#the way they look at each other in the last two gifs?? FUCKING INSANE

[stardustinthesky]

I don't want to be here with you right now.

[comebackali]

#the last two gifs....#the yearning is so real#hes gonna eat his master alive#how does Obi-Wan survive a horny 19 y/o looking at him like that all the time. i know he notices (via cringekind)

Star Wars Episode II : Attack of the Clones (2002) dir. George Lucas

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 18: The One Where Two Roads Diverged in a Wood of GIFs and Written Words

“Lukola Crisis Hotline. How may I be of service?”

Me: Houston, we have a problem.

Dad: Do tell!

Me: You won’t believe who showed up last night! –

Dad: Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Whoa! I don’t know what to say! Wait – let me grab my Coke and my smokes. <waiting> Okay, I’m back. So, Misty appeared out of nowhere with Thang?! Well, this just got fun! <laughing>

For clarity’s sake, my father tends to give everyone a pet name. Some of the pet names are funny; some are quite cruel. But if they help him remember who the players are in this fandom (and in any other situation), I’m game to play along. Plus, his pet names tend to add a little comedy relief to whatever is being discussed, especially when it is not an outwardly funny subject.

In Lukola-Land, Luke is “Thang” (it’s actually “Thing” – as in the hand from The Addams Family – but my dad’s accent muddles the pronunciation into “Thang”); Nicola is “Ireland,” for obvious reasons; Antonia is “Misty,” for, umm, the Clint Eastwood movie, “Play Misty for Me;” and Jake is – well, Jake is actually just “Jake” because my father finds the USS Jakola offensive. In fact, when I was discussing the recent fandom events with him on Friday evening, my dad was genuinely shocked to learn the Jakolas still existed. His pet name for the Jakolas is “Fucking Stupid,” by the way.

Moving on to the matter at hand –

There’s been so much “noise” over the past few weeks that, when taken collectively, it is rather eye-opening. We’ve got Luke’s mother posting on Facebook about “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus.” The leaked funeral video and photos (by allegedly Luke’s family). The Best in Show pap pictures of Nicola and Jake. The “just friends” interview. The disappearance of Jake (because he’s rehearsing for a play) and the sudden reemergence of Antonia.

If you’ve noticed from my recent entries on this blog, I have obviously found most of what has happened of late to be comical and not worth putting into written word. Instead, my thoughts have been dumped into GIF stories. To be honest, I was rather disappointed I couldn’t put this last part – Antonia emerging from the misty edges of the forest – entirely into a GIF story. Her reappearance was like a certain Bond villain coming back to life for the seventh time. In other words, it was total cringe. But it also altered an otherwise slow burning campfire into a motherfucking forest fire.

Me: Thoughts?

Dad: I need some time to think about this one – and a cigarette. Or two. Call me back in 15 minutes.

“Psychotic Fan Rescue Center, at your service.”

Me: You’re a dumbass.

Dad: <laughing> Well, this is insane. It makes no sense and it’s a convoluted mess. Why bring Misty back? She was killed off two seasons ago.

Me: No shit, Sherlock.

Dad: Hell, maybe this has all been a nest of vipers.

A nest of vipers? Ah, yes, the idea that we have a group of venomous snakes thrown into the same close-quartered trench – in an every-man-for-himself type situation – each taking strikes at the others whenever their backs are turned.

In Entries 1, 13, and 15 – with an emphasis on “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea” – I wrote about what the Lutonia narrative could look like, if real. I will not rehash in detail those entries here, but I will link them at the end of this entry if you want to read, or reread, them.

Now, the General Audience almost certainly didn’t pay a lick of attention to Antonia when she appeared alongside Luke at the Boss event held January 30 (she’s always just been a Face in the Crowd). But the sudden reappearance of Antonia stopped the Lukolas dead in their tracks because – like my dad said – she was seemingly killed off two seasons ago.

The Lukolas have suddenly found themselves at an intersection of confusion and, likely, a bit of distress. The long and winding road we’ve been traveling along has diverged into two paths – and, no, you cannot travel both.

The problem with the Lutonia narrative has always been that Luke has never formally acknowledged Antonia as his girlfriend. In fact, Luke had the perfect opportunity to do so when he posted about the Boss event on his Instagram grid – but he did not. I could rationalize the idea that Luke and Antonia wanted to keep their relationship private after the Papsmear misstep if it weren’t for the fact that Antonia has been historically loud in her social media posts. We spent the summer and fall with insinuation post after insinuation post from Antonia. Yes, all those posts that alluded to her being with Luke without any actual evidence that she was, in fact, with Luke. By the time Antonia got to “Pasta-gate” in mid-November, the Lukola fandom barely even blinked before dismissing her as, well, the antagonist from “Play Misty for Me.” And this leads to something even more problematic for the USS Lutonia – Luke has never rescued Antonia from being ridiculed and torn apart by the fandom. My dad would call – and has called – Luke a cad for this.

Jumping to the other side of this misshapen triangle, we have Nicola and her Assassin (my dad’s pet name for JVN). Assuming Lutonia is real, the only logical answer for Nicola’s behavior is that she has spent months trolling Luke, Antonia, and <gasp> the fandom. Nicola herself has admitted to being chronically online and, at a minimum, being aware of fan edits – so much so that during the London premiere she commented that she and Luke “can’t do anything” without the fandom reacting to it. Therefore, I will call “foul” on anyone who tries to persuade me that Nicola was unaware of, at a minimum, how the Lukola fandom had reacted to the Claddagh ring, Chaos Week, and the October airplane posts. JVN openly mocking Antonia on social media with, for example, their Slick Back Bun routine only added fuel to this fire.

For shits and giggles – and so I can get to the bend in this road – we will roll with my dad’s “Nest of Vipers” theory for a moment. We will concede that Lutonia is real, which, in my opinion, makes Luke the absolute worst boyfriend in London and Antonia a woman who doesn’t mind being treated like roadkill. It also, unfortunately, makes Nicola and Fan Favorite JVN come off like online bullies – with the only plausible reasoning for the bullying being that Luke and Nicola are at odds with each other. No, I take that back – they’re not at odds with each other – they’re seemingly at war with each other. I’ll even amp this up a bit and throw in the suggestion that, assuming Lutonia is real, Netflix & Co. is aware of the strife between its two Polin actors and are protecting their asset with blurred Polin-Lukola posts to pacify the fandom. Dun-Dun-DUNN! And yes! That was a sly nod to Jake.

Me: Thanks for that. You just made Luke into an absolute prick and gave Antonia’s starring role in “Play Misty for Me” to Nicola.

Dad: Hey, I’m not the one who dug up Misty! That was all Thang!

Me: Then why does everyone say Luke is the nicest person? Nicola, his co-stars –  

Dad: All lies.

Me: Would you STOP?!

Dad: But I’m serious! Thang could be a complete pig behind closed doors and Ireland could be on the verge of a psychotic meltdown because, uhh, maybe she’s obsessed with Thang and pissed he chose Misty.

The unfortunate thing about this Nest of Vipers theory is that I could almost certainly make a convincing argument that it was legit. I’ve always joked with my Inner Circle of Lukolas that no one wants to see me go rogue, especially not – I’ll bite my tongue on that one. But I will emphasize the importance of keeping an open mind when you’re reviewing information. Always consider both sides of the coin. That said, it’s hard to ignore the evidence that was presented to us through the World Tour interviews and behind-the-scenes footage; therefore –

Me: I’m having a hard time believing Luke is someone who wouldn’t protect his girlfriend. He seems to support Nicola online quite a bit. Why wouldn’t he do the same for Antonia?

Dad: <laughing> Fine. Antonia isn’t his girlfriend. Maybe it’s all just a bunch of fuckery like I’ve always said.

“Fuckery” is my dad’s pet name for PR bullshit. If you didn’t pick up on it in previous entries, I am not fond of PR theories. But I also cannot ignore that PR relationships do exist and have for decades (hell, we could go back centuries and find examples of PR relationships across multiple noble and royal families – think about that, naysayers). It was my dad who first sold me on the possibility of Antonia being PR. So, I will consider this road to PR-ville in the same manner as I did the Nest of Vipers theory – with this PR theory having perhaps the better claim.

I mentioned earlier that the General Audience almost certainly paid little attention to Antonia’s existence at the Boss event. Although some people may find what I’m about to say a bit unkind, it doesn’t make it any less valid (and I’m not saying it to be cruel): Antonia, in the overall scheme of things, is of very little importance to the General Audience. She has less than 15 thousand followers on Instagram, even after being connected to a man who has almost three million. However, oddly enough, that didn’t prevent the Daily Mail from dropping a story which predominantly focused on Antonia within the same timeframe that images from the Boss event were being dropped on the Internet. It also didn’t prevent video footage of Luke and Antonia at the Boss event from being leaked online almost immediately – even when there were undoubtedly more famous celebrities attending the event. I’ll be realistic with this next comment, too: Luke may be relevant to the Bridgerton fandom, but that does not mean he is significant to, say, People Magazine’s average reader. So, why the sudden burst of publicity at this event?

I waited to write this entry to see what Luke did with the exposure from the Boss event. Would he finally put Antonia on his Instagram grid? Would he put her in his Instagram stories? Would Antonia post pictures from the event on her Instagram grid or stories? Would Luke unambiguously acknowledge a relationship with Antonia?

Although Luke posted to his Instagram grid and stories about the event, he did not include Antonia – at least not directly. The closest he came to including Antonia was via an Instagram story – on which he did not tag her – of a black screen with a link to a Boss TikTok that included images of Luke and Antonia from the event. The TikTok did not tag Antonia either. Luke did not post Antonia’s image to his grid or his stories.

And Antonia didn’t post about the event at all.

I wasn’t sold on a PR narrative when I started writing this entry, but my eyebrows raised when I saw Luke’s “black screen” Instagram story. This was either Luke attempting to circumvent the Lutonia narrative while throwing Antonia a bone, or it was Luke being an absolute douche of a human being. And, if it’s the latter, Mr. Newton needs to check himself into Assholes Anonymous.

I will concede that a couple of mutuals put up a few stories about the event (which disappeared after 24 hours) and Boss included (and tagged) Luke and Antonia in an Instagram and TikTok reel – without formally identifying Antonia as Luke’s girlfriend. On a side note, Luke could have reposted either of these reels – which tagged Antonia – but he did not. Luke also did not like this Boss Instagram reel with Antonia in it (and he does not have a public TikTok account), but Luke did like a separate Boss post of him and David Beckham (without Antonia). The only news outlets that called Antonia Luke’s “girlfriend” were rag-mags like the Daily Mail and Hello, both of which put an emphasis on Antonia. Digital Spy noted that Luke and Antonia “have yet to officially confirm their relationship.” So outside of some tagged reels (that weren’t reposted or acknowledged by Luke) and rag-mag speculation, what did Antonia get from this?

Dad: Publicity.

A single word but one that resonates throughout an otherwise silent wood.

But to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced this was for publicity. I’m not saying I believe Antonia is Luke’s girlfriend either – that’s a whole cauldron of contradictions on its own. I’m simply intrigued that Antonia has her Instagram tags turned off and she has not yet allowed any Boss event tags to appear on her page. So, outside of some junky rag-mag callouts and a few TikToks, what benefit did Antonia receive? And, if Antonia didn’t truly benefit from this appearance (or, at least she doesn’t appear to be reaping the rewards from a girlfriend or PR standpoint), who did benefit?

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that a series of events had happened one after the other over a relatively short two-week period: (1) Luke’s mum mentioning “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus” in a Facebook response; (2) leaked video and photos of Luke from a funeral; (3) those utterly ridiculous pap pictures of Nicola and Jake; (4) Nicola stating she and Luke were “just friends” in an interview; and (5) the sudden summoning of Antonia after exactly six months of being MIA.

As I sat here writing out the events of the past two weeks – and considering the reappearance of Antonia – I couldn’t help but speculate as to whether each of these events was meant to have a specific purpose that didn’t get its desired result.

The comment by Luke’s mother was so far out in left field, most Lukolas chucked it up to being suspicious and dismissed it as such. The funeral pictures and video released by one of Luke’s family members was quickly scrubbed from social media; therefore, just as quickly ignored. The pap pictures of Nicola and Jake were openly mocked across social media as being staged. The “just friends” comment – after almost a year of, particularly, Nicola dodging that phrase – didn’t seem to send many Lukolas overboard. Is it possible that the fandom’s mild reaction to all these events wasn’t anticipated? Which leads me to wonder if Luke and Nicola wanted a reaction and realized the only way they were going to get it was to play the only card they had left – Antonia.  

When you look at the above referenced events individually and collectively, they appear to indicate a push to shut down the Lukola narrative. Why?

They could have shut down the Lukolas before the World Tour even took off. They could have shut down the Lukolas during the World Tour. They could have shut down the Lukolas after Papsmear. Why wait almost a full year to draw the line in the sand? Especially after every devoted Lukola would argue that (mostly) Nicola has left a trail of Swiftie-like clues to insinuate Lukola is real, and that Luke has made a visible effort to remove Antonia from his narrative.

Whatever the reasoning may be, we must admit Antonia’s reappearance had a purpose – and one that we need to respect. I have a hard time believing Luke would voluntarily step in the same pile of dog shit he stepped in back in June without a valid and significant reason for doing so.

And this is where I will draw the line.

I will not speculate further about why Antonia suddenly rose from the ashes of Manderley – and I will not tell you which road to take from here. That’s something you need to do on your own but, be warned that regardless of which road you choose – the one where you conclude Luke and Antonia are a couple, or the one where you decide Antonia is playing the role of PR distraction – the Lukolas are currently fighting a losing battle.

The Lukolas have become collateral damage. They’ve either been caught in the crossfire of an online war between Luke and Nicola (and their respective sidekicks) over, presumably, Antonia; or they’re the unwitting victims of some messy PR bullshit that has resulted in Lukolas being bullied across every social media platform by rabid Jakolas and Anti-Lukes.

Amazingly, though, many Lukolas remain resilient.

When the going gets tough…

But sometimes the tough don’t get going.

Yesterday, someone wrote to me, “Why are we still here? Just when we think something good is finally going to happen we get pushed back down. I’m tired of the dumb games.”

I rarely answer “Asks,” but my response to this comment is:

“Two roads diverged in a wood…”

Two roads.

One road is quite disheartening and the other is shrouded in underbrush.

But what you've overlooked is that there is an alternate path – a third road – the one that brought you to this point.

Turn around.

That road takes you back home – and, if you’re ready to go home, go home. It’s okay. It takes an unbelievable amount of courage to admit you’ve had enough. Remember that saying – “A wise woman once said, ‘fuck this shit,’ and she lived happily ever after.”

Take your time and decide what makes the most sense to you.

Dad: What are you thinking?

Me: Of a poem.

Dad: Oh, which one today?

Me: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by…”

Dad: Which road is that…?

P.S. Just for a bit of comic relief at the end of an otherwise somber post (not even Dad could make it lighthearted), I just wanted to say:

I love eating grapes.

IYKYK.

Those links I promised:

[thundercest]

I neeeeeed to hear your thoughts on the latest episode because that was a LOT

I was trying to gif it today for the max and phoebe 'in every episode' series and I've come to the conclusion that I'm STILL not over it.

this episode was INSANE. It's my favorite episode of the season so far but we do still have a long way to go so! either way I'm really excited to see what else they have in store for us! and if it's anything like the last two episodes I think we're gonna be in for a wild ride!! (affectionate)

but let's break it down, shall we? prepare for a long review underneath the cut!

the scene where max and phoebe are watching chloe, jinx and booch from the kitchen nearly destroyed me and that was only the beginning of the episode! I love, love, love the way they look like actual proud parents watching their daughter having her first movie night. It was so adorable and heartwarming! chloe shooing them away like a true teenager who just wants to hang with her friends was great! but max and phoebe leaving TOGETHER, with the candy, to go upstairs?? and DO WHAT? netflix and chill?

the conversation that ensues between them and the parents of jinx and booch felt so real in the way it showcases that they really are just a young couple that's still trying to figure things out. if you'd told me in that moment they were chloe's parents, I would have believed you. It's honestly no wonder some of the kids watching the show were confused by it! and I've mentioned it before but I love that we get to see the learning curve that is parenting and the way max and phoebe will slowly find their own way in it! It's just wild to me that we started with these two little fifteen year olds that were constantly trying to get on each others nerves and now get to watch them be a team and raising a kid together. (my HEART!)

the lore of the hero league having a lunar space base was something I was not expecting but it sounds amazing and I'm kind of hoping they might expand on it because it would be a really cool addition in the universe of the thundermans.

seeing hank and barb acting as max and phoebe was so weird and funny!! (in a good way!) I think chris and rosa did a great job acting as kira and jack to resemble max and phoebe. there were so many moments in this episode where I actually laughed out loud or just had this huge smile on my face, it was great!

BUT the highlight of the episode has to be kira and jack acting as hank and barb inside max and phoebe's bodies! I think there was a sound coming out of the back of my throat that should have never seen the light of day during the scene depicted below lmao. I CANNOT get over it.

the way she leans into him, her hands on his shoulder?? the way he turns towards her, HOLDING HER HANDS?? I'm sorry i just I love these two so much! their chemistry is insane and it's crazy that even when they're playing different characters you can just FEEL it.

they were also just so cute as hank and barb! they seemed really giddy and animated! AND THE WAY THEY WERE STANDING WHEN THEY SWITCH BACK?? why was his arm wrapped around her lmao?? i'm telling you this is the first step to hank and barb accepting it when max and phoebe start dating. BYE.

and ofc, max and phoebe's twin power making a reappearance was great! it still makes me laugh to be honest, because you can't tell me it isn't the same thing that happened to their parents when they first kissed, and it's just so funny to me that nickelodeon kind of unintentionally made them soulmates in canon. but it was fun to see it return and I'm hoping we get to see more of it in the future! (if only just to see them hold hands lol)

there were definitely some parallels made between hank and barb and max and phoebe in this episode, which was so much fun to see! (they're all chaotic as fuck lmao) and there was something very domestic about max mentioning it's even worse when hank flies through the roof of his own house. that was a moment where I really went; 'damn, they've grown so much!' they have a house and their own family now with chloe!🥺 It's sweet!

[andmaybegayer]

Project “Let’s watch every single Fast & Furious movie”

The series is still finding its feet and not entirely sure what it wants to be. It has however decided that this one should contain a truly incredible amount of homoerotic subtext.

2 Fast 2 Furious (2003)

We check back in with Brian, who is street racing for a living in Miami now that he is no longer a cop. Ludacris, is here, for some reason. The FBI show up and put our boy over a barrel until he helps them investigate another crime ring, with his car.

The cinematography and general visual language is much more mature, they've figured out how to shoot cars driving and in particular races in a way that better conveys relative position, advantage, and speed. No more undercranked footage, much more medium to wide shots of cars weaving past each other, as well as some complicated composited motion shots.

If you look for this movie on Tumblr you mostly find gifs of Devon Aoki in her girlboss pink Honda S2000. And yeah, I get it, this look kicks ass. The leather skirt and thigh highs with garters or whatever that is really screams 2003.

Right, the plot. Even more so than last time, the core plot is extremely mid. Brian is over a barrel, and needs to help the FBI investigate a drug lord, in exchange for them forgetting about him. He doesn't trust a cop to partner with him so he gets them to offer a deal to his old boyfriend Roman, with whom he had a falling out many years ago. The two of them go undercover smuggling money for the drug lord and eventually work through their differences and get the guy. Big whoop.

Far more interesting is how the interpersonal relationship of Brian and Roman is handled. These two feel like a couple who dated all through high school and broke up over a nasty disagreement when they were 19 and never really got over each other. The first time they meet they physically throw down and it looks like this.

Just straight guy things. I made a crack about 2 bi 2 curious in the last post and I was like "someone has to have made this joke before" and a) not really it looks like only a couple tweets but b) it led me to this short video essay on a bisexual reading of 2 Fast 2 Furious. I don't agree with all its finer points and I think the author completely misread some sections of the movie but you'll find far more agreement than disagreement from me with this one.

Carrying on, there's a lot of the awkward "I want to trust you, and I know I should be able to trust you, but I don't trust you" between these two. It's great, if you want to watch two very pretty guys go insane over each other for an hour and a half, this is a movie for you. I'm going to reiterate a lot of what's said in this video because it's all very obvious.

Before we continue, I need to note that what you don't see, oddly, is really any kind of coherent heterosexual romantic subplot. Like, there's one there, they do parts of it, but it's almost homeopathic. It's purely there to check the box. Monica is an undercover cop who's been with the drug lord for like a year and, in theory, Brian is attracted to her. There's discussion of this, he checks her out, they make bedroom eyes at each other, the drug lord gets jealous, it's a whole thing, but mostly you see that Roman is worried that Brian is going to do something stupid because he's attracted to her.

In the above video the author misinterprets one scene as Brian sleeping with Monica but they do not actually fuck! She shows up in the early morning to tell Brian that he's going to be betrayed but they do not, in fact, fuck! This is important to me because man, there's so little of that subplot going on. This subplot barely develops at all, they don't talk to each other much, and when they do it's only the barest flirting.

At one point Brian does a driving stunt to impress Monica and when he's done, Roman pulls up and goes "oh, he did that stunt? He learned that one from me." which. Come on there's no way to read that that doesn't at least suggest that maybe Roman did it to hit on Brian when they were younger.

Speaking of car stunts, those are used to convey character a lot better in this movie. Dishonorable side characters drive in annoying ways in races to make themselves hard to pass, Brian and Roman do a whole elaborate game of one-upsmanship during their driving audition for the drug lord, and a doubles drag race with high stakes serves as a major bonding moment where they learn to trust each other. There's much, much less plot and character going on explicitly but I think the photography and the storytelling are working together more closely in this movie.

The movie seems to care less about the cars themselves though. The Lancer and Eclipse they drive for much of the movie are not particularly attractive nor particularly powerful cars, and the Challenger and Camaro they pick up later are more plot device than eye candy, unless you're really into American Muscle I guess. The initial race includes Suki's S2000 and Brian's Skyline that both very quickly end up sidelined, you don't see much of them again. There is much less time spent in garages and at races here, which is part of why the core plot feels like a lot of other action movies where the protagonist is a criminal helping the cops. I wonder if some of this is down to appealing to a wider audience who may just not give a shit about the finer distinctions between the Honda Civic EF and EX hatch.

There's a beautiful sunset scene where Brian and Roman just talk it out for a few minutes and settle their differences, come to terms, and finally trust each other again. I know I'm pretty much only talking about this one relationship but it's pretty much the only part of the movie with any depth, and the other parts only gain value in their proximity to it.

The final sequence is a huge endurance run across Florida that is a lot of fun to watch and includes a very funny scene where they scramble like, a hundred cars as a distraction to throw the police off. If you watch you can see that they really just grabbed whatever cars they could find to pad out the shot, there's like three or four PT Cruisers hidden in here.

The final run is mostly a show of the reformed trust between these two, it's great, it's a decent culmination of what's been building up through the whole show, they get their freedom, together, and resolve to move on together.

The whole movie really hangs on this relationship, it elevates it from a solid 5/10 "absolutely mid action movie" to a 7/10 "compelling characters you will think about later" type deal.

[bloodhoundluke]

slip away – luke hemmings

description: luke is having a tough time, and his girlfriend has had enough of his behavior.

pairing: she/her x luke hemmings

warnings: 🔞 drug abuse, angst, cursing (let me know if there's anything else).

word count: 1,4k-ish.

a/:n: so finally the when facing the things we turn away from series continues 🖤 this has been on my drafts for a while now and i decided to publish it after editing it. i was supposed to publish the series in a chronological order but i couldn't wait to publish this first (call me impatient lol) (edit: i republished this due to some issues) 🥺

this is pt. 8 of when facing the things we turn away from series.

GIF by kaleidoscopeminds

For the longest time, they were happy. Luke thought they were made for each other, and maybe they were for a while. Luke had feared that day would come. The day she would leave. She was tired of all the excuses, lies and the pain he had put her through. He was tired of hurting her. He really tried to change, but he just didn’t know how. The therapy and rehab helped for a while, until he relapsed and spiraled into a dark place.

It wasn’t just the drugs for her. He had changed, and if it came to asking her, he had changed for the worse. She happily played the role of the supportive girlfriend for a year or so. She tried to be by his side. He was the love of her life after all. He became cynical, cold. Distant. She tried to reach him, but how could you reach someone who didn’t want to be found? Lonely nights at their shared bedroom drove her insane. Luke spent his days in the studio or promoting the band’s new singles. Afterwards he hung out with the boys or sipped whiskey on the rocks at whatever bar he could find. He swore that he had been to every single bar in LA, and it humiliated him. But an addict would always be an addict, no matter the substance, right?

It was a Monday night. Stumbling across the house, Luke fell to the floor. She found him and helped pick him up. A bag of some white substance fell to the floor. She couldn’t believe it and she wanted to yell at him. She couldn’t understand what he was saying to her. It was utter nonsense. What he wanted to say was ‘sorry’. He didn’t even remember the last time they had truly spoken and neither did she. They were strangers to each other. She waited until he passed out on the sofa and checked his breathing just to make sure everything was alright. She got rid of the white substance and placed a glass of water on the coffee table for him. Petunia snuggled up to him, and she could barely remember when she had seen the two lying next to each other. It reminded of how things used to be and the memories felt like a knife in the chest. But she had decided already that she’d leave him. Around 5am, Luke made his way to the bedroom and woke her up. She decided it was time. The time to leave him. If she'd wait for longer, she didn't know if she would be able to pull it off. Luke would apologize, and she'd comfort him. That scenario had happened one too many times already.

“Don’t you leave me in this silence”, he sobbed into her black hoodie, his head snuggled against her chest.

“I am sorry, Luke…but we are no longer good together. I can’t take it anymore…the lies. The... bullshit. I am done”, she looked down at him and bit her lips. They had been like this for a while now, just her hugging him and his head against her chest. But she would have to move away from him soon. She was still scared that he could persuade her to stay.

Luke repositioned himself and didn’t say anything back. For a while, their arms were wrapped around each other’s bodies. Luke pressed a kiss on top of her head, as if saying she mattered the most to him. And she did, of course she did. He knew he fucked up when he started to use again, but it was an addiction. There were bound to be setbacks.

She was the first one to back away from the embrace.

“I lo….love you”, was the last thing she heard before exiting their once so happy home. The house they had bought together. The house they had renovated together, despite it took forever to finish. The house in which they had made their future plans. But now it had turned to a house of a broken, lonely hearted man. 

Luke replayed the night she found out about his drug abuse in his head about a million times. He couldn't stop blaming himself.

“Do you want to be with me, Luke?”, she questioned the curly-haired man in front of her.

“Of course I do”.

“Then why do you do this shit?”, she was pissed, Luke could tell.

“What shit?”, he spat.

“I found the Xanax”, her tears fell down her cheeks despite she tried hard to keep them in.

“What do you mean? Xanax?”. She could tell he was acting oblivious - she knew him too well at this point. He was lying to her, she knew. 

“Yes, the fuckin’ Xanax, Luke! What the fuck is going on?”.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ is going on. Don’t worry”. He locked himself in the downstairs bathroom - thankfully she had removed the pills from there. She prayed he didn’t have another stash lying somewhere.

“Luke? Luke! Open the door”, she banged heavily on the door. No answer. She kept on going, until he opened the door. 

His eyes were bloodshot. He stood still. It was like he didn’t have any emotions behind those eyes. He looked like Luke… but he wasn’t like Luke. He didn’t seem to resemble the Luke she had fallen in love with. Not the giggly, charming Luke. Not the empathetic, loveable Luke. He was an empty shell.

“Help me, please”, Luke whimpered the next morning. She had almost dropped him off at some rehabilitation center last night, but Luke had begged her not to do so.

“I promise, I’ll help you”, she planted a kiss on his forehead and caressed his hair. What had happened? And how come hadn’t she noticed?

It had been a year since she had left him. She hoped he’d be better off without her and vice versa. It had been an adjustment for them both; trying to get used to the idea of not being together anymore. For a while, she had felt horrible and devastated. So heartbroken. She felt like there was a piece of her soul missing. Everything seemed to be a reminder of him. Seeing the heart shaped cookies in the nearby store they used to eat together felt like a punch in the stomach. Hearing their favorite romantic ballads on the radio killed her inside. The smell of his worn out sweaters that she had accidentally packed drove her insane: why couldn't she just forget about him already?  Slowly, but surely she survived. The things that reminded of him gradually started to feel indifferent. Sometimes they even evoked positive feelings: she was grateful for the good times they had shared. And the bad times were a life lesson.

What she didn’t know was that Luke was an absolute mess for the first five months. Without the help from the boys, he probably wouldn’t have eaten in days. Or left his bed. Or brushed his teeth. All that was racing around his mind was her. And the memories they had created together. The beautiful picnic she had set up for him when they were in London a few years ago. The first 'I love you' in the rain. The way he introduced her to his family and they instantly fell in love with her, just like he had done when they first met. And the moments that never happened, like the proposal he had planned for her. It was supposed to be an intimate and breathtaking picnic. Great food and wine, and even greater company. He could still imagine what their life together would be now that he is better. How they would share small moments of intimacy, promising to love each other until the day they die. How he'd do anything in his power to make her feel like the luckiest woman in the world.  

The memories started to fade over time. But it didn’t mean they didn’t matter; they mattered the world. Luckily for Luke, he had experienced two silver linings in his life: her and rehab.

“I can feel you slip away, like I knew you would”, he sadly half-smiles and pets Petunia on the balcony of his newly purchased oceanfront house.

© 2023 bloodhoundluke.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Sins & Amends Chapter 38

(Gif by @ banditthewriter)

Billy Russo x Female Reader (60 part story)

This follows pre- the punisher into the storyline of daredevil, punisher season 1 and beyond

This is NOT Canon Billy. This is decent human being Billy left with bad options over worse decisions

This was also posted to A03 under: WaywardGaPeach. That account and this one is the only place you'll see me post this. If you see it on any other platform/account know it's not me.

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Frank's taken by Rawlins' men

Frank was in a conference room with Madani, Micro was sitting in a room with his daughter so that left you to pace the hallway while half a dozen agents watched you like you were an insane person. Your mind hadn't stopped throwing every worse case scenario at you.

What if Billy went after Alice and Kenzie? God what if he went after Karen? Matt could fight but every form of martial arts in the world couldn't stop a bullet. Why had he done this? What type of man was he to hold you in his arms, comfort you, all the while knowing he was at the very least partially responsible for your pain?

Your attention was drawn by the door of the conference room opening. You spun around and saw Frank walking out. "Finally. I need to double check my work on you" that was the only way you could think to get a moment alone with him but Dinah shook her head "I need to speak to you first then you can patch up anyone in this building for all I care" you cut your eyes at Frank and saw the anger flash through his eyes at her pulling you into the questioning. You touched his shoulder gently on the way by "I got this"

You knew he was standing in the hall but walked in the room and let Dinah shut the door behind you. The two of you stood there for a second whether you were sizing each other up or just catching your breath you weren't sure.

She finally waved a hand towards the table "Want to sit?" You crossed your arms "I have nothing to say that goes on record" she nodded and you could see her rolling her tongue across her bottom teeth which was probably just a habit. "If you have something to ask me, ask it. If not I'm walking out of here and going to check on Frank"

She must have taken you at your word because she finally spoke "Did you know Frank killed Zubair?" "Yes" your response didn't seem to surprise her that much. Her next question did surprise you however. "What's the story with you and Russo?"

"Excuse me?" You asked uncrossing your arms. "Just seems you're smack in the middle of this. You were dating Billy during their time on operation Cerberus. The two of you were serious enough you were mentioned in his paperwork he signed on his last tour. You grew up with Frank's late wife"

You laughed and shook your head "Jesus Christ, Dinah really? Yeah Maria met me when I was young, I was a kid with a shitty home life. She made friends with me and eventually her parents took me in. Meeting Frank and Billy both was just a side effect of basically being Maria's sister. I haven't spoken to Billy outside of him calling to see if I was dead or alive after the bombs went off since right after Frank's family was massacred. You were the one most recently fucking him so should I be questioning you here?"

She was silent for a moment then opened the door "Had to ask, just to make sure" you met her eyes for a moment then nodded and walked through the door. She stopped you with a hand on your arm. You looked from it to her and she held her hand out "Only agents are allowed to be armed in here" you rolled your eyes but handed the gun over nonetheless. 

You watched her walk to her office and saw which drawer she locked it in before going to find Frank.

--------------------

You and Frank were in an empty office. He was sitting on the desk with his shirt next to him so you could double check the stitches you'd put in his side after the bombing at the hotel. "Y/N" you knew every tone of voice and what it meant from him so you shook your head "I don't want to talk about him Frank"

Once you were done you pulled your bag back on and started to walk out the room but Frank stopped you "Sweetheart, we need to talk" you could feel the tears stinging your eyes when you turned to look at him "About how I was dumb enough to fall in love with someone evil enough to allow our family to be killed?" He closed his eyes then pulled you into a hug "You aren't dumb. I trusted him too but I promise he will pay for every ounce of pain he's caused you" "I still can't believe he betrayed us" you spoke into his chest. "I know sweetheart, I know"

----------------------

Frank asked to talk to you alone before him and Micro with the team to recover Sarah and Zach. 

Leo was watching you carefully after Micro explained she'd be staying with you at Homeland so you smiled at her before following Frank out into the hall. 

"Y/N you know you're like a sister to me" you got an awful feeling of a goodbye from his words but didn't voice that fear. He pulled you into a tight hug then said "I'm getting Sarah and Zach back and giving Madani enough to bring down everything. Promise me no matter what happens you won't let yourself have any guilt. Maria loved you. Our kids loved you. I love you" 

"I love you too Frank" you spoke into his shoulder before he patted your back once more then released you "Madani is keeping you here as the medic for their team once they get back. Here's hoping it goes well enough you're not needed" you breathed out a mixture of a sigh and a laugh "here's hoping. Kick their asses Frank"

------------------

You were sitting with Leo when Sarah and Zach were escorted into the room so you slid out while to give the family a moment alone.

You spotted Dinah and Micro walking down the hall but no sign of Frank "Where's Frank?" You asked Dinah who pointed at Micro "ask him" you turned to look at him "Ok, David where is Frank?"

He wouldn't meet your face when he said "I made him a promise to let him finish this his way" you tried to hold your anger, you really did but that meant Frank was knowing facing Billy, Rawlins and God knows who or what else.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN LIEBERMAN? WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?" you screamed trying to stop yourself from throwing a punch.

You should've known that self sacrificing son of a bitch would pull something like this. He had been saying goodbye and you'd been too big of a coward to face it.

Dinah grabbed your arm and when you sent her a glare she quickly let go but pointed down the hall "Let's grab a cup of coffee. You need to calm down" "and he needs to tell us where Frank is before I shoot him for real" you didn't care that you'd just threatened someone in front of this many agents.

"How did you get your gun back?" She asked with a shocked look and you shrugged "I picked the drawer you locked it up in" she scoffed at that "I think Frank is actually your brother. Now let's go get that damn coffee and talk"

You looked at Sarah who'd just stepped into the hall stood by while you blew up at her husband "Please talk him into telling me. Frank is my family and I can't lose him" she gave the slightest movement of her head in response so you begrudgingly followed Madani down the hall.

She handed you a cup of coffee and grabbed one for herself. You were still watching Micro until him and Sarah stepped into the room the kids were in. "It's not your fault. None of this" you laughed and said "Stick with being an agent, I already have a shrink who's probably flipping her shit along with her fiancee and a few other of my friends at my sudden disappearance"

"Do you want to call them?" She asked and you nodded "I'll call one. He'll spread the word that I'm safe just unreachable" you stepped away from her to call Curtis but broke down crying when you heard his voice "Y/N? Is everything ok?" 

"It's a shit show Curt. Look I just called to say I'm safe, please let everyone else know that" you could tell he wanted to ask more but he simply said "Ok" "Bye Curt" you hung up before he could say anything else.

-----------------

You were pacing the hall in front of the room the Liebermans were in. You felt like you were the only person here who cared Frank was being killed while all of you sat around.

You finally opened the door but before you could speak you saw the kids and Sarah was asleep so you jerked your head towards the hall for Micro to follow you.

Once he'd shut the door you didn't try to hold back the tears "David please. He's my family, he's the only tie to Maria I have left. I can't lose him. Please tell me where he is" he nodded "C'mon" and walked towards Dinah's office.

---------------------

The three of you stood around the computer screen as Micro typed a thousand different things then a video from inside the hideout started to play and your stomach lurched. Frank was tied to a chair and someone who you were guessing was Rawlins was beating him while Billy stood by. 

You felt the pure dread that had been sitting like a rock in your stomach turn to rage. How dare he? He was just standing there while Rawlins killed Frank. Was he that big of a coward?

"Where is this?" Dinah demanded so you looked at Micro "If you don't tell her I will" then looked back at her "we're going with you" "no you're not" "bullshit we aren't"

She finally sighed and said "Fine but you were vests and you go unarmed" you shook your head "I'll wear a vest but I'm taking my gun" she stared at you then shrugged "NYPD knows you're licensed"

You and Micro were supposed to stay behind Dinah but like you were going to follow orders. You weren't an agent. 

You saw Billy standing over Frank and Rawlins body and reacted without thinking. "Y/N!" Dinah hollered when the shot rang out. "Shit" you realized you'd simply caught his arm but part of you felt vindicated to know you'd drawn at least a little blood from Billy.

You ran to Frank's side then glanced over at Rawlins still form and felt an intense urge to shoot him even though he was clearly dead but your attention was on Frank. "He's drowning on his own blood" you knew you couldn't handle this. You needed a surgeon. Your hands moved quickly over Frank's chest clocking every injury you could see. You moved Micro's hand into position to take some pressure off his chest but there wasn't a lot you could do on your own.

"I can't save him David" you sounded broken even to your own ears.  When Madani said they called an ambulance Micro beat you to it by saying "No. hospitals mean cops. He needs help. My friend is dying for your justice. Why don't you give him some?"

You didn't know if it was just the culmination of the last few shocks to your system but you looked up from Frank your hands slick with his blood and said "If you're gonna let him die here Dinah..you're going to want to kill me too. His death won't go unanswered. He trusted you. Prove to be worthy of that"

Micro god bless him was trying everything to get Frank to wake up "C'mon Frank I betrayed you! I bought them here. I bought Y/N here! Wake up call me an asshole. Call me a son of a bitch. Come on!"

You laid your head over on Frank's shoulder that was closest to you "Come on Frank. I've already lived with thinking I've lost you once. Don't leave me too, please don't leave me too"

He coughed and jerked then opened his eyes. You started crying harder when Micro said "That's it you beautiful scary man"

"Help me get him up" Dinah finally said after you heard her talking across the radio. You shot her a questioning look so she said "I'm helping him. Trust me please?"

----------------

You didn't know where she'd taken all of you until you were going through the door and she was yelling "Dad! I need your help!"

Her dad and mom ran in "Dinah who is this man?" Her dad asked while her mom said "What you bought to our door?" You weren't above begging so you looked at her dad "Please help him!"

He nodded and pointed towards a door "Get him on the bed" 

---------------------

After Micro told Dinah's dad how Frank had gotten his injuries you told him you were a paramedic and offered to help "Get gloves on" 

You were through gloving up when Dinah's dad looked up at you "His broken rib punctured a lung. He's got a tension pneumothorax" you grabbed a needle and handed it to him while everyone around the bed watched. He held his hand out for the syringe once the needle was in so you handed it over and breathed a sigh of relief when he drew the blood out and Frank started back breathing.

"Thank you" you said and he shook his head "He needs blood" "I'm a universal donor" Micro or well guess you should start calling him David volunteered. You shot him a small smile while Dinah's dad hooked him up.

The next morning you were sitting in the windowsill when Frank woke up. The first thing out of his mouth was "Madani, did you get Russo?" She shook her head then glanced over her shoulder at you "Y/N did shoot him" "attagirl" he said weakly.

-----------------------

After he'd been given the ok to leave on his feet David asked for a moment to talk to Frank so you stepped in the hall. Dinah's mom walked past so you said "Ma'am, I'd like to thank you and your husband for helping us. He's not who the media portrays him to be" she nodded "You made an impression on my daughter it seems. She trusts you, so I do"

Dinah walked up and smiled at you "Feeling better?" You raised an eyebrow "My brother by proxy was nearly killed and turns out the one man I've loved knew my sister, niece and nephew were gonna get murdered. I'm great" 

You walked back in the room with Dinah. Frank and David looked up and you knew Frank well enough to know there was something he wanted to tell you but didn't ask since you were in front of other people. 

---------------

You walked down to the sidewalk with Frank. He didn't want to endanger you but he needed to talk to you so the two of you were taking the long way around to where the van had been left "Y/N.. I need to tell you something. I mean I heard Rawlins say something to Bill" you waited for him to say more so you finally asked "What did he say?"

"That Bill was a stupid grunt willing to do anything to make sure his little whore medic stayed alive" you stopped walking "What's that mean? How am I involved in this?" Your mind was reeling. Finally you shook your head "Nope. You must have imagined it" he stared at you for a second then said "Bill told me it wasn't supposed to be like this. Maria and the kids weren't supposed to be in the middle. He said he was trying to keep you out of it. Rawlins said it too more or less" 

"He's lying! He's trying to keep you from killing him! That's all!" You were fighting to keep your voice down. You refused to let yourself believe there was any good left in Billy. Frank finally said "Ok" so the two of you started back walking. Right before you cut off to head towards your apartment like he'd asked you to you said "make me a promise?"

He raised one eyebrow "depends" you made sure to keep your voice steady as you said "Don't let him use me to make you falter. I want you to have an after too Frank..you deserve it" you started to walk away but Frank's response of "I do think he actually loved you and you shouldn't feel guilty for loving him" made you freeze. You looked back at him and said "Even if he did love me and even though a part of me will always love him it doesn't change anything" then kissed him on the cheek "Make it out alive Frank" and walked away.

@intothesoul

@weallhaveadestiny

[soft-persephone]

Same Page Pt 2

- Again, thank you again to the lovely gif makers and keeping this fandom alive in some type of way and fueling my insanity over this show.

Imagine my surprise when they show up in season two dressed like this!

I mean, Tina has a few specks of navy blue on her dress and he’s wearing like a baby or cerulean blue but that’s too much of a stretch for me…..

My subconscious was screaming and crying, but at this point I didn’t know why.

But then Tina makes this face after he says something about loving her forever and how they are in it together.

This look is unreassuring as fuck!

Doug is stronger than me because if someone made this face at me after I proclaimed my love to them, I would have cried or ate my own shirt.

He’s either really strong or super dense, after season two I am in favor of dense. He gets so rapped up in his own shit, that he starts taking Tina for granted.

I’m not gonna lie, I was so wrapped up in this idea of them always matching. That in this episode I took her wearing yellow and him this pinkish color as them dressed up in sunset colors.

I wanted them to match so bad, I forced commections that were not there at all. I can see that now.

But I believe this is a sign! It is a subtle sign about where they are in their relationship.

The more different their clothes got, the more scared I became and the more each fight started to hurt. Because it was building up to something. It was building up to how the writers wanted to end it, but my brain was ignoring all the signs and compared to season 1, their wardrobe was the first sign.

Another instance of yellow and him wearing some other color.

My heart of hearts wants to believe it’s them dressed like a sunset. Because that’s very cozy and sunsets make everything romantic and sweet just like this little moment.

And the hair kinda matches too!

This scene gave me so much hope.

And the writers then decided to crush what little hope I had left in episode 7&8.

In this scene she’s wearing this deep red/wine color and he’s wearing a long brown coat with a fur color.

- how different could that be! And then there was a fight on top of that!

My little heart couldn’t handle it.

I had to physically not think about this fight or I’d get emotional. It was too sudden and too much to fast. Tina just found out about the ring and all of that and then getting this right after just makes me so sad!

And then the end of episode 8 made me so physically sick. I wanted to throw up!

I can barely think about it now.

Tina is strong and she’s over it! Even though they had that final conversation and she almost cried. She ended up with he rest of the “Minx Family” as they took their final stand and said their last Fuck You!

Me?

I don’t call myself softie for no reason.

I was such a mess! I’m literally just now over it! It’s the only reason I was able to make this post and not get over ally emotional.

Did that one joke about Doug Letting Constance take him away if she was three years older make me laugh? Did it make me in a joking way think about it?

Yeah….

I really thought, if Tina didn’t exist, him and Constance would be kinda fun. They had a fun dynamic.

But seeing it made me want to rip my own heart out.

My soul left my body and I was feeling that weird emotion where you don’t wanna cry but your just feeling so intensely disturbed.

It’s like a morbid bastardization of grief and fear.

Anyway……..if you made it this far, your just as insane as I am and we are in this together!

We gotta have each others back. Because if season three happens I know Tina and Doug can not get back together.

But if this show does that funny subverting expectation thing it does? I might be okay, but they wouldn’t be able to just get back together like nothing happened.

But for some reason, I don’t think that’s happening.

I think the show wants to break them up for good.

I will need emotional support and for someone to hold my hand the entire time because I think this hypothetical season three plot that only exists in my head right now, will break me.

I could barely handle this break up in season 2, but if it gets worse then this I might sob….

[bi-bats]

💫 🦋 and 💌 for the fic writer asks?

hey bestie!!!!! I thought I'd see you in here 😂 thank you for reblogging the same post so I could ask you a few too!!! 💖 okay here we go:

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

I have a very specific favorite comment format and it's so fucking needy of me so no pressure to anyone reading to comment like this!!! but my favorite kind of comment is 1000000% when it's formatted like this:

["Snippet of something I wrote"] the commenter's reaction to that specific bit

Sincerely, I've said it before and I'll say it again: in the least creepy way possible, I would watch everyone react to every line of my fic if I could. Sometimes I just write a line I'm really proud of and I want it to be the line that makes someone laugh or shout or tear up and I love when people tell me what parts made them feel things!!! Also sometimes people point out lines that I didn't think twice about, ones that just came naturally, but they still make people lose it and I love that just as much!!

a close second favorite kind of comment is just when people leave me a really, really long comment about the things they loved in the chapter. Seriously, every time I get a comment that's an essay it makes me want to never stop writing 😂 Basically, much like my Jason, I'm a sucker for praise.

🦋what are you most insecure about when you post a fic?

Oh noooooooo I have to be vulnerable??? Fuck. Okay, fine.

I'm usually the most insecure about the way the tone of the scenes flow together. I'm a bit of a freak about the plotline? And when I say 'a bit of a freak', I mean I have a full-size corkboard with all of the plotpoints of Know Yourself on it. Like I'm Charlie in that one gif from It's Always Sunny with the insane red string conspiracy theory board. Below is the Evidence in case you thought I was joking (I blurred out everything that was a spoiler, don't worry. Or sorry):

...Yeah. It's a lot. Sometimes I just really struggle with feeling like the moods/tone flows from scene to scene. If they're mad at each other, I need it not to feel like they're forgiving each other too easily. If they have a huge argument, they can't just go back to exactly how it was before (looking at you, chapter 7 of Know Yourself, which is giving me an absurd amount of trouble). Thus, the corkboard. It lets me quickly look at everything I've already written (without reading all *squints* 50k words I've posted, jesus fucking christ) and figure out if everything I'm working on makes sense with what came before that.

And yeah, it is a lot of work and dedication for the silly little fanfics I write, but it's sort of like a puzzle to me? It's satisfying to untie all the tangled ideas I have and make them into something pretty.

That said, TimKon never gives me as much trouble as JayTim. I should really post some of my TimKon stuff lol

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Oh my god, this was cruel. You may not have known this was cruel, but this was cruel. Because the last time you sent me an ask, I knew I had a ton of ideas and I teased like two of them, but since then, the JayTimWeek prompts went up. And I promised myself I wasn't going to write something for every day, but then I blinked and I had ideas for every single day.

So, what to do? Do I post a snippet from one of my JayTim week WIPs? Do I post a minor spoiler for Know Yourself that you asked about in one of your comments? Do I drop all 6k words of chapter 1 of a long TimKon fic that's been sitting in my drafts for months? Do I tease an idea that I'm submitting for a zine? Do these questions count as an answer to the prompt, because I can't decide which I'm the most excited about?

No, I'm not that mean 😂 Here are two of the lines I'm most proud of from the next chapter of Know Yourself, which are in the same scene but not next to each other and don't spoil anything:

Jason was the one who had overreacted in the first place, filing Tim’s teeth to a sharp point in the hopes that he’d bite.

But then he fucked it all up. He’d done what he did best: tried to freeze over his white-hot anger, and still managed to be surprised when the ice cracked and steam shot out.

Thanks for the ask!!! I love doing these so thank you for making me answer and giving me an excuse to rest from writing (although @lovetimdrake is going to send me a meme in like 3 hours bullying me (rightfully) about how I'm supposed to be betaing their fic lol)

[freuleinanna]

Oh heyyy! I'm sorry for barging in, but I saw it today and I just couldn't unthink that! I hope you maybe like it <3 gif just for the vibes

Actors AU | Agatha and Rio are exes who have had a child together, lost a child together, and are now forced to work together again.

Word count: approx. 3000

Grief and trauma are a big theme, so is healing. Namedrops of the characters are irrelevant and are for fun. It's not a TV series meta, I just thought it would be hehe fonny. Social handle's made up too.

AO3 link

*********************************************

‘So, what can we expect in terms of, uh, in terms of the dynamics between the two of you?’

‘Ohhhhhhh, you know…’

‘I know, I do know! It’s too early in the stages and whatnot, but is there anything you can say? Are there any premises, any arcs for your characters already?’

A sly smile slithers across Rio’s lips. Agatha’s looking at her over her shoulder, unsure of what to say. The new project is all hushed up for now, of course.

‘I’m sensing some… hesitation here, ladies?’

Rio’s hand on her back, wrapping her hair around her finger in little curls. Eye contact, way too long. Fan-video-worth long. There’s a shitload of them all over the Internet, dubbed with the sappiest music and in-love-rose filter. Happy, happy.

‘Some insane shit, my guy,’ Rio finally chuckles.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Oh, I mean, full on. It’s, like, plot-wise it’s demon hoards, and religion, and bloody sacrifices…’

‘What?!’

There she goes.

‘…but really it’s a commentary on acceptance, on the grief of living in this insane world, and like, unreal amount of trauma dumping. Yeah.’

Deadpan. No expression, just making shit up. Agatha’s nodding along.

‘Right, hon?’

‘Oh, yeah!’

Something clicks, and she’s game. Rio’s fingers in her hair, and the feeling is so light, so generous, it bursts out of her with laughter.

‘So much trauma! Uh-huh, ‘cause I’ll be playing the sacrificial lamb, and you’re…’

‘I’m gonna be the demonic priest. So, there you have it.’

‘A wild ride, for sure.’

The audience is riled up. Applause come. They laugh. Cameras are rolling, forever imprinting happiness onto the lenses, every last bit of it. It is one of the last bits, actually. It’s going to spill her guts on the floor when @agatharioreallove tags her on a clip a year later (before the news comes out), showing their happy, loving faces from exactly that interview.

And then, a billion of sad, my-heart-is-breaking-for-them tags.

FUCK, she’ll be hollering in the emptiness of the living room, FUCK! Can’t you leave us the hell alone?! Fucking…

For cunt’s sake.

Our child is dead.

Our child is dead.

Fuck.

******

1 year later.

‘Thank you so much for showing up. I know it’s…’

The journalist is trying mad hard to be respectful, but also to still get a chewy piece.

‘How do you… How does one even do something like that?’

‘There’s a thing called contract, sweet cheeks.’

‘I mean, sure, but I’m… Wow, that was a raw thing to say.’

‘Things are raw.’

Awkward silence. There’s a glance over at the security guy, an unnerved tug at the collar.

‘What, do you expect us to murder each other live?’

‘Ha-ha.’

Nothing fucking funny about that.

‘I mean, everyone expected the project to get dropped, and… here you are, preparing to shoot. How was that? How was that decision made?’

Agatha’s hair in a tight bun, and she’s stroking a loose lock away from her face. Rio’s eyes are daggers. Agatha doesn’t need to look to know it.

How was it made?

Through cursing and screaming, that’s how. Kicking chairs across rooms. Throwing lamps at her agent, God bless her. Lilia’s a fucking saint draped in Sicilian shawl.

‘Aight.’

Rio fidgets, Agatha can hear it. Here’s the part she winces at, uncontrollably. Be a doll and think for a second, because you’re only not charged the lost potential value fee if you deliver the film by those scripts. What’s not clicking? And she wanted to tell that story. They both did, a love letter from parents to children. Who could’ve thought.

How was it made?

Rio’s hand perches to her shoulder, staying there like an all-too-familiar ghost. Spine tingles with rage.

‘It was hard. You can imagine…’

‘Sure… ’

‘…if you’re not an asshole. Are you?’

‘Oh, I’m—I’m not! I-- really--’

‘Good, then.’

Agatha’s dry chuckle is Oscar-worthy. She had bid a fortune on the script rights to buy them out, so she’s bound. And Rio? Rio’s completely went off the rails. Her brain train doesn’t even remember there were rails once. She’s lashed out so much she’s become a liability to everyone who has the displeasure of working with her. A bare-foot beggar in the woods is what she is without this film. So is Agatha, unfortunately. Two beggars clapping their naked ass-cheeks on the wind.

Unless they go through fucking hell.

With everybody watching.

Twenty minutes and gallons of constant internal vomit later, the interviewer stops the cameras, says goodbye, and leaves. Rio’s hand disappears. Agatha leans back and closes her eyes, waiting for another press-junket-junkie, back as straight as she’s never been.

Phone’s keyboard is spitting out quick, audible taps. Why, why does she always need to keep the sound on?

‘Fuck you.’

Agatha knows well that her voice has cracks in it. A decent amount of disdain too, she hopes. Taps are avalanching even quicker.

‘Aw, your first words to me. You haven’t been developing functional communication mechanisms, have you?’

Tap-tap-tap.

‘Go stand in the corner and die, Rio.’

‘Fuck you too.’

It’s so cold, she might have gotten frostbites. From their voices alone.

*********************

Table-reading / Rehearsals.

‘Okay, don’t be mad, but?..’

‘You don’t have to say it.’

‘It sucks balls. I’m sorry, but you just suck balls.’

‘I do no such thing, ever.’

Teen’s face wrinkles with worry. Billy, Bobby, Tommy, Toby? Whatever. He’s a teen, so, he’s Teen. A plucky assistant, and a huge pain in her moral ass.

‘Could you maybe… Cunty filter off, okay?’

‘Ugh, Teen.’

Still, Agatha’s looking this twig of a kid over, feeling worry build in the ruins of her insides.

‘What else are they saying?’ She smirks with venom. ‘Besides our chemistry being off?’

‘Basically, that it’s a Mariana Trench of flaming shit, but that it still has to be done.’

She nods, un-amused. Yeah, otherwise it’s another pile of fees, liabilities, script ownership debates, the whole petty army of Hollywood law-humpers on her back. Teen is slurping on his… blue-colored god-knows-what. Then stops, under her glare.

Rio’s afar, in the distance. Like she’s always been since… Well. Since Nicky.

‘I can’t,’ Agatha whispers before she can stop it, and clutches at her coat nervously, realizing she’s said it aloud. There’s something strangely calming in a way Teen avoids touching her, but remains just behind her shoulder, listening softly. ‘I can’t, I—I can’t.’

‘Can’t what?’

She shakes her head. Rio’s there. So is anger, so is hurt, so is everything scorching, manifesting in her oh-so-loved-once face. So is missing her fingers curling up her hair. But more, still anger.

‘I can’t say those things. The script. Not in a meaningful way. Not when--’

‘How else are you supposed to say it?’

‘Huh?’

Her comforting assistant steps from one foot to another, then lowers himself to the level of her chair. His voice crackles with nerves. His shadow supports hers. He’s saying things Agatha never wants to hear, because Nicky died, but the script brings her and Rio into a nightmare of a centuries-old witch and Death incarnate battle over a child’s soul.

‘You’ve lived them. How else are you supposed to say those things? You’ve lived them.’

Happy videos of their faces, laced fingers, loving gazes during the interview. Sad montages and thousands of close-ups of them visibly drawing away from each other at the hint of a touch. Hurting like the sun, spilling red while falling to the doom. Fuck.

‘Why don’t you go fuck yourself with a straw, huh?’

‘Sure. Okay.’

*******************************

Shooting: Day whatever, because at this point, everyone’s frustrated.

‘Oh, shit.’

‘Is she drunk?’

‘Fucking impossible— Somebody get Vidal in her trailer!’

‘Do we keep a setup?’

‘For fuck’s-- ’

‘That’s a PR nightmare.’

‘She’s not gonna sober up, is she?’

‘Not before she vomits half her stomach down the sewers, she’s not. Un-fucking-believable. Can somebody get Harkness?’

‘She’s gonna kill her.’

‘Maybe don’t tell her, smartass?’

‘She’s gonna know, and then she’s gonna kill her.’

‘What a mess.’

‘Leave it, just… everything, leave it. And get Alice to Jen for make-up. We’re gonna reschedule her scenes for today.’

‘What an A-list crap-pile on meth.’

****************

When Rio sobers up, it’s not entirely clear whether she’s dead or not, but she thinks, well. Either way there are hook-bladed daggers buried in her body, tugging in all directions at once. Hangover or hell, not much difference.

The hardest of daggers, the sharpest and most resilient one, turns out to be a scythe. And it’s in Agatha’s eyes.

‘Alive?’

A familiar voice makes the bells toll. Deep tonality of disappointment, the one which roots in hurt and blooms with blame, is a homesick sound.

‘Unfortunately so.’

‘Good. I need you alive for being skinned by the crew tomorrow.’

‘Gee,’ she croaks. ‘Sounds hot.’

Managing to pull herself into a sitting position, Rio wipes her mouth.

‘I kinda hoped I’ll just black out for the rest of the shooting. No luck, then.’

All signs are there: Agatha’s trembling hands, the way she keeps gesticulating with her whole palms in frustration. Her hateful stare, of course. There’s a storm coming. Hurricane Harkness, ready to pour molten steel. Rio sneers, taking it.

‘Come on, I know you have words.’

‘God, you’re a bitch.’ That, Agatha says with her whole chest without missing a beat, as though grateful for a convenient way of spitting some of the pain out. Those words unlock her frustrated lips. ‘Why. Seriously, why now? Neither of us wanted to do it. We’ve gone through a minefield, got fucked in the ass by every interviewer ever with a hot poker and a sympathy lube. Why not just… Do it and be gone, huh? Rio? Just one fucking movie. Why the fuck do you need to act up now?’

‘Because now, it hurts.’

And Agatha’s eyes dart away in a habit so shivery and familiar, it burns Rio’s chest worse than years of mutual blame. The woman who’s never been her wife, the woman who’s shared a son with her; now the woman who’s been so enraged, so devastated, so focused on her own irreplaceable loss that she couldn’t bring herself to look at Rio’s. Because, what if she recognizes the same pain?

People are fucking nutjobs.

‘It hurts, Agatha,’ Rio repeats quietly, with careful weight placed on each word. ‘Because I lost him too, and I didn’t get to live through my pain. I was handling yours.’

‘Oh, please.’

‘Guess it’s catching up on me.’

Hangovers don’t gently break your ribs, Rio knows. So it must be something else, like truth. Agatha’s disbelieving fury is war-like.

‘What, you got a different story?’ Rio teases, despite desperately wanting not to. Don’t tip the scale, thoughts echo, why are you like that? Why are you doing this? Why now?

Because. It. Hurts.

‘You left, Rio. When I needed you the most, you left.’

‘Needed me?’

‘And now you’re strutting back to, what exactly? Give your feelings a performance?’

‘You’ve shut me out.’

Heavy breathing. Some metallic croaking in the voice.

‘I’ve?--’

‘You’ve scolded me out. You’ve frozen me out, Agatha. You needed a space to grieve and you locked the fucking door beh--’

She stops abruptly. Draws air to say the only thing that mattered.

‘I was alone.’ I was grieving, and you couldn’t look at my face. I was grieving, and your own grief was just too big to notice mine. ‘Suppose I’d stayed. With all the time in the world, would you have hated me less?’

She sees locks of Agatha’s hair swing, heartbreakingly beautiful. Always the little things that destroy you.

‘I didn’t hate you.’

‘No?’ It’s cruel to smile. The alternative is weeping.

‘No.’

‘You sure hid it well, then.’

‘Rio, I--’

It’s a muscle memory, alright. Bodies remembering how to intertwine, how to save each other from loneliness. Hands reaching out. Breath aching to get mixed. It almost, almost happens. The warmth of it flees just before a newer, colder habit kicks in, which isn’t completely unlike cutting through arteries of hope drying in the air.

The woman Rio’s engraved into her lungs yanks them out with her need to blame someone, anyone, and walks away, still holding them.

‘I can’t, I—Don’t do that to me.’

‘I’m not doing anything.’

‘I can’t.’

‘I know.’

A beat of silence.

‘I’m done, Agatha.’ Rio smirks, broken. ‘You win. From now on, I’ll be on my best behavior.’

Agatha Harkness, an unbearable load-mouth and a genius pervert with cussing, bites her tongue and leaves. Rio feels like Death.

***************************************

Shooting: Pivotal day.

The day everyone remembers, but nobody talks about.

And then—Life.

Not at once, and not beautiful. Life isn’t a fragile flower blossoming out of nowhere. Life is actually someone’s gooey remains, definitely someone’s shit at some point, and there’s nothing fragile about it. It fights and claws, but given time, it overcomes people and buildings alike. It grows. It grows.

Given time, it stops running from the dirt whence it came, and starts reaching down with roots to accept the unthinkable.

Flowers fallen out of Agatha’s hair are white. Her hands are covered in fresh soil. Streaming down her face, tears bitter and gentle.

‘Please, my love!’

Death stops before a weeping mother. Cameras are rolling, Rio’s mind has completely switched off. Everything’s blank. Pulsating sounds in her ears are ringing with the remnants of please, my love – and Agatha’s horrifying expression. Something bruised and raw from familiarity, with which it comes.

Death – or Rio – shouldn’t rage against her helplessness. Death takes children, after all, it’s a known fact. Sometimes, it’s just… It’s just unfair. And sometimes, even Death – and Rio – can’t take being the reason for such heartbreak.

‘I can offer--’ she starts. Then, ‘No.’

Some muttering, well-earned, is heard from behind.

‘I can offer only time,’ someone whispers, reminding her of the line.

‘I know,’ she says. Then again, ‘No.’

Agatha’s face is shaded with concern.

‘What are you?--’

‘I can’t offer time.’

Taking up the skirts of her dress, Rio steps forward, toward her. Agatha draws back. Agatha the actor is wrecking her nails against stone, trying to fight Agatha… Rio’s Agatha.

‘Boys die.’

Rio nearly chokes on those words, and still it isn’t as bad as Agatha’s reaction. Invisible to anyone who’s not close enough, anger, bitterness, and grief birth real tears, instantly hot over the camera ones. But Rio is close, isn’t she? She is. For the first time in what feels like centuries of roaming wild, she’s actually there.

‘Boys die,’ she whispers, ‘and it’s never fair, but they do. And there isn’t time enough to heal that pain.’

‘Stop this.’

‘I can’t bring him back…’

‘I’m serious, Rio, stop this!’

‘…because I haven’t taken anything.’

She burns her fingers on Agatha’s face, yet it’s still worth touching it.

‘It’s not your fault, it’s not mine either.’

‘We loved him.’

Thousands of clips all over the Internet, of them showing off their happiness.

Aww, they’re the best parents <3

I NEED them to be my parents!!!

Sweet music.

Heart emojis.

Wait, are they actually raising a kid together???????

Talking about Nicky.

Talking, talking, unable to contain that joy.

And on that, Agatha breaks. Her lips twitch with a sob. Rio’s on the ground beside her, holding her face in a way that urges to listen. And her Agatha, not the character or the actor, is crying into her open palm.

‘I wanted more time. I just wanted more time, that’s all, I--’

‘We loved him so much that it… broke something, when he died.’

‘How can…’ From under closed eyes, more grief. Then a gaze so piercingly blue, it staggers Rio with ferocity of color. ‘How can I live with that? How can you live with that? How does everything not remind you of him, huh? How are you not – so – angry? Why – were you not – angry?’

Nobody could have possibly thought they’re ad-libbing. Yet nobody intervened, bless the fools. In the shadow of Rio’s face, Agatha’s darkened eyes glint almost purple.

‘I needed you to be angry, along with me. I needed you to be fucking furious about his death, and you just…’

‘Accepted it.’

Rio nods, and feels her own tears, warm and heavy like August rain. Some of them drop of Agatha’s hands. Their hands and their tears come together.

‘Because, Agatha,’ she’s barely resisting the sobbing herself. Perhaps, that’s how Death feels. Rio nods with heartbreak and compassion, and inevitability they bring. ‘Because, Agatha, boys die.’

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that they do, and there’s nothing I could do about it, but I forgot that people die too, from suffering. We almost died, too, right next to each other.

Agatha’s chest is heaving with breath. She’s fighting against Rio’s hands, and then she’s holding them, and then her arms are pressing Rio closer with all their strength.

‘I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ For not listening. For being angry with you, because you weren’t ready to accept. For not fully understanding. For lashing out. For leaving.

‘I didn’t—I—I’m sorry,’ for not acknowledging your loss. For needing my fury so much, I thought I’d stopped needing you. For blaming you.

And suddenly flowers bloom.

Not literally, of course, but they bloom in how Agatha’s fully sobbing into the crook of Rio’s neck. They also bloom in how Rio’s holding her: gently, stroking her back all the while. Wrapping little curls of hair around her fingers. Most of them bloom on their lips as they touch skin. Blessing, apologizing, healing.

Desperation and trauma are flowing up, up, toward grief and by it, up again, to the bright-red rage, around the gigantic ill-intentioned walls, over broken pieces of good memories thrown against it, toward air. Toward breathing.

Toward love,

and having spent years half-severed only to find that each deconstructed piece still fits perfectly as you hold each other tight,

and even toward kissing the salt.

Toward, it seems, life.

Because it’s always the cycle, isn’t it?

Out of death, life.

Actor au where they are exes who had a kid together but never got married but then the kid died(because i hate happy people) then they are forced to work with each other and drama ensue

[sserpente]

Requests from two anons. The photo became a pair of knickers and I’m not taking responsibility for it, haha! Are you all ready for Valentine’s Day? I know I am! Remember, if you don’t have anyone to spoil you, just spoil yourself! PS: How perfect is this gif for this Imagine?

Words: 2364 Warnings: smut, (body) insecurities, virgin!Reader

Loki gnashed his teeth, hissing quietly as he closed the door to his room at the Avengers Tower, each and every movement a painful reminder of how his hardness was rubbing against the tight fabric of his leather trousers.

He was soon going to lose his mind if he didn’t get to share his bed with you. Needless to say, he would not lay a hand on you until you begged him to fuck you—but, given the current progress of your relationship, there was a chance he would be waiting for quite a while longer.

Damn that royal chivalry he had grown up with. Part of him longed to just throw you on his bed and have his way with you, to make you cum for him over and over again until he had you screaming his name, begging him for more and to stop both at the same time. But the other… the other respected your pace.

He considered himself lucky. For all he knew, you could have rejected him for what he had done here on Midgard all those years back and yet, you had received him with open arms. He was the last person that had expected would fall in love, ever—or ever again, especially after what had happened with Sylvie. And yet here you were now, making him go insane with desire for you, a mortal.

He’d be foolish to admit this to Thor, let alone the Avengers. For all they knew, he was oddly protective over you. They needn’t know more, not at the present time. For now, he wanted you all to himself, and eventually… eventually he would have his way.

It was as clear as the waters of Asgard that you were untouched. The many times you had shared kisses you had been timid, holding back on what could have turned into… something more heated and most of all, naked.

He’d had you sit on his lap before, making you ride his thigh. He’d sneaked his hand under your skirt while you were working and running errands for the Avengers, forcing you to stay quiet as you came all over his hand, coating his skilled fingers with your juices and he sure had realised soon enough just how submissive you were around him.

He could see it in your eyes—how much you enjoyed giving him control over your body, over your pleasure. The amount of trust you put in him made him even harder and he grunted as he leaned his forehead against the cool wood of his door for a moment before letting out a deep breath and reaching into his pocket with a smirk.

It was pair of your used knickers he had taken from you without your knowledge, tucked into his pockets using magic when you were not looking. It was a green pair—one you knew he loved seeing on you. In fact, whenever you got dressed or undressed, he made sure to treat it as a show, and he adored how it made you blush every single time, for soon, you’d started wearing his colours—you never lost a word about it but it was obvious to him you had done so to both please and tease him.

The knickers that were currently in his hand were soaked. He’d made sure to tease you relentlessly today, whispering sweet nothings and filthy promises into your ear throughout the day and yet, not allowing you any relief. Perhaps he was being a little crude but then again… it was only a fraction of what he was feeling every single day. Besides, he was the God of Mischief.

You’d never taken the initiative before yet, confirming to him just how innocent and inexperienced you must have been with men. He’d not yet asked you to please him with your hands or even your mouth even though the thought of you kneeling before him almost had him cum in his leather trousers.

Instead, for now, he brought the knickers to his face and pressed them against his nose, inhaling deeply. The damp fabric against his skin had him moan and before he knew it, he let his clothes disappear with magic, stepped further into his room to lean his hand against the wooden bedpost and wrapped the knickers around his rock-hard cock, stroking it without any further delay.

 -

In love. With the God of Mischief himself. You grinned to yourself now that you were alone. Loki had retreated to his own room for the night, respecting your privacy and making sure you got enough sleep after all the work Tony and the others had been putting you through lately.

He was so kind, so respectful and gentle… so unlike what the others had warned you he was like. And just like that… you had fallen for him. At first, you’d kept it to yourself, admiring him from afar but when he started making advances… spending more time around you, standing or sitting just a little too close, taking interest in your work and your person… you’d soon begun wondering if you were dreaming. Sure, Thor too had fallen for a mortal woman before but Loki?

You didn’t exactly perceive yourself as particularly alluring, let alone conventionally attractive. You’d never been the girl the boys were after at school, never been the girl that got invited to prom or crazy college parties, and before Loki… you’d never been in a proper relationship and were hence rather… pretty… completely inexperienced.

He knew. You knew he knew. He had to. The way you kissed him shyly, never initiating anything but holding his hand or leaning against his chest when you were cuddling on his or your bed and you made him watch one of your favourite movies or TV shows with you.

And to be quite frank… you couldn’t possibly imagine him desiring you in a sexual way. You wanted him to, hell, in your fantasies, you’d done all of the filthy things you’d seen in porn films before with him but in reality… in reality, you chickened out at the mere thought of speaking up about it. But if there was one thing you knew about Loki it was that he was incredibly perceptive—and whenever the two of you were together, you couldn’t feel more comfortable.

With a sigh, you entered the small en-suite bathroom in your room and splashed some cool water on your face. But when, after drying yourself up, you reached for your hairbrush, you frowned. It wasn’t there. You must have forgotten it in Loki’s room—that god loved brushing your hair and braiding it. He’d learned to do it for his mother when he was young and since then, it seemed, it had become part of his love language.

You smiled to yourself. Now you had an excuse to see him again before going to bed. Drying yourself up, you left your room and made your way over to Loki’s. You were the only one who could enter and walk straight through his wards, so you didn’t bother knocking when you got there.

“Loki, I think I left my brush in your—“

You froze when you opened the door, revealing the God of Mischief naked and pumping his hard length… with a pair of your knickers. Your lips parted, heat flushing your cheeks. Loki barely managed to halt. He was flustered when he turned around, his aroused blue eyes meeting yours.

“—room,” you finally chirped. “I’m s-sorry, I should have knocked.” It was a conclusion rather than a question. Loki gave you the slightest hint of a smirk. Did he know? That the very sight of him—like this—made your heart race, your stomach tighten and your pussy clench?

“It’s on the vanity,” he rasped at last, almost… unfazed. Was he biding his time, curious as to what you’d do? Even after the many times Loki had coaxed countless orgasms from you, you had never felt more desirable than right now. If he stole your worn knickers to bring himself some relief, to make himself cum to the thought of you… it filled you with a wave of arousal and confidence like you had never felt before.

“Can I… um… can I… help you?”

Loki stepped closer to you, his scrutinising gaze never leaving yours.

“If you wish,” he purred, releasing his member at last.

“Tell me what to do…” Part of you longed for him to order you to kneel before him so he could fuck your mouth until he’d had his fill… another… another bathed in his respectful behaviour around you. There was no way this was the same man who had once attempted to subjugate Earth. And just like that, you realised with a start… that you wanted him to sleep with you. Now.

“Loki…” He knew without you so much as trying to put your thoughts into words. Perhaps he could tell by your dazed look, your shallow breathing…

“Are you certain? I’m not sure I will be able to stop once I have you writhing beneath me, pet.”

“I-I’m… I’m sure. Please, Loki.”

“Then get on the bed. Take off your clothes… and don’t take your eyes off me when you do.”

You nodded, biting your lower lip with joyful anticipation as you did as you were told. You knew exactly what he intended to do to you with this. He wanted you to feel sexy, to feel alluring. And, the more seconds passed under his scrutinising gaze… the more you started believing that you were.

You still attempted to cover yourself up once you were fully naked, with all of your clothes discarded on his floor.

“Ah-ah-ah… let me look at you, pet. Spread your legs for me.” Your eyes widened. Hesitantly, you did as you were told, revealing your throbbing and wet cunt to his greedy eyes.

When Loki licked his lips, you were done for. By the time he crawled on the mattress and hovered above you like the god he was, you’d lost your ability to speak and yet, his soft kiss kept you in this reality, anchored to the love and affection you had for him.

Loki’s leaking tip pressed against your entrance, making you flinch not out of fear but anticipation. You bucked your hips, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when his soft hands travelled up and down your exposed body, caressing every single inch they could find.

“Please…”

The God of Mischief chuckled. “Patience, pet. I am just as desperate for you as you are for me but I will be taking my sweet time with you. At least the first time.” It sounded like a threat. No, like a promise. No, both. You moaned, arching your back to get even closer to him and then, slowly… you felt him push inside.

You were so wet there was hardly any resistance and unlike what your friends had told you, you barely felt any pain as he stretched you out, taking you inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside of you.

Loki stilled, studying your reaction all the while you were hoping that your pleading expression would make him give up an ounce of control and fuck you.

Shit, what was going on with you? How had the sight of him masturbating turned you so feral? How had your used knickers around his cock flipped a switch in your mind? And did it matter? No, an aroused voice in your head whispered.

And then, finally… Loki withdrew and thrust forward again, repeating the motion slowly and intimately. You dug your fingers into his naked back, pulling him even closer to you. Your legs wrapped around his middle, heels pressing against his buttocks. His hot skin on yours had you see stars, even more so when his strokes became more erratic, more eager.

Loki began to rut into you mercilessly, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and fuck… narrating to you what was happening.

“Hmm… does it feel good, pet? My cock filling you whole? Your soaked quim is squeezing me so tightly, I…” Your breath hitched when he was interrupted by a moan, his eyes closing blissfully. Every single thrust hit pleasure spots inside of you that you had no idea existed. Higher and higher you climbed, nearing your orgasm so fast it almost scared you, and when Loki’s hand ghosted down to where your bodies met, pampering your clit with skilled fingers, you were ready to fall.

“You have no idea how much I’ve longed to finally be inside of you, make you mine…” The curse that left his lips was in a different language, Old Norse, perhaps. “Cum for me, pet…” He grunted, breathing out your name. “Now.”

It was an order you couldn’t have disobeyed even if you had wanted to. You practically exploded, your pussy milking him for dear life. Again and again, you clenched around him rhythmically, feeling his own release as he jerked against your walls and filled you up with his seed.

Pleasure surged through you like Greek fire, consuming you from the inside out. Helping each other ride out your orgasms, it wasn’t for a while until Loki finally came to a stop and rolled you over so you came to lie on top of him, with his cock still deep inside of you. Some of his seed came dribbling out of you, staining your inner thighs.

“Are you alright, my love?”

“Yeah… I just can’t move.” You grinned even though it was already too exhausting to move your lips too much. None of your friends had ever told you that the first time having sex would be this tiring… in a good way. Your eyes fell shut.

Loki chuckled darkly. “Oh dear, if you believe I will let you sleep just yet, you are very wrong, pet.” His promising words already sent a new shiver through you. And even though you had no idea how you would keep up with the stamina of a god… you were already looking forward to even more sex with this wonderful and mischievous man.

-

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story! Make sure to stop by on my account if you want more Imagines! ♥

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

The New Professor

Into The Bucky-Verse

Pairing; College Professor!Bucky Barnes x Student!Female!Reader

Summary; The sinful fantasies you have about your hot and new professor becomes a reality.

Word Count; 3793

Warnings; NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, undefined age-gap, Professor!Kink, Sir!Kink, cursing, language, dirty talk, pet names, degrading, lots of teasing, slight anal play, semi-public sex, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note; English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings! The picture below does not represent how the reader looks like. I just thought the outfit was fitting for this scenario. Enjoy!

Main Masterlist || Into The Bucky-Verse Masterlist

Moodboard

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Gif credit to creator

Today was the first day of your second year of college. You are sitting beside your best friend, Maya, in the third row of the auditorium with all your fellow students.

Whispers and talk could be heard from every direction about the arrival of the new and highly anticipated professor. This would be his first time teaching at the campus, and according to the gossip going around school, he was insanely hot.

Most of the girls in class had done themselves up more than usual. Their hair and makeup had been done to perfection, and a good amount of them sported a considerable amount of cleavage than usual.

“Do you think he’s hot? Or is he going to be as old and boring as the rest of them?”

Maya interrupted your train of thought with questions about the new professor. She had been giddy and excited about his arrival ever since she found out about him.

You averted your eyes from the front where you had zoned out and turned to her.

“Uh, I don’t know. I hope he’s more fun and interesting than the teachers from last year.”

“Yeah, that’s fair, I guess,” she nodded her head in agreement with your statement.

You and she had complained to each other multiple times throughout last year on how boring some of the old professors presented the subjects you and she were so passionate about.

“But a hot new teacher for the year? Ugh, yes, please. I need that. We need that,” she motioned with her finger between the two of you.

A few minutes went by with you and her planning what you would do after the school day.

There was a creek of a door opening and closing that echoed through the auditorium, followed by footsteps approaching the podium.

The room was dead silent, but you could hear the collective thoughts of everyone seated screaming on the inside.

Your heart skipped a beat, and a swarm of butterflies erupted in you, travelling throughout your body as your eyes took him in for the first time.

Fuck, he was so beautiful, and as everyone had predicted, fucking hot as hell.

He was older, much older than you. He was tall, built to perfection and had a pair of beautiful blue eyes that you could drown yourself in.

You had to stifle a whimper as you studied him. You clenched your thighs together as your core was pulsating in need and desperation for him.

He wore a white button-down shirt with a tie around his neck and a grey checkered sweater on top to make it more casual. He wore thick-framed glasses that complimented his look altogether.

A brown leather messenger bag hung from his shoulder that he placed up front on a chair.

Everyone was whispering and gossiping while he put his things away.

“Holy shit, he’s hot,” Maya whispered to you.

“Ye-yeah.”

“Good morning, everyone.”

God, that voice was heavenly. Your mind was already racing with thoughts of him saying your name over and over again, in a sexual and non-sexual way.

He introduced himself as James Buchanan Barnes, but he told you all to call him Bucky for short.

Everyone was in awe while he talked, listening with interest in everything he had to say. He chats a little about himself before he moves on with the content of the course.

After about an hour of reviewing the course plan, the lecture is over, much to your disappointment. You could listen to Professor Barnes talk all day.

“I think we should introduce ourselves to Professor Hottie, don’t you think, Y/N?”

Maya took her hand in yours so she could drag you over to the podium. You stopped abruptly as you were hesitant to speak with him.

“I-I don’t know, Maya.”

“Come on. I’ll catch you if you faint, don’t worry.”

You rolled your eyes at her but agreed with her wishes to introduce yourselves. A few other students had beaten you to it, so all you could do was wait until they finished.

Maya quickly introduced herself when her turn came; she was eager to speak with him.

“Professor, I’m Maya. It’s so cool that you’re our new teacher. We need someone to liven things up around here.”

Professor Barnes chuckled at her confession. God, every noise he made was so heavenly. How could such a simple act turn your whole world upside down?

“Thank you, Maya; I’m excited to start working with you all.”

You stood to the side, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers as you kept your face down at the floor, not sure when to include yourself in the conversation, but fear not, Maya would never leave you hanging.

“Oh,” Maya grabbed your upper arm to pull you a little closer to her and the professor, “and this is my beautiful and smart best friend, Y/N.”

“Maya,” you muttered under your breath while you hit her lightly with your elbow. You were so embarrassed, your face heating up, that she had introduced you like that.

Professor Barnes reached out his hand for you to take. There was an electric spark between you two as your skin touched. You let out a small gasp, too weak for his ears to catch, and you both let go of each other.

“Uh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, professor.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

His eyes took a glance all over you. His tongue darted out between his lips to wet them as something in his eyes switched.

There was a silent pause for a few seconds. Luckily Maya picked up on the energy and started blabbering about the course to him.

You were grateful that she stepped in as you needed a few minutes to calm yourself down. You chimed in now and again with your own contributions to the conversation.

——

You and Maya were hanging out and chatting in the student lounge as you waited for the next class to start.

“He was so checking you out, Y/N. He was practically drooling.”

“I-I don’t think so; he was just being polite.”

“Sure, whatever you say, girl.”

She chuckled to herself as she took out her schedule to study it. While she was busy examining the paper, you see, out of the corner of your eye, Professor Barnes walked by and stopped to greet another teacher.

He quickly glances in your direction, and your eyes lock. You dare not take your gaze away from him as you were frozen in place that you were caught staring at him. He flashes you a smile followed by a wink before he walks away.

Your lips part, and your heart thud hard against your chest. Did he just? Or did you imagine it all? No, it couldn’t be real. He was a teacher, and you were a student. There was no way in hell anything could be going on between the two of you.

——

Over the next few weeks, the auditorium is still packed to capacity. Generally, throughout the weeks, there would be fewer people showing up to the lectures, but it was still fully loaded as it had been on the first day of the school year. You knew the reasoning for that, and it was no other than Professor Barnes himself.

Everyone loved him as a teacher. He was charming, charismatic and intelligent. His way of teaching the subject and making it fun and interesting captivated each of the students.

——

You and Maya were studying in the student lounge for one of Professor Barnes' assignments. This was the first time in a long time you were enjoying doing an assignment.

All of a sudden, you see Professor Barnes entering the lounge. You stop writing on the paper, keeping your head down but looking up at him through your lashes.

You assume he came into the lounge to find a fellow teacher, but he came straight towards you and Maya.

Maya had caught him coming over as well; her leg kicked yours under the table, “OMG, here comes Mr Hottie.”

“Y/N, I would like to discuss the assignment with you in my office if you don’t mind.”

“O-of course, professor. Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s good, don’t worry. I just need to speak with you.”

“O-ok.”

You stuff your bag with your belongings quickly, and as you’re about to stand up, Maya whispers to you, “tell me all the juicy details when you’re done.”

“Stop,” now it was you who kicked her under the table, “he only wants to discuss the assignment.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll want to discuss something else as well.”

“I hate you so much, Maya.”

You gave her the middle finger before you followed Professor Barnes out to the hallway.

You walked a few paces behind him while on the way to his office. Your heart beats in your chest faster and harder with each step you take.

His office was located at the end of the long hallway. That must be pleasant for him not having so much traffic outside his office door.

“Come on in.”

You step into his office and take in the surroundings. The room looks old but has class and charm to it. The wall that you are facing as you step in is lined with bookshelves containing various colourful books. The other walls are decorated in several framed prints of his liking. Two comfortable looking chairs sit opposite the massive and shiny mahogany desk that takes up the middle of the room.

You clench your thighs together as you watch Professor Barnes lean against his desk, facing you, with his arms crossed.

Fuck, why in the hell does he have to be so good looking?

“You’ve done remarkably well on your assignment this far. I just wanted to praise you for a moment and tell you to keep up the good work.”

Praise you? Oh no, it was you who wanted to praise him while on your knees.

“Tha-thank you, professor.”

There was a pause, and you weren’t sure what to say next? Was he going to ask you to leave now, or was there something more?

“Fuck,” his hand runs down his face in frustration as he looks down at the floor, “I shouldn’t do this; I could lose my job,” he spoke in a whisper to himself.

“But, you’ve been so bad as well, sweetheart.”

You almost choked on the air you breathed. What did he say? Did you hear him right?

“Si-sir?”

“You heard me. You’ve been a bad girl.”

He lifts his head, and his expression has shifted to that of something darker, something more animalistic.

“Come here.” He beckons you with his finger, and you don’t think twice about stepping towards him.

“Look at you, dressed like a little slut as you walk around campus teasing the male students. You think you can just walk in that little cock tease of a skirt, your pussy drenched and begging for it without there being consequences?”

You looked down on yourself. You wore what you did most days, a plaid skirt, blue today, with a white, thin, cotton sweater that clung to your chest and waist.

“I can see them looking at you. Lusting after you, lusting after what’s mine, what will soon be mine. You take delight in being a little tease for them.. and for me, don’t you?”

His gaze scans you from head to toe. You can see the fire in his eyes as they meet yours. Unimaginable fantasies swim in them, and you want to explore every single one with him.

A surprised gasp leaves you when he places his hands on your hips and pulls you into him, chest to chest.

One of his hands carefully cradles your face in his palm while his thumb traces your top lip followed by your lower. His thumb asks for entrance into your mouth, and you happily grant him access. You take his digit and carefully suck on it, teasing it out.

Professor Barnes lets out a satisfied groan at you being so responsive to him.

“You don’t think I can’t see the way you clench your thighs and stifle a whimper when I walk into a room? You want me as much as I want you.”

He takes his thumb from your mouth and traces your bottom lip once more.

“Am I right, darling?”

“Ye-yes, professor.”

“Put your hands on my desk.”

You do as told, with no hesitation in your actions. You can’t count how many times you’ve dreamed about this exact scenario. How many times you’ve come at the thought of what your professor would do to you in his office.

He comes to stand by your side. One of his hands brushes the small of your back, and you can’t help but moan out at that single touch alone. A dark and rough chuckle leaves Professor Barnes’ chest, and you feel so embarrassed that you are so sensitive to his touch.

“You want this? You’ve been dreaming about this late at night, haven’t you, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes, every night..”

He finds his way behind you and takes a moment to admire you. In the position you’re in, he can see a glint of your white lace panties.

His finger comes in contact with the cavity behind your knee before they travel up behind your thigh. Your head drops down as you mewl out at the electrifying touch.

“Have you let them do more than just look? Have they slipped their fingers up this little tease of a skirt of yours and touched you through your panties?”

His thumb brushes against your soaked covered slit before it rests against your clit, barely putting any pressure on it.

“Shit, professor.”

“Have they gone as far as to tug your panties to the side and see all of you?”

His fingers take hold of the hem of your panties, and they snap against your skin when he releases.

“N-no, professor. I don’t want them. I only want you, Sir. I only want you to do those things to me. I’ve been dreaming about it, touching myself in the night at the thought of it.”

He slaps your pussy by surprise, and it has you yelp out at the delicious sting it brings. Your elbows drop down to the desk, keeping your weight up.

“Shh… we are still at school, you bad girl. We don’t want anyone finding out that I have a student bent over my desk.”

“So-sorry, professor.”

“God, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to bend you over the first available surface and fuck you in front of everyone when you call me that.”

You can’t believe that all of this is happening. It’s a whole lot to process, but for now, you are revelling in the fact that all your darkest fantasies are becoming alive at this very moment.

His broad hand presses against the middle of your back, bending you over until the side of your face is pressed against the hard wood of his desk. The new position has your skirt rise to the point where he has a clear view of your clothed pussy.

“Look at you, sweetheart, just asking to be fucked like a little slut.”

His hand drops down to your clothed core once more and rubs your clit over the damp panties.

“Are your panties wet because you like teasing the boys at school, or is it because of me?”

“It’s for you, professor; my panties are always wet because of you.”

His hand pulls your panties to the side, “look at you, look at that pretty little pussy. So wet for me, darling.” His finger drags over your now naked core.

Professor Barnes hooks his fingers around your panties and drags them down your legs, tossing them to the side.

“Such a pretty sight. You look so pretty like this.”

Professor Barnes is still fully dressed. His cock pressed against his trousers, begging to be let out and fuck you.

“Mmm.. next time, I want you on your knees for me, but for now, I need to feel your pussy wrapped around me.”

Your heart skips a beat when he confirms that this wouldn’t be a one-time event.

“I can’t wait till next time then, professor.”

You hear him undo his pants from behind you. The sound of his belt buckle being undone was like music to your ears. As you were about to pull down your skirt, he stopped you.

“Keep the skirt on. I like it.”

At this point, you were so wet, practically dripping down the inside of your thighs.

Professor Barnes placed his palm on your back to put you flush against his desk once again, making your skirt rise up once more and exposing all of your pretty holes.

“So beautiful, sweetheart. All of this for me?”

“Y-yes.”

The pad of his thumb teased your clit before he dragged it through your folds, his thumb soaked in your wetness until it got to your back entrance, teasing your puckered hole.

Your forehead rested against the desk; soft and quiet whimpers escaped your lips at the new and incredible sensation.

“Next time, I have to fuck all your pretty holes too, sweetheart.”

His lips were mere inches from your ear as he whispered those sinful promises to you. His hot breath fanned across your face.

One of his hands caresses and grabs your ass cheek before he places it on your hip, forming a bruising grip, while his other holds his shaft, teasing your folds with his cock.

“Fuck me, professor, please.”

“I’ll give you what you want.”

He slowly pushed his whole length into your warmth, claiming your body as his, wanting you to feel all of him. The feeling of fullness has your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He pulled out till only his tip was inside you before pushing against you with force once more. The power of his thrusts had your hips gnaw into his desk. You were going to be so sore tomorrow, but you didn’t mind one bit.

His thrusts were hard and fast as he fucked you into the desk, his hips slapping against your backside, the force of him making you jolt into the edge with each move of him. You braced yourself by holding onto the edges for dear life.

“Fuck, that’s so good, professor, please don’t stop,” you said rather loudly.

“Shh,” his hand covered your mouth to keep your noises at bay, his hips slowing down their speed, “don't forget where we are now. As much as I would love to hear all the lovely noises you make, it's too risky, you understand?”

All you could do was nod your head that you understood.

“Good, now touch that greedy little clit of yours. I want you to come all around my cock.”

As you played with your desperate clit, his thrusts were powerful as he fucked your tight pussy to his liking. You cried out against his palm each time his cock brushed against your sweet spot, your orgasm building with every stroke of him. You want this to last forever; it’s perfect; it’s everything you ever wanted.

“You want to cum for me?”

With your mouth being preoccupied, all you could do was nod your head.

“Let go for me.”

His seed filling you up was what brought forth your own release. Your walls tightened around him as his hips snapped rapidly against you as he gave you all his cum, not stopping his movements until you were both satisfied. You moaned against his palm. Your eyes struggled to stay open as the pleasure travelled through your entire body in the most delicious way possible.

Professor Barnes struggled to keep his noises down as well. He tried to suck in each noise he released into the room.

He rested his forehead against your back as you both struggled to regain your breaths and bearings.

“Holy shit, that was incredible, professor.”

“I can say the same to you, darling.”

He pulled out of your used hole, the both of you groaning at the loss of contact. If you could, you would want him and you to stay connected forever.

Professor Barnes helped clean you both up with a few tissues he kept on his desk. After he was done, you turned around to lean at the edge of his desk.

You hissed out as you felt incredibly sore from having your hips slammed into the desk repeatedly, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Hey, are you ok? Did I hurt you?”

One of his hands caressed your upper arm as he had a worrisome expression on his face. Your heart exploded in tingling butterflies that he cared for your well-being after he had fucked you good and raw.

“I’m fine, professor. I’m a little sore, but it’s a pleasant kind of sore.”

“That’s good; just let me know if I ever hurt you, or you’re uncomfortable, ok?”

“Of course, professor.”

You and he got dressed in silence as you both processed the events from a few moments ago. You were so ecstatic, and you couldn’t wait for him and you to meet up again.

You adjusted yourself up, so it didn’t look like you had just been fucked hard against a desk.

Professor Barnes looked at the watch on his wrist, “shit, we have class in five.”

“Yeah, I should get going.”

You picked your bag up, and as you were about to walk out, he grabbed you by the forearm and pulled you against him.

His lips crashed against yours, and it was the first time he had kissed you since you stepped foot into his office. A million words and possibilities were exchanged through that kiss, and you wanted to explore them with him.

“I really enjoyed this.”

“Me too, professor.”

“Please, call me Bucky when it’s just the two of us.”

“Bucky.”

He gave you one last heartfelt kiss before it was time to get going.

“I’ll see you around, Bucky.”

“I can’t wait till next time, sweetheart.”

You opened the door and checked on each side of the hallway if the coast was clear. When you were sure no one was there, you stepped out and closed the door behind you.

You kept your back to his door for a few moments to let out a deep breath you didn’t know you had been keeping in. Your eyes closed as the time in his office went through your head, and you smiled the biggest you had in a long while.

Maybe you and Bucky could turn out to be something beautiful, something more…

Thank you for reading❤️ Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated if you liked it! As well as a reblog to share it with others!

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[no-droids]

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gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[moreofem]

I weirdly have a food fight fantasy with Carmy you’re pissed off at each other all day and then as you’re both cleaning up for the night someone grabs a spoon full of mashed potatoes and throws it which leads to sex and licking the food off each other

M.exe has stopped working😩 lil sumn sumn under the cut!! (Currently can’t add gifs cause my data is very bad rn so just picture Jeremy being a hot, distressed chef.)

It started off with the thousandth argument. You and Carmy love each other, but also love bickering with each other like a married couple, which makes your friends and colleagues go absolutely insane. So, now that the two of you were giving each other silent treatment, the kitchen was only *slightly* calmer.

But there was tension for the whole day, during family, you two sat on opposite sides of the table, during service, during clean up… until it was just the two of you hanging out for close up. I mean you couldn’t do it any other way, you guys lived together so you only came with one car. So you just didn’t talk to each other. Carmy was cleaning the last things, and you were too. All of a sudden, you felt a blob of something land on the back of your neck. Looking up at the industrial ceiling, you didn’t see anything dripping, which reassured you. So the only way some… thickened gravy? could’ve appeared on your you skin was…

“Carmen what the fuck?”

He ducked his head, smirking underneath his nose.

“… that’s what you get..”

“Excuse me? Get for what? You’re the one who’s been breakin my balls all-“

Another blob of gravy.

“Oh you motherfucker…”

You dipped your hand in some random chocolate sauce that was hanging around, before throwing it on him. It landed on his stained shirt. He gasped and laughed, before grabbing a spoonful of strawberry jam and throwing it on you, making you scream and run around the countertops, endless giggles streaming from your mouth.

Bucket of flour. You grinned and reached to open it, but before you could, Carmy grabbed your sides, preventing you from reaching it. You whined and screamed and laughed, and you let him lead you to the ground.

“Nuh-uh. It’s closed baby, can’t open that one..”

“Urgh, shut up. You know that I was gonna win that one.”

Carmen didn’t say anything, he just stared at you and smirked. You squirmed under his heavy gaze, and your quickened breaths made your chest heave, which made Carmen stare even more.

“Wait here. I’m serious. Don’t fucking move. I’ll be right back.”

You looked at him in confusion as he got up and went to the walk in fridge.

“…Oookkaaayyy?” You stayed on the cool tiles, giggling to yourself.

When he came back and kneeled to show you what he got, you grinned at his eyebrows wiggling.

“Ain’t no way you brought whipped cream… Ew, you’re so kinkyyy”

You both grinned and laughed at each other, and he asked if he could lift your shirt. You bit your lip and nodded, the cool air making goosebumps appear on your torso. Carmy’s eyes became darker, seeing the way your sports bra made your tits lift up. He opened the can of whipped cream, and-

“Don’t move baby..”

- he put some on your cleavage. You watched with hooded eyes as he bent down to lick it, grabbing the big glob with his tongue.

“Oh… Bear…Mhm… Naughty.”

You felt his tongue against your breasts and he saw your nipples harden. He smirked and did it again, this time putting some on his finger. He placed his index on your plush, lower lip.

“Oopsie… guess I’ll have to lick that clean then.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his jaw, finally colliding your lips with his. His chapped lips felt good against yours, adding some roughness. You whimpered in his mouth when he slipped his tongue in, and you could taste the slightly sweetened foam.

“Carmy… Fuck. Carmen. Bear, take my pants off, I-I want you to eat my pussy, I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier, just please, please eat me.”

He nodded breathlessly, his chapped lips now puffed and glistening with spit and sugar; and you couldn’t help but taste him one last time. He tasted like stale cigarettes, vanilla and that blue-raspberry energy drink he likes, and you just couldn’t get enough. Carmen peppered kisses across your cheeks, your chin, behind your ear, down your throat, nipped at your collarbones - which made you hiss-, lapped his tongue over the globes of your breasts, kissed your stomach, until he reached your leggings. 

“Lift your hips for me baby”

He slipped the pants and your underwear off at the same time, and you spread your legs for him, revealing your glistening pussy to him. He hummed and smiled, not wanting to tear his eyes away from the way you were blossoming underneath him.

“You’re so pretty for me honey… you’re so fucking gorgeous. This pussy’s so so pretty”

You winked at him, grabbed the canister of whipped cream, and made it foam on your mound. He groaned and dove right in, licking the foam, before flattening his tongue and licking a long, delightful stripe from your opening to your clit. You moaned, and he did it again, lapping all of your juices. He groaned at the taste of the artificial vanilla bean mixed with the tangy, indescribable, taste of you.

“Mhm… taste s’good”

You whimpered and grabbed his hair, dirtying it even more, but you couldn’t care any less. Carmen wrapped his lips around your clit, watching your reaction closely. Your eyes flew open, and you made eye contact with the big, blue and intense eyes your boyfriend has. You watched him feast on you, bury his stiff tongue into you, kissing your pussy lips, rub his nose into the short hairs of your mound, and and the fact that he was letting you use him… my god, you were about to cum.

He felt it too, when your breathing became erratic and your hips were fucking his face even more, grinding up his nose, hooking your clit with the strong arch.

“Cum for me baby, do it for me, be good and cum”

You whimpered and threw your head back, your lower stomach finally relaxing, and you can all over Carmen’s eager mouth, who didn’t hesitate to lap everything up. When you came down from your high, you saw Carmen smile at you, kissing the stretch marks on your inner thighs, and you snickered, looking around.

“Well, I think we’re gonna have to clean some more, the faster we clean, the faster we can get home, yeah?

—

Yass queen

[peakyblindersxx]

hi abi! just wanted to say i love “come home with me” so much! i’ve read it 4 times already!!

if you don’t mind me asking, what do you think happens the following morning? do they wake up in each other’s arms, or does finn wake up to an empty bed and once he gets to work he’s like “where did you go?”

a/n: i’m sorry i took a little to answer this post, i wanted to give it the time it deserved and i hope you like it! i sure as hell did :) this one is a lil short but really special to me cause finn’s my baby 

yours (sequel to come home with me) - finn shelby x reader 

gif by my queen @michaelgreys cause i really can’t help myself with this scene

my masterlist

warnings: nsfw!! smut, a lil fluffy, literally no plot at all other than finn is sexy i’m sorry (but am i tho)

tag list:@lilymurphy03

You awoke to the sun shining in through the curtains onto the spacious bed where the two of you laid, Finn’s arms firmly tucked around you, skin warm against yours. You’d almost thought last night was a dream, but the lanky boy practically engulfing you confirmed that it wasn’t. A nudge of his nose to the back of your neck let you know he was awake too, breath hot as he pressed kisses to your bare shoulder.

“Look so fuckin’ beautiful in the sun.” Finn’s raspy morning voice was music to your ears as you turned to face him, unable to help the corners of your mouth from turning up.

“Don’t fuck with me, I look like a mess,” you replied, letting out a slight gasp as he was unable to help himself from pressing a kiss just under your jaw, smirking into your skin. 

“Prettiest mess I’ve ever seen,”  Finn muttered into your skin, scraping slightly with his teeth, creating a bruise, causing you to shudder. “Mine now, yeah? And I say,” he paused to kiss another mark into your collarbone. “You look gorgeous.” He slowly guided you back to lay down, pressing kisses down your chest, briefly stopping to bring one of your breasts into his mouth, leading you to arch your back into him as he made his way to your core. He stopped for a second to look at you, his prying eyes fixed on the way you looked for him. “Good enough to fucking eat.”

You didn’t even have time to reply before his mouth was on you, tongue pressed against your slit, working wonders as his nose nudged your clit, briefly pausing to flick his tongue around it. 

“Finn, fuck..” you cried, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, causing him to practically growl into your cunt. Finn ignited something feral in you; a level of attraction you didn’t know was possible. Yet, he wanted you, he’d said. He wanted you to be his and he wanted to be yours. God help you if that made you want to fuck him even more. There was something in the way he looked at you, just like the way he was looking up at you now, eyes trained on yours, almost worshipping the way you looked with his head between your legs. He had to admit, he’d never felt this way either. The sounds you were making had him hard since he woke up, but he wasn’t mad about it. You were fucking unbelievable, ravishing as you writhed in his bed. He had to repeat that to himself to believe it fully. You were in his bed. You were his. Fuck if he wasn’t going to show you just what that meant.

You were a vision as you arched your back into his mouth, reaching your peak as Finn helped you ride it out, lapping softly at your quivering pussy. He finally let up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he grinned cockily, placing his hands on either side of you and leaning down to kiss you. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his lips, the filthiness of it all driving you absolutely insane. Finn was already hard; you could feel him against you, making you buck your hips in anticipation.

“Ready for me, are ‘ya?” He grinned.

“Shut up,” You retorted with a smile as he pressed a kiss to your lips, mouth quickly going slack as he pushed into you, hard and thick inside of you. He couldn’t help but groan softly at the feeling of you so ready and wet for him, walls already clenching around him. He quickly picked up the pace, reaching down to throw your legs over his shoulders to bury himself inside of you, fucking you at a relentless pace. You’d never been fucked like this, let alone in the bed of one of the most notorious gangsters in Birmingham, and it was beyond words. You couldn’t see, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Finn fucked into you without restraint, filling you to the hilt, pressing up against your g-spot every time, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the insides of your lower legs as he made you cum over and over again, sending you into a blissful haze. By the time he was close, you were so far gone, you didn’t even know what day it was, and you didn’t care. All you knew was Finn. Beautiful Finn, who was determined to make you cum again with him, sending you over the edge just before he spilled into you, colors drifting across your vision slowly as you attempted to catch your breath. Finn, who teeth were nipping at your inner thighs while he cleaned you up, unable to resist pressing a kiss to your cunt. Finn, who was running you a bath and wanted to know if you wanted anything to eat. Finn, who was yours.

[enchantestuff]

miscommunication - charles leclerc

in which your Pierres little sister and reap the consequences after an eventful night in Monaco with his best friend

I think I'm going to make this into a series, like 3 more parts maybe??

part two

GIF NOT MINE!!!

warnings: smut, my failed attempt at angst (I tried), language, em yeah

3k words (I have no idea how that happened) 

You had known Charles for years, which wasn't particularly surprising considering you were Pierres little sister.

When you were little you envied their friendship, constantly trying to insert yourself in their games and conversations. You had lost count of the amount of times they slammed a door in your face, demanding you to leave them alone. You hadn’t realised how annoying you were being as you followed them around everywhere, even if Pierre had scolded you for it each day.

When you were a teenager, Pierre purposely kept Charles away from you, telling him that if he even looked in your direction he wouldn't hesitate to end their friendship. You, of course, had no idea of the threat not that it mattered as you didn't paid any attention to the infamous duo during those few years, living in your own little world full of clothes , friends and different boys.

Now, however, you were an adult and all you wanted to do was support your brother throughout his career. In recent years you had gone to as many races as you physically could, but of course you had your own job and unfortunately didn’t have the time to attend any race this season.

Pierre was disappointed, he loved having you there to support him, but he understood that you had your own life and never placed any blame on you. After years of the two of you constantly ignoring each other and bickering, you had finally begun to act like siblings and all he wanted to do was make up for lost time.

You had thankfully gotten three weeks off work - well they weren’t necessarily weeks off as you still had to do your job, but your boss insisted that there was no need for you to trek to the office everyday when you were perfectly capable of doing the work at home on your laptop. The timing couldn't have been better with the triple header just around the corner, it almost seemed like a miracle and you were gonna enjoy every minute of it.

You grinned as you texted your brother.

Any spare tickets to the race :)

He replied almost immediately.

You're kidding, which one?

All of them?

Your texting was cut off by Pierres contact photo appearing on your phone. You answered instantly only to hear Pierre screaming through your speakers, he also slipped in a few delighted curse words before finally letting you talk.

“My boss gave me the next three weeks off so I’m going to go support my favourite brother” you grinned.

“Your only brother” he remarked and you could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

You spent the next few hours catching up and retelling pointless stories. You had gone to sleep with a lazy smile on your face and  woke up the next morning to a text from Pierre, telling you that he had organized your passes for the three weekends as well as the flights, all you had to do was find a hotel. He slipped in the name of the hotel that he was staying at, and to your luck there was still room available. Now all that was left to do was wait.

You grinned giddy as you stepped off the plane and walked toward the baggage collection area, excited to finally get back to watching races in person. You rubbed your eyes in surprise when you spotted your brother waiting for you. “Pierre?” you screamed delightly, running up to him and pushing his body into a bone crushing hug. It felt like you hadn’t seen him in forever even if it was only a few months.

“Bonjour,” he laughed as he hugged you back.

“I thought you were busy all day today” you exclaimed once you pulled away from him.

He sheepishly shrugged at you with a lazy grin on his face. “I may have lied, are you ready to go?”

You nodded your head at him and for the first time in a long time your mind drifted towards your brother's best friend, Charles, who you hadn’t spoken to since an eventful night in Monaco a few months ago.

You cursed yourself as you thought back to that very moment.

Charles was having a party at his lovely home, you can't remember now what you were celebrating but everyone was ecstatic. You could hear the music from across the street and you knew before you even entered the house that it was going to be a night to remember.

The moment you stepped foot inside you were surrounded by multiple drunk people, all with large grins and hooded eyes plastered on them and you laughed as almost everyone stumbled around the house.

You spotted your brother in the middle of the room dancing with a pretty blonde, he had a goofy smile on his face and you knew from that sight of him alone that he was wasted. You were the only sober person there, at least that's what you thought until Charles had made his way to you with two cups in his hand, alcohol for you and water for him.

“I thought you were celebrating,” you mused as you took a sip of the dark liquor.

“Someone needs to keep these drunk idiots in check,” he joked.

“Well in that case” you said as you handed your drink to a stranger and took a sip of his water instead. You laughed at the bewildered look he threw your way before continuing, “I'm not going to let you tackle this party alone.” The smile that formed on Charles was genuine and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight.

You surprisingly enjoyed yourself the whole night, maybe that was because you knew everyone there, but most likely it was because you spent the whole night with Charles.

A few hours into the party he turned to you asking to dance, you didn't even hesitate to say yes, nerves surrounded you immediately and they only got worse when his hands dipped dangerously low on your hips. Your eyes automatically searched for Pierre and you left out a sigh of relief when you couldn't find him anywhere.

The thought of getting caught fueled both you and Charles, so when he spun you around to face him neither of you hesitated to connect your lips. You considered yourself lucky that everyone around you was too drunk to notice your heated make out and used it to your advantage. You pulled him even closer to you, moaning in his ear when he grabbed your bum and giggling at the whimper he let out.

You felt dizzy. The fact that you were both sober made your first kiss even more real.

You were anxious when he asked you if you wanted to go somewhere more private but agreed nevertheless, hoping that maybe he had wanted you for as long as you had wanted him.

He had tenderly kissed you again once he closed the door behind him.

“God, you have no idea how long i've waited to do this,” he moaned in your ear and although you knew that was just something people said in the heat of the moment, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe every single word that left his lips and got even more attached to the moment.

You revealed a piece of yourself to him that night, not only a physical part, but a part of your heart as you admitted your deepest secrets to him. “Fuck, Charles, I’ve always wanted you,” you moaned when he gently placed you on the bed.

You attached yourself to the kisses he placed all over your body, you paid attention to every bit of affection that he showed you, never once wanting him to stop. When he positioned himself next to you and asked if you were sure you told him there was nothing you've ever been more sure about.

You had both simultaneously moaned when he entered you, laughing at each other afterwards, which made your heart flutter. He was Charles, your brothers best friend and yet sex with him felt so natural.

He placed a tender kiss to your chest before he started moving and you couldn't help but hold him close to you, he didn't seem to mind however as he nested his head in the crook of your neck, letting you hear all the soft gasps and grunts that left his mouth.

You arched your back in pleasure when he reached the deepest parts inside you, your toes curled and your eyes rolled back and all you could think was God why didn't we do this sooner?

“Don't stop, please Charles, don't stop” you moaned in his ear, and if you weren't in a completely different world you would have noticed the shiver than ran down his entire body at your words.

“Trust me, mon amour, i never want to stop”

You weren't even aware of the moans the left your lips until Charles had grabbed your chin and looked at you with desperation written all over his face, “Merde, Y/N, i want more than anything to make this moment last but If you keep making those pretty little sounds you're gonna make me cum”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words “Shut me up then”

And he did, he grunted as he reconnected your lips, swallowing your moans and letting out his own in the process. From the kissing, to Charles’ moans and the rolling of his hips it didn't take you long to release the knot in your stomach.

You regretted it now, thinking back on it, it had completely ruined your friendship with Charles. Your daily silly texts to each other had ceased to exist, your weekly facetime calls had died and a piece of you had broken.

You didn’t expect any less, he was your brother's best friend and even though you always found him insanely attractive, you knew deep down he would have found your little crush on him weird. You always had the suspicion that he saw you as a little sister, and the way he completely ignored you after your hookup had proven them to be true.

You couldn't hate him, or even place the blame of your failed friendship on him as you also went out of your way to ignore him, something that you really regretted but couldn’t change.

“You alright?” Pierre asked as he grabbed your suitcase in his hand.

“Yeah sorry i - i don't know what happened to me there,” you choked out, walking alongside Pierre to his car.

“It's free practice tomorrow, you coming?” he asked once you were both sitting comfortably in his car.

“Yeah, of course” you nodded as you watched the tall buildings pass by in the window.

“Everyones misses you, you know?” he quickly glanced over at you while he drove, wondering what the hell you were thinking so hard about.

“Yep” you sighed, “Me too,” but all you could think about was the Ferrari driver and how awkward it would be to see him again

You had shut yourself in your hotel room for the rest of the night, the flight and overly long check in had taken all the remaining energy out of you and all you wanted to do was curl into the hotel bed and sleep for as long as you possibly could. So that's what you did, until Pierre rang your phone, telling you that he was leaving for free practice in half an hour, wondering if you needed lift, which of course you did you had mumbled to him while scrabbling out of the bed and running to your bathroom to take the quickest shower of your life.

You had somehow gotten ready in time and before you knew it you were walking around the paddock with Pierre next to you, basking in the glorious sun.

Pierre whistled in excitement when he spotted Charles walking out of the Ferrari motorhome. The brunette quickly turned at the sound, a smile forming on his face when he spotted Pierre, his eyebrows raising soon after as he finally noticed you next to him. Your heart beat loudly in your chest as he got closer and closer to you.

You stood firmly in your spot, uncertain if a hug would be too big of an action after months of silence between you both, quite frankly you didn’t even want to touch him, the pain that he had caused you cutting too deep. Unfortunately, he beamed at you and grabbed your hips, pulling you into his chest and rocking you both side to side.

“Hi,” you laughed, unwilling to cause a scene in front of your brother, you moved your arms to wrap around his neck.

“It's great to see you” he admitted when he pulled away and you felt your throat close up at his words. “I’ve missed you”

“I missed you too,” you smiled and although it wasn’t a lie, the words felt dirty leaving your lips. You shouldnt have missed him, not when he left you lying alone in his bed after you both had sex.

“God, you're acting like you haven't spoken to each other in months,” Pierre laughed, and you and Charles shared an awkward look with each other. The silence that followed was unbearable.

You cleared your throat as you looked around the paddock. “I'm going to get some water” you quickly spilled out and abruptly turned in the other direction, ignoring the confused look that Pierre shot in your direction. You had only taken a few steps when Charles grabbed your arm and pulled you behind a random building.

“Shh it's me” he flinched as you pushed yourself away from him, “it's me” he repeated looking at the bewildered expression on your face.

“You couldn’t have just talked to me like a normal human being?” you argued, “Did you really have to drag me behind a building?”

“I couldn't talk about you know what around you know who” he threw back and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Oh! You dont want to talk about us having sex infronf of Pierre” you snapped and he covered your mouth with his hand. You bit his hand and he gasped in response.

“You bit me!” he half shouted.

“You didn’t seem to mind last time” you commented , relishing in how flustered Charles had gotten.

“We need to talk about that” he choked out, looking absolutely anywhere except your eyes.

“Oh so now you want to talk about it?” you asked with an accusing tone to your voice, surpringing not only Charles but also yourself.

“I know it was a dick move, I just” he sighed “I didn’t know how to bring it up”

“How about maybe not leaving straight away? How about sending me a text explaining how you felt instead of leaving me in the dark for months? If you thought it was a mistake you could have just-”

“I didn't think it was a mistake”

You couldn't help the effect those words had on your heart, but suddenly you were even more furious, he was unintentionally playing with your heart and you didn't know how much more of it you could take.

“Then why didn't you tell me!”

You were frustrated and he wasn’t helping one bit. He had left it too late, the damage was done, you had spent months regretting your decision to climb into bed with him and a few words lazily strung together to form a sentence wasn't going to erase the emotional damage he caused you. It didn't matter anymore whether it was intentional or not

“I didn't want to ruin our friendship”

“That is the dumbest excuse I've ever heard!”

You could feel tears pricking your eyes and all you wanted to do was sob your heart out, but you refused to cry in front of him, you didn't want him to know the effect he had on you. “Look your late and i - i need to breathe”

You didn't give him a chance to reply as you ran away, unable to face the boy who broke your heart: the boy who had given you everything you could possibly want, only to snatch it out of your grasp.

You cursed yourself for getting attached to that moment because now, every time you closed your eyes, all you see was him panting on top of you and all you could feel was his lips on your skin. It was a memory that used to delight you but now all it brought was sadness and pain.

You knew your attachment issues would bring you pain one day, but only now as you crouched down next to some random building, did you realise it would be physical pain. You clawed at your neck in desperation. You couldn't breathe. Your tears were practically suffocating you and you couldn't help but think Charles' hands ripping your heart from your chest was the cause.

Unknowingly to you, Charles watched your retreating figure with tears forming behind his eyes. It had finally hit him how much he fucked things up. He thought he was doing the right thing, he thought maybe you needed space, maybe you would have regretted it.

He wore his heart on his sleeve that day, everything that he told you was true, he was just so scared. So scared that he would be left heartbroken, that his feelings were unrequited, that maybe, just maybe, you would be disgusted with yourself for what you two did.

He left early the next morning to hype himself up, to finally tell you about his feelings for you that had been bubbling around in his stomach for years, but when he returned to his bedroom you were gone.

He didn't realise how much waking up to an empty bed would affect you, just as much as you didnt realise how much leaving would affect him.

He was never good at communication, but it was so easy with you, so why didn't he pick up the phone? He had no excuse except that he was scared.

It was his fear that hurt him the most. It was his fear that broke your heart and that had hurt him so much more than he thought was possible.