yeah. Right. Uh, Cooper managed to sprain his right front metacarpus.” You raised an eyebrow in confusion. “It’s like his wrist. I suggest giving him these and making sure he rests. Not to do much on it. You have to watch him or it can worsen.” He hands you a white paper bag with somewhat neat handwriting written out in sharpie.

“I don’t have anyone to watch him. I have to work.”

“What about Yuta?” You wince at the mention of his name.

“How do you know who Yuta is?”

“His name is on the name tag.” He gives you a dub look and you’re taken aback. How could someone be so lively and cheerful, this late? His voice, though deep and powerful, was laced in juvenile emotion. As if he had something exciting to say every time he spoke. His eyes glinted with joy that could only come from true happiness. His strong and intimidating physical features clashed greatly with his childlike personality, that it can cause anyone to do a double-take. Had this really been the same boy who convinced you to hand over Cooper? It finally clicks that you have to respond and the words swirl in your head, but nothing can form. The words ‘Yuta has been dead for a while now’ will definitely put a damper on his and strongly affect you. Searching for something, the words finally fall.

“Yuta is- He isn’t around anymore.” You internally cringe at your oversharing.

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.” Another all to familiar silence falls between you two. The uncomfortable feeling being unavoidable “If you want he can stay here.” A soft smile comes back to his face and it warms your chest.

“No no. I couldn’t ask you to do that.” The thought of adding another load to his already busy day, already made you think you were using him. He shook is dismay.

“It’s fine. I have someone here who can watch and take care of him. I’ll throw in a discount just because Cooper is one of the best patients I’ve had.” He looks back down at Cooper then at you. You two go back and forth for a while. The whole argument, if you could even call it that, seemed extremely childish. Finally, you give in, deciding to weigh the logic against the wants.

“Fine Doctor Kim, you win.” He cheers and you notice the smile that had been on your face. You look down at Cooper, whose head was tucked between your legs, and pet him.

“Perfect and Y/N?” You hesitate a little just to continue petting Cooper.

“Yes.” When you finally look up at him, you see a wide smile on his face and cheerful glint his eyes. The look itself caused your smile to get a little bigger.

“Call me Taehyung.”

A/N: That was a long preview. (Like almost two thousand words long. Lmao.) I really hope you enjoyed this because this was fun (and stressful) to write. Feedback is appreciated. Sending love. 💓💓💓

[moonsolhyun-blog]

Hi again, it’s me Laina!!! Welcome back to the mess that is me~.  I re-vampred my muse. His name is Solhyun and I hope you adore him, bls.  And don’t hate me for this, but also plot with me cause I am soooo excite!!!<3 TW: parent death, mention of anxiety, depression.

━♡ guess the 22 YEAR OLD MARCH baby just arrived to dallyeong! it makes sense, because MOON SOLHYUN is just as INTUITIVE as the month of MARCH. wait, why do they remind me of KIM TAEHYUNG? beyond that, they seemed CREATIVE and SENSITIVE upon first glance. I heard someone say they’re sort of WEAK-WILLED and FLIRTATIOUS though. I hope they get acquainted here in seoul; he seems to be excited about HIS job as A MUSICIAN AND MODEL

Solhyun was born on March 13th and is a Pisces.

He remembers hearing from his mother that he was born on an unlucky day and it rains every year on his birthday. Though Solhyun has never minded the rain.

He is from a small town in the North East called Yagan and he hates it there. He’ll skate around the topic of where he is from for various reasons. The biggest being that it reminds him of finding his mother’s dead body.

Sol looked up to his father even though he was a piece of shit, but he adored him not knowing any better. When he was seven years old his father told him that Yagan was poisoning the society and he had to purify them. He had no idea what he meant and just walked to school with his best friend.

He went home that night to find his parents arguing, that was when he saw his father stab his mother and there was nothing he could do about it. He was sure his father was going to come for him too, but for whatever reason, he didn’t and took off running. He held onto his mother’s hand until it went limp.

He called the police but nothing was really done about it. His father was never heard from again and his mother’s death was swept under the rug. He was told that someone he never met before was going to come and care for him-- but they never showed up. He didn’t care, he had his best friend next door and she was all that he needed. He spent most of his time with her at her house, only going home when her parents forced him to.

Soon her parents vanished-- so he and Han left their town deciding to never look back to the hell hole. They bought tickets to Seoul and bought an apartment with cash even though they were only thirteen years old. No one asked questions when you had money, that was just a fact.

He was glad they weren’t followed and that no one came looking for them. It was just the two of them and he was okay with that.

The fact that photography was nonexistent where he was from, Sol took a real interest in it.  He loves it and anything art related, that was what made him happy.

He started a youtube channel and modeling to bring in money in high school. There was a teacher there that looked out for him and encouraged Sol to post his music online.

Sometimes to avoid lonely nights Han and Sol would throw parties. It was fun to forget about things and just have fun with others. It made him feel normal even though he knew he was far from it.

The teacher who encouraged him found out that Sol didn’t have parents. He offered to adopt Sol since they had grown close and he considered it. But Sol couldn’t go without Han, no matter how lonely life without parents was-- she was his constant. The teacher offered to adopt both of them, but before Sol got a chance to tell Han-- his wife said no and Sol was crushed.

He pulled away from almost everyone after this just focusing on his music and photography.

That same teacher asked Sol to not tell his daughter Rune why things didn’t work out-- so he ended their friendship as well because it was just easier. He never really gave her an explanation and he feels bad about it. He hasn’t seen her since his graduation when she came to congratulate him despite him not deserving that kindness from her.

After high school, Sol became extremely busy. He worked part-time as a model, full time as a Youtuber to post his music. His popularity grew rather fast and soon he had a record deal.

Despite having all that fame and fortune-- he still remembers the one bedroom apartment he and Han shared. It reminds him of his roots and so he likes to live humbly (most of the time.).

Solhyun is always working and keeping busy despite the fact that he’s been told many times to slow down. He doesn’t think he would know how to at this point.

In present day, Solhyun moved to Dallyeong to be close to Han again after finding out that she lived there. It was private and humble enough for his liking and he missed her. However, just after arriving he was asked to go on tour and he decided to take the opportunity.  He was gone for the last six months and is now just returning to the complex. He is ready to start working on his next album, getting back in touch with those he left behind here in Seoul, exploring other artistic avenues such as photography and modeling again-- and just basking in what he now hopes to call home.

Personality (March Aesthetic):  

Passionate, warm and loving- Solhyun has extreme amounts of passion and empathy for those around him. He is the guy that will rip the shirt off his back to give it to you and express it through his actions, more than his words. He will say nice words, but not as often as he’ll hold your hand to let you know he is there for you.

Reserved, Private and Quiet - When you first meet Solhyun you might mistake him for being cold and aloof because he might not say very much. (Unless he’s nervous then he might awkwardly babble like a cute idiot.)  Most of the time he spends his first few minutes analyzing you and getting a feel for your energy. He enjoys quiet and sometimes just your company is enough. He doesn’t open up very easily with very deep things. If he does share these things with you it means he trusts you quite a lot.

Intuitive and Psychic - Whether you believe it or not, those born in March are said to have a sixth sense and be quite intuitive and psychic. Sol believes in this because he believed it saved him many times in his life. He’s honed this skill, by using it to get a good sense of people. He’s also dabbled in the arts of tarot and fortune telling. Sometimes he used to do it in high school for fun with friends and he’s explored it on his Youtube channel as well. He’s insanely decent with advice because of this.

Insecure, Moody, Escapist- Also like the Pisces and month of March he is moody. His mood can shift just as quickly as March can go from sunshine to rain. His is a deeply emotional person and can be easily wounded because of this. He will put on a hard shell like he isn’t but he is. He will bottle up his emotions and is prone to suffering for those he loves and rarely expressing how he feels. When it finally does get too much he’ll retreat or take a spontaneous trip to get away and clear his head.

Flirtatious and weak-willed - He is very flirtatious, sometimes unmeaning to be. He’s sincere to a fault and sometimes it comes off as flirting. Other times, he is actually flirting. He loves love and is insanely romantic, quick to fall for someone if given the chance. Sometimes his flirtations get him in trouble and he has been in more love triangles than he can count. He doesn’t mean to, but he hates breaking anyone’s heart as it has happened to him so he’ll try to make everyone happy, which often backfires. He will give people way too many chances even when they don’t deserve it, forgiving them when he should stand up for himself.

Fun Facts:

Sol is very touch starved, his love language is Physical Touch, while he does love sex and is a sexual being, just the act of holding his loved ones, cuddling them, and spending quality time with them is very important. This goes for both romantic and platonic relationships. Skinship is a big deal to him.

He loves chocolate and fruit, but most other desserts he can pass on.

Loves music and art more than anything.

Very honest, sometimes too much so. For example, if you ask him if you are a good kisser, he’ll answer you honestly. But if you ask him about a very personal issue he is more likely to bottle up his true feelings.

Will read your tarot cards, palm, aura etc. if you ask him.

Suffers from anxiety, panic attacks and bouts of depression.

He cries easily, but will not let you see if he can help it.

Will also analyze you and get an impression of you upon first meeting you.

Loves the rain, cold weather, plants and pups.

Is actually quite funny and silly once you get to know him better.

He has been called a free and unique spirit before which he takes as a compliment.

Photography and painting, pretty much anything artsy is a hobby of his.

Will act cute one second and then be a complete badass the next, he has a strong duality like the fish (Pisces).

Is a huge dreamer and often seen with a dreamy look in his eyes. Caution: If you look in his eyes or see his big smile you might fall in love. (I don’t make the rules it’s just how it is lol. This is a joke LOL)

Can cook for you and hates a mess, will clean your apartment if it’s too messy and you aren’t doing anything about it.

If you are let into his home studio, you must be really special because he considers this his private retreat.

Loves nature and often will go to it so he can write, takes photos, and clear his head.

Carries around a notebook or often writing notes on his phone every time something inspires him to write a lyric.

Will often be found humming or singing something almost all the time.

Read more stats about Sol here!

Find out about his connections and wanted connections here!

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON INDIGO’S MAIN DANCE, LEAD VOCAL, RAP MOON JIHUN…

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 26 DEBUT AGE: 21 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 18 COMPANY: MSG ETC: this member is known for their involvement in musicals

IDOL IMAGE

The steadfast, reliable one.

That’s what he is, that’s what he needs to be, or so he’s told.

Not the one who ever truly stands out, only ever when he’s given the time to take center stage as a dancer, but a jack of all trades who blends smoothly into anything that’s thrown at him. Dancing is what he does best, and he clears the stage every time he’s on there, so much so that there’s articles written about how he comes alive, and there’s comment chains about his so-called duality, on stage vs off stage, the artist vs the person, as if they truly knew either at all.

Where his bandmates are electric and mysterious, where they’re magnetic and bring people in, his job is to keep them there, to be the anchor. He’s approachable, perhaps a little too much, and the company pushes his open and earnest relationship to fans, because they need it. The company tells him to be the best friend, the big brother, never the favorite but good enough to make people feel comfortable. The meek shall inherit the earth, as they say.

It’s a polished and just-flawed-enough version of who he’s always wanted to become, once, before the mirror cracked and the smoke vanished. Smile for the camera, be that boy, strong, unwavering, always there for others, sometimes not quite there himself.

He pursues musicals, gets the OK from the company after much insistence, after convincing them that it’ll allow him to show versatility, that that’s the thing they want for the group right now. Selfishly, he wants it for himself first, to show that he can take on that challenge and see it through. The company agrees, if only because they need it, a way to show and confirm, after re:group, that their idols can truly adapt and thrive no matter what’s thrown at them. It’s publicity, at least, but then it’s up to him to make it good.

There’s a sort of vindication in it, although he’s always been told to avoid being too prideful, but sometimes he can’t help it. No hurt in telling yourself you’re doing well, after all, that your best is enough for once.

IDOL HISTORY

corner of the sky.

“Special”.

“Gifted”.

“Prodigal”.

Words that mean too much, until they dont mean anything at all.

-

When Moon Jihun is seven years old, his parents sign him up for the school talent show, at his express request. He had seen this performance on TV, of an artist whose name he can’t remember and that his seven-year-old grasp on language would probably jumble anyway, but it shakes something up in him like nothing has before. It plants a seed in his young mind that’s only begging to grow, so he bats his lashes as his mother, and she writes his name down because of course, anything for her little prince. Before he knows it he gets a taste of it, the costumes and the light and the dramatics, but most importantly he hears his own voice, feels his body moving, and he loves how it makes him feel.

Passion feels like all he needs and he cultivates it, for all the years afterward, and it’s only the beginning of the road. It’s also the foundation of a home, for Jihun, and back then it’s whole and beautiful and precious, not in ruins quite yet. He’s his parents’ and grandparents’ treasure, the pride of Seogwipo, center stage in flashing light. The family’s crown jewel who can do nothing wrong in their eyes.

Jihun, you’re so much more advanced than all the other kids!

You know, our Jihun practices a lot at home.

I think it shows, he’s so talented!

He works hard at performing because he loves it,  but he can’t deny that being told he’s good, being told he’s special, is more fuel to his fire. It must mean he’s doing something right, and it must be true, they have no reason to lie to him after all, they’re only here to encourage and lift him up. Honesty is the best policy, always, that’s what he believes and what he holds on to. So whenever his father grips him by the shoulders and tells him he’s special, he believes it. Whenever his grandmother hangs another picture on the wall, he feels his heart filling with pride. Every time he sees them sitting in a row, all eyes on him, it’s only more motivation to chase this dream.

He’s special, after all.

Fresh out of middle school, he moves to the big city, Seoul, center of the known universe. And, or so he thinks, fulfills his destiny.

The performing arts school building towers over him the first day, so many promises rising up to the sky, all the hope he’d shouldered from all his years practicing finally about to fully realize themselves into something concrete, something for the future.

The future, as it turns out, is a paper plane that burns at the slightest change of direction.

Outside of his bubble, away from his family, Jihun crashes in a way he’s never experienced before. Where’s that special kid, where’s the prodigal son, in the middle of all the other students who are stronger and better in every way? Where’s the gift gone, when he’s struggling to catch up, much less keep up, when he loses his breath and comes tumbling to the floor, lungs on fire, sweat trickling down his back, the unpleasant physical manifestation of failure.

That’s a new word, failure. It stains his tongue like the bitter taste of tobacco, the cigarettes he starts sneaking in between classes, hunched over, curled up on himself against the back wall of the building, shame and disgust and failure, failure, failure.

His parents’ praise echoes in his mind and he tries to crumple it up and throw it away, because it’s not enough. It was never enough and he can’t do anything with it now, not when he feels himself falling behind, slipping away, his dreams so far out of reach he should probably just let them go.

But letting go is not an option, of course. The only thing stronger than his shame is his stubbornness. If he’s just average, the only way is up. If he only has his determination to show for himself, then at least he’s got something. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?  

Know where you stand. Stand your ground. Throw yourself into practice.

He takes everything in stride. Classes, projects, late night training, throw five or six desperate kids in a room and call it a learning experience. Sneak into the school’s studio when no one is looking, stumble upon a classmate, keep each other’s secrets and keep each other afloat. There’s more vindication in knowing he’s trying than in being told he doesn’t have to. Maybe it’s too much sometimes, but there’s this growing, urgent need in Jihun’s gut to just prove that he can, so he keeps going, cultivates his work ethic far away from false promises and little white lies.

waving through a window.

He’s eighteen, waiting at the bus stop when it happens, a man in a cheap suit handing him a business card, the three letters MSG feeling like a punch in the throat. He knows them, of course, anyone with an interest in the industry does. The fine print in is the man’s words, though.

“You’ve got a face that’ll sell.”

It’s a start, maybe. It’s ok if he can capitalize off of that, show what he truly wants to. It’s a chance he can’t afford to pass up. Even if he doesn’t like to think of it that way, everything is a means to an end.

Trainee life is, for all he’s anticipated, just a leveled-up version of school. He gets the call back a week after his audition. The almost soulless voice on the other hand claims they saw something in him, and it’s been a while since he’s heard those words so Jihun takes them with caution, files them in a corner of his mind that’s still marked with a red flag.

He still shows up on the company’s doorstep with his suitcase and his aching heart.

The cycle starts again. Push yourself to the limit, say yes, thank you, I’ll do my best, I’ll work harder, and then do just that. It’s all you’ve got a claim to, after all. In that room he’s just like he was before, keeps himself afloat among the others, and eventually, he finds his footing. He can breathe a little easier, sleep a little sounder, even if he doesn’t get to do either of those things much. Little by little, finally, he makes himself known. Remarkable if only for how diligent he is, people also commend his hunger to prove himself. The downside, that he tries not to let become his downfall, is his tendency to bite off more than he can chew, leaving projects unfinished or unpolished just because he wants to move on to the next one, to do everything at once, to show his worth. Run through a dance cover, move on to some barely formed choreography, or two, sometimes both at the same time because he needs to keep his mind occupied and alert.

His body feels like it’s being taken apart every day, from the hazy dance practices that blend into each other, always longer and more grueling and the next, but he loves it, this feeling, when the world spins and he’s taken along in the movement. It’s all he ever wants to do. It’s all he feels that he knows.

“You just don’t stand out.”

It’s that sentence, that he seems to hear over and over, that makes his blood boil and sets his heart on fire. “If they’re not looking my way, I’ll make them.”

And he does.

If he’s always heard that debuting is the hardest part, he’d wager that following up is harder. It doesn’t feel difficult or painful when he stands on that stage for the first time, finally, a day that he’d begun to think would never come. It feels freeing. It feels like the sky has opened up and all the atmospheric pressure has been lifted, and rain is clearing yesterday’s pain to make way for tomorrow’s joy.

Tomorrow’s joy, he learns the hard way, only comes to the fortunate. They’re not among them. Months pass and comebacks happen and everything remains the same, leaving sweat stains and tear tracks everywhere they go, trying to make sense of a situation that never does. It’s not hard work that makes dreams come true, it’s luck, pure dumb luck, and theirs ran out so quickly that Jihun keeps wondering if there’s something they’re doing wrong.

Still they keep on going, stuck somewhere between determination and desperation, a single red thread that threatens to snap at any moment. It’s burned into Jihun’s skin, this lifeline, the promise of a better tomorrow that never seems to come; low sales, low views, low interest, low morale, but still this hunger, unsatisfied yet, and maybe it never will be.

soul of a man.

Re:group is grueling, worse than he’d imagined, worse than he’s been through.

Against the odds, he hears those words again. One by one as the guys walk in, this one is special, this one is gifted, this one is prodigal, and yet they’re all here, but to him they don’t seem to realize the reason why.

He gets the devil’s part, grits his teeth when he watches the episodes and sees what they’ve made of him, but he makes do with it. After all, this world will only ever let you be who they’ve already decided you are, and in a situation like this one, it’s pointless to fight against it. If you know who you are then it’s enough, and Jihun does, finally. So he works, and he works, because that’s all he knows, and he refuses to let anyone hold that against him at least. If the producers decide he’s the bad guy, too relentless and demanding and straightforward, then so be it. Through it all, he fights like a lion who refuses to die in the cage.

Too often his outspokenness is mistaken for humor, and the things he says that pertain to the hardships of the industry are brushed to the side or not taken seriously. The industry is cruel, this much he knows, but even in the role he’s been given, even as the MCs and the managers try to silence him, he knows he can hold on to what he believes. Sure he has to compromise, and it eats him alive on most days, how often he’s asked or downright forced to set his conscience aside. The fans notice, a little, but it’s only small things they can get attached to. For now it’s probably enough, not that he’d be allowed anything more.

At the conclusion of it all, under stage lights and scrutiny, as he’s been doing all his life, he waits for his name to be called. But the call never comes. It’s okay. It’s enough. he  did his best, and they’ll never take that away from him.

The gate opens to a brave new world instead.

one day more.

Fortune is a funny thing, really.

One day it seems like it’s all but abandoned them, thrown them to the side of the road to fend for themselves and eventually be picked on by vultures, a disgraceful end for a disgraceful life.

The next day, like some trickster god was in a benevolent mood and spun the wheel again, they wake up in a world where people have finally taken notice, where they’re not an afterthought anymore.

The first group schedule after the show, Jihun can barely see through the crowd and the flashing lights. It’s a new feeling and he thinks he could get used to it, even if the little voice in the back of his head warns him that this too shall pass if they’re not careful.

Take the second chance and run with it, because they don’t come easy, because it could be the last. Take the love, the admiration, the trophies, cherish them, because they could slip away at any moment.. Put in your demands now, because they can’t refuse you anything anymore. Now Jihun understands what it’s like to be the breadwinner, the move maker, the one that the light is finally shining on.

In the wake of their newfound success, Jihun gets cast in his first real musical, so far from the cardboard and the watercolor of the school talent show. It’s a never-ending thrill ride, a rush of adrenaline like he’s never known before, one that he hopes he never gets used to. He’s clawed his way up here and he’ll fight to stay, even when the industry is as unforgiving as its ever been.

When the cameras are off, as always, his strong moral compass is both his lifeline and his downfall. Even when it starts working in his favor, he still disapproves of many aspects of the idol industry, silently protests against the personal restrictions, refuses to settle for “this is how it’s always been done.” His intentions to voice that dislike are often shut down by his company to maintain the image they gave him, one that is a little too off to who he truly is for him to stay quiet for long. Maybe one day the industry will change enough that it will never have to be this way again, for him or anyone who shares his way of thinking. For now, if he can keep his balance despite all of it, if he can stay true no matter what, then he’ll have already won.

It takes a lot to break a man’s spirit. Even more when he’s already been patched up, and is held together with renewed hope; and the knowledge that if he holds on to his unwavering belief in what’s right, and keeps on his path as he has, then he’ll find a way out into the light in the end.

[surrounded-by-superheroes]

Close the Window (Bucky)

Summary; Apparently, someone doesn’t like to close the fucking window even when it’s freezing and the person he loves is still in bed. Still...Bucky Barnes isn’t the worst thing to wake up to on a beautiful Fall morning.

A/N; This is a series of fluff I’m doing about the Avengers team. All fluff, all fall, all adorable.

Warnings; Pure fluff. Language.

Words; 1,344

Fall Fluff Masterlist

A cold breeze runs it’s hand down my spine and leaves goosebumps littered across the bare skin of my back, coaxing a groan from my throat. Heavy lidded eyes crack open despite the weight of sleep to find the window wide open to the views of red, orange, and gold leaves shivering with the chill of the season. The quiet applause seems to encourage me to slip out of bed and I do so reluctantly. My feet land on soft cloth instead of hard wood and I happily pick up the discarded flannel to shrug it on. Shaking my head, I shut the window to keep out the bracing cold. After some underwear and fuzzy socks, I shuffle out of the bedroom into the living room. If the chill and leaves hadn’t charmed me awake already, this sight certainly would’ve.

A red sweater stretches over what I know is a deliciously muscled back and low-slung navy sweatpants hang off his hips. Dark hair is stained copper by the early morning light streaming in the window just above the sink and bounces a little in his bun while he makes coffee. Quietly, I slide over on my fuzzy socks and wrap my arms around his waist.

“What…have I said…about leaving…the window open?” I ask in bits, drowsiness still biting at my heels. His stomach tightens and loosens as he chuckles at me.

“It’s beautiful outside.” He defends himself softly and places a hand on top of mine without stopping in his quest for coffee. I groan into the warm fabric on his back and receive another chuckle in return.

“And a naked me in bed with you wasn’t enough to convince you that I don’t give a damn?” I ask and relinquish my arms to put them on my hips. Turning with a grin and a mug of coffee in a shining silver hand, he sighs.

“Here, smartass. I was going to bring you some in bed.” Those clear blue eyes sparkle with amusement as my hands eagerly wrap around my favorite orange mug. The familiar smell swirls in the air as steam rises from the light caramel liquid and my eyelids flutter slightly with pleasure. I hum in appreciation. “Yeah, you’re welcome.” Bucky pecks my cheek with a smirk before continuing to make his own.

“You making some of that pumpkin shit?” I tease and nearly drop my coffee when there’s a sudden snap on my ass. “Ow!” My hand rubs what I’m sure will become a welt and look to Bucky standing there with a smirk on his tempting lips and a hand towel tossed over his shoulder.

“Serves ya right. My coffee’s fucking delicious.” He waggles a finger at me and I frown as he turns back to his coffee. I gently put my mug down on the counter and snag the towel from his shoulder, rolling it and snapping it only to have that damn left hand catch it. A moment passes where our eyes meet, then he tugs the towel towards him and me along with it. His arms snake around me, encasing me in his warmth before he backs us up so I’m between him and the island. Pumpkin and pine fill my nose, pumpkin from his coffee and pine from his soap, as he leans in and lets his lips skim down from between my eyes to the tip of my nose. My lips are pursed to resist smiling, but I give in when his hands slide up my thighs to tease the edges of my underwear. “Forgot something.” He murmurs and my barely open eyes snap up to his piercing pools of blue.

“Hm?” I hum distractedly. Distracted by his hands, his lips, him. Those skilled lips continue skiing across my skin while the duality of the cold and hot of his hands fills me with fire.

“Didn’t…say…morning.” His lips part so every word he says stains my skin as he works his way across my lips before pressing them fully to mine. My hands reach up to feel the muscles rippling in his bicep and the plates tightening in his left. I let loose a little moan onto his lips when he takes handfuls of my ass. I can’t help but laugh when he lifts me onto the counter and onto the freezing marble. Leaning my head back to laugh leaves my neck open for attack and he presses his advantage before we both relax back against the other again.

“Does that count or are you going to say it again?” Those blue eyes roll as he sighs at my comment.

“Smartass.” He turns to continue with his coffee, but I lock my legs around him instead. When he turns back I peck his lips.

“Morning, baby.” I return his sentiment and release him so he can make his shitty coffee. Crinkles appear beside his eyes as he smiles and slowly leans his firm body back onto me.

“Baby, huh?” He repeats and edges closer and closer until my legs are spread around him and I’m holding onto his shoulders to keep me vertical. I hum the affirmative. “You want me to call you that now, doll? Baby?” I capture my bottom lip between my teeth and admit everything sounds damn good coming out of his filthy mouth.

“Call me whatever you like.” I invite and mischief alights his eyes. He opens his mouth to respond, but a soft knock on the front door interrupts him. Irritation runs through the both of us. “That’ll be your golden retriever of a best friend. God, get that man a fuck buddy. It’s like a hundred years past the time where he should’ve learned the glory of morning sex.” Bucky chuckles and pulls back, then helps me off the counter.

“You love Steve almost more than I do.” He accuses as I walk over to the door with my coffee. I scoff.

“Of course, I do. He’s like a fucking self-destructive teddy bear, what’s not to like?” I ask rhetorically before opening the door. To Steve’s credit, he only looks mildly amused when he sees me in just a plaid shirt. Sunlight streams in over his shoulder, lighting his blonde hair in a halo around his head.

“Heard that. Thanks.” He tilts his head towards me and steps in so I can shut out the cold. “I like you too.” Steve continues as he sheds his light jacket and shoes. Bucky walks over and they hug before I get one.

“You’re both alright. You’ve got the better ass though, doll.” Bucky winks at me and Steve rolls his eyes. I smirk.

“Oh, are we bringing back Captain flat ass?” I ask sidestep Steve’s half-hearted shove when he walks over to get some coffee. My eyes look at the tv and the little pumpkin countdown in the bottom left corner. “Two minutes. Asses, no matter how flat, on the couch.” Bucky giggles in the kitchen as Steve groans, but in the next two minutes both men are beside me.

“So, what the hell is this?” Bucky asks for what seems like the hundredth time.

“It’s a movie marathon for the month of October. You’ll see a lot of classic Halloween movies in the next few hours that nearly everyone knows about. The Addams Family, Monsters Inc., The Corpse Bride, the really good ones.” I explain and snuggle deeper into Bucky’s arms, huffing when Steve playfully puts his feet in Bucky and I’s lap. Honestly, both men are warm and any semblance of body heat they can lend me makes me happy.

“And you’re not going to get scared, doll?” Bucky asks teasingly as I finally take a long sip from my coffee. My hand absentmindedly draws circles on inside of his knee.

“Not with my guard dogs.” My eyes flick from Steve’s baby blues to Bucky’s dark blues contentedly. Both nod proudly as I smirk, but we fall quiet when the first movie starts. Warm from coffee, each other’s company, and knowing my boys are happy, I sigh.

Ah. Fall.