#thinking back to that post from a day or two ago

[mafiadad5]

Rent a boyfriend 20.0 [lmk]

♪ Now playing- 200, MARK LEE

♪ music major!mark lee x f!reader (ft. Jaemin and Chenle)

♪ summary- You’re tired of the teasing—you get it, everyone’s in a relationship. And with the Valentine’s Party around the corner the taunts were getting even more unbearable. You didn’t mean to drag Mark into this…you really didn’t, but then he made an offer you couldn’t refuse: Help him get an A on his project, and in return he’ll be your date to the party—your boyfriend. It’s just a simple deal, no strings attached. No way this could get complicated… right?

♪ genre/warnings- fluff, slight angst, mutual pining, fake dating, misunderstanding, university au, kissing under the influence of alcohol, drinking, y/n’s friend group is kinda mean, mentions of sex.

♪ W/c- 14k+

a/n- hey guys! So wanted to drop a valentines fic.. hope you enjoy!

You sat at the table, surrounded by your friends, the only one who had no one to hold. You didn't mind being single, you honestly didn't, but it was moments like these when everyone paired off, giggling and leaning into each other that made it just a bit unbearable. Somehow there was something worse than the PDA though—the teasing. Anytime someone brought up relationships, all eyes would land on you, and an offhand comment about how single you were would always come up. Today was no different. The group had decided to plan a cute Valentines party, for some reason. 

"But how's that gonna work when not everyone in the group is in a relationship?" Jaemin said with a smirk. Immediately, every head turned toward you. You shrugged, trying to keep your face neutral, and picked up your phone, scrolling, trying to look unbothered.

"Y/n... Can you like- just get cuffed for Valentine's Day or something?" One of your friends teased, laughing as if the idea was ridiculous. You rolled your eyes and kept scrolling on Instagram, trying to ignore it. 

"She would never... Y/n could never get into a relationship." Chenle spoke, his tone light, but it still stung a bit.

Your fingers froze mid scroll. You were so tired of being the target of their jokes. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

"Actually... I do have a boyfriend!"

Everyone's laughter stopped as they stared at you, clearly stunned.

"Oh really?" Jaemin asked, his eyebrow arching skeptically. "What's his name?"

Your heart raced as panic set in your body. You glanced down at your phone, searching for any kind of savior. Your thumb hovered over a random Instagram post, the username catching your eye: onyourm__ark. The name felt a little familiar, that could work.

"Mark." You said, looking up at them with a forced smile. "His name is Mark."

Jaemin tilted his head, his suspicion very apparent. "Mark?"

"Yeah." You replied, shrugging like it was no big deal.

"That's funny." Jaemin said, leaning back in his chair. "Why haven't I heard of this Mark character before?"

You froze again, you didn't really think this through before you spoke. Jaemin wasn't just anyone in the group, he was one of your closest friends. He knew almost everything about your life, and all of a sudden you have a boyfriend?

"I wanted to keep it a secret." You said quickly, scrambling for a believable excuse. "I didn't even know if he liked me back at first."

"Oh? So how'd you two meet?" Jaemin asked, clearly enjoying the way you got nervous from his questioning. It felt less like a conversation and more like an interrogation.

"In English." You answered, "We used to be in the same class, but we kept in touch after."

Jaemin narrowed his eyes, but then to your surprise, he nodded slowly. "You did mention a guy from your English class a while ago... I remember."

He did? You didn't remember saying anything remotely like that, but you weren't about to question it. "See? Told you." You said, forcing a laugh and rolling your eyes.

"Well, I'd love to meet him." Jaemin said, his tone still laced with suspicion. "Why don't you bring Mark to the next hangout?"

Your stomach dropped. "Okay, if that'll shut you up." You said, trying to sound nonchalant, but your hands tightened around your phone as Jaemin leaned back, a sly smile on his face. 

Internally, you were spiraling. You didn't have a boyfriend named Mark—or a boyfriend at all for that matter. What were you thinking? Now, you only had a week to figure out how to fix this mess before your lie caught up with you.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

You sat on your bed, phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. You could always say that Mark couldn't make it to the hangout or that you had came down with the flu, but you knew your friends would see right through it. If they found out you were lying, you'd never hear the end of it.

Your thumb hovered over your phone screen as an idea struck you... Mark. Your freshman English class, Mark Lee, the guy you'd been paired with for a group project that lasted maybe a week. That was forever ago. You hadn't spoken to him in over a year, and you weren't even friends back then—just acquaintances. It would be so weird to reach out to him now, especially with such a weird request, but then again... what other choice did you have?

Your mind raced as you scrolled to his Instagram page, the username onyourm__ark staring back at you. You hesitated, typing out a message, deleting it, and typing it again. It had to be casual, like you weren't about to ask for the strangest favor of his life. Finally, you settled on something simple.

"Hey Mark, long time no speak. I don't know if you remember me, but we were in English together freshman year."

You hit send, your heart pounding. Seconds turned into minutes, and soon an hour had passed. Maybe this was a stupid idea. No, it was a stupid idea. You were already bracing yourself for the relentless teasing that awaited you when suddenly your phone buzzed.

"Hey Y/n, I remember you. How have you been? 🙂"

You nearly dropped your phone. Relief flooded through you as you scrambled to type back.

"I've been pretty good! What about you?"

His reply came almost instantly.

"I've been good as well. Is there any reason in particular that you're texting me? Lol, not in a rude way btw."

Your stomach flipped. He didn't sound rude, but the question made your request feel ten times more ridiculous. You stared at the screen, second guessing everything, but you were in too deep to back out now.

"Yeah... I'm sorry, but I have to ask you for a HUGE favor 😭🙏. Please hear me out."

"I'm all ears." He replied.

You hesitated again, biting your lip. This was beyond embarrassing, but then you thought about your friend's laughter and the endless teasing you would endure if this didn't work out. You had to at least try.

"So... my friends make fun of me because I'm the only single one in the group, and I got tired of it. I sort of... told them I had a boyfriend. Your post was on my feed, so I accidentally told them it was you. Now they don't believe me and want to meet you..."

You cringed as you hit send, practically feeling the embarrassment radiate off your phone screen.

Moments later, a new message appeared.

"LOL. Y/n this is crazy 😂. So, what? You need me to meet them and act like your boyfriend?"

"Yeah... that would be very, very awesome." You replied, your face burning with embarrassment.

"What do I get out of this? 🧐"

You stared at the message, trying to think of something. You were so desperate, you'd probably agree to anything at this point.

"What do you want...?"

"You have to pay for me at the hangout 🫡”

Ok, that wasn't bad. You could manage that.

"Deal." You replied.

"And you have to write my essay. I remember you're good at stuff like this."

You groaned. Yes you were good, but you hated doing it.

"🥲... Fine." You wrote back.

Before you could relax, another message came through.

"Wait, before I agree, can we at least meet in person first? Just to talk a little and figure things out."

He had a point. You couldn't exactly walk into this without a plan.

"Yes, of course." You responded quickly. 

"Are you free tomorrow... and do I have to pay for you then too?"

"I'm free tomorrow, and no, you don't have to pay for me tomorrow 😂." He replied.

You felt a small wave of relief.

"Ok, let's grab a coffee tomorrow at noon." You typed.

"Sounds good. I'll see you then."

You exhaled, setting your phone down. It wasn't a guarantee, but at least there was a chance this might work. Now, all you had to do was convince your friends.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

The next day, you strolled into the café, your bag slung over one shoulder as you rushed inside. You spotted Mark sitting at a small table by the window, his beanie low over his head as he sipped from a coffee cup. He glanced up and smiled when he saw you, raising a hand in a wave.

"Sorry I'm late!" You said as you dropped into the chair across from him, setting your bag down with a thud. "Traffic."

"No problem, I just got here anyway." He said, giving you a lighthearted grin.

"Thanks for meeting me. I swear this isn't as crazy as it probably sounded over text."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "You told me you accidentally named me as your boyfriend to your entire friend group. That's... kind of crazy."

"Ok fine, maybe it's a little crazy." You admitted, leaning back in your chair. "They've been driving me nuts Mark. Every time we hang out it's like, 'Oh Y/n's still single? Maybe one day you'll find someone.' Ugh, I couldn't take it anymore."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "So your solution was to drag me into this?"

"Look, I panicked. Your Instagram post popped up on my feed, and I just blurted out your name, but now they want to meet you, and if I back out, they'll never let me live it down." You said, throwing up your hands.

Mark stared at you for a moment, but then he sighed, setting his coffee cup down. "You really hate losing, huh?"

"More than anything." You said, leaning forward.

He laughed, the sound genuine. "Alright, I get it. So what's the plan? Are we rehearsing some elaborate backstory or something?"

You waved him off. "Nah, that's too much work. We'll just wing it. They don't need the whole story of how we 'fell in love.' You're Mark, my boyfriend. We met in English, we reconnected, end of story."

"Wing it?" He repeated, his brows lifting in slight disbelief.

"Yep." You said confidently, sipping the coffee you ordered on your way in. "Is that okay with you?" 

Mark studied you for a moment, his gaze steady. "You're really something Y/n."

"What!?" You asked, shrugging with a grin on your face.

He shook his head, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. "You realize this could backfire, right? If they catch on..."

"Yeah, wait. You're right. We may have to come up with a plan." You interrupted, tapping your fingers on the side of your cup.

"Tell me about this group of yours." Mark said, leaning forward with interest.

You hesitated for a moment, thinking of how best to describe them. "Well, there's Jaemin one of my closest friends...he's the one who's been grilling me the most. He's super observant, so we really need to be convincing around him. Then there's Chenle. He's a little less... eccentric than Jaemin, but he's the one who made a comment, so... yeah, he's a problem too."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a fun crowd."

"They're not that bad." You said quickly, though you weren't sure if you believed it yourself. "The rest of them are less skeptical, but they'll still ask a million questions."

Mark nodded. "Okay. How long have we been 'dating' ?"

You paused. "Uh... let's say a month? Long enough to make it seem legit, but not so long that it's weird you're just meeting them now."

"Smart." He said. "And how did we meet?"

"Freshman English obviously." You said.

"Oh...right. What do I do for fun? If they ask, I don't want to say something totally weird."

You thought for a moment. "Well, what do you do for fun?"

Mark laughed. "Play guitar, hang out with friends, binge watch random shows. Pretty standard stuff."

"Ok, stick with that." You said, jotting it down in your phone's notes. "What about me? Do you remember anything about me?"

Mark tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "You were pretty quiet, right? I remember you always had your notes super organized though and had little drawings. You're good at writing and photography too."

"Wow, thrilling personality." You said dryly, but you couldn't help smiling.

"Hey, I like organized people." Mark said, flashing a grin.

You both laughed, for the first time since this whole mess started, you felt like maybe, just maybe, this could actually work.

Mark leaned back in his chair, his eyes playful. "So, when's the big hangout?"

"Next Saturday." You said. 

Mark paused for a second, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. "You're sure this is what you want to do?"

You nodded. "Yeah. I just need them off my back for one day. Then I'll tell them we broke up or something, and it'll all blow over."

He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair beneath the beanie. 

"Alright...I'm in."

"You are?"

"I mean, how many people get to say they were someone's fake boyfriend? It's a good story, but— you're paying, and doing my essay." He spoke, raising his eyebrow. 

"Yeah— yes of course." 

"Then deal." He smiled, reaching his hand across the table. 

A bright smile painted your face as you reached across the table to shake his hand. "Thank you. You're officially the best."

"Don't thank me yet." He said with a laugh. "This could still go horribly wrong."

"Shh, shh." You said, waving him off. "Now, are you ready to charm the pants off my friends next Saturday?"

His eyes went wide as a nervous smile crept on his face. "I don't think that's part of the deal..." He joked.

"Mark." You laughed, grabbing your bag as you stood up. "We'll convince them." 

Mark shook his head, but the smile on his face lingered as he stood up as well. "Let's hope you're right."

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

The cafe where your friends had decided to meet was full of chatter. You walked in with Mark by your side, your heart racing, though you'd never admit it. He looked surprisingly calm hands stuffed into his pockets as your arm was linked around his, beanie pulled low over his hair, a casual smile on his face.

"There they are." You muttered under your breath as you spotted your friends gathered at a large table near the back.

Mark glanced at you, his tone teasing. "You ready... babe girl?"

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to glare at him. "Babe girl? Really?"

He smirked. "What? I thought it sounded cute."

"It sounds ridiculous." You said, but you couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up. "Corny and ridiculous."

"Guess it's our thing now." He said, a quirky smile on his face.

"Absolutely not." 

As you approached the table, the chatter stopped, and all eyes turned to you. Jaemin leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. "Look who finally decided to show up, and with a plus one!"

"Hi." Mark said with an easy smile, lifting a hand in a small wave. "Nice to meet you all."

"Mark huh?" Chenle said, giving him a suspicious look from head to toe "So you're real."

"Very real." Mark said, his grin never falling.

"Well, don't just stand there. Sit down, we've got questions." Jaemin said, motioning you both to the empty chairs.

Mark glanced at you, eyebrows raised. "Interrogation already?"

"Oh, absolutely." You said, plopping into a seat. "Good luck."

He laughed and took the chair beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table.

"So..." Jaemin began, leaning forward. "How'd you two meet again?"

"English class." You answered quickly.

Mark nodded, picking up without missing a beat. "Yeah, freshman year. She was the only person in the class who didn't make me feel like an idiot during group projects."

You shot him a look, trying not to break character. "That's because you weren't an idiot."

Jaemin squinted, clearly searching for holes in the story. "How long have you been... together?"

"A month." Mark said smoothly.

"Uh huh..." Jaemin said, dragging out the syllables. "So that means you're okay with coming to the couples Valentine's party next month, right?"

Mark blinked, glancing at you. "The what now?"

Jaemin's grin widened, sensing an opportunity. "The party, didn't Y/n tell you? It's just for couples in the group, which is all of us, right? It'll be fun— cookie decorating, gift exchanges, all that good stuff."

You felt your stomach drop. Of course he'd pull something like this.

"Who even wants to spend Valentine's Day with a group of people when you're dating someone? That doesn't even make sense." You turned to Mark, hoping he'd follow your lead. "Right Mark? Wouldn't you only want to spend time with just me on... that... Valentine's Day?"

Mark hesitated for a second before nodding. "Yeah, right. I would want to spend it alone with my girlfriend, not in a group you know? Really though, I appreciate the invitation." He shot you a glance before looking back at Jaemin.

Jaemin, still grinning leaned in. "I mean, the party isn't all day, only a few hours at night. You two can spend it together alone pretty much."

"I mean... well. That's really when I want to be alone with her... at night." Mark said, his ears turning red as the group collectively reacted. Jaemin's eyebrows shot up, his smirk widening and Chenle let out a low whistle.

"We can move the party earlier since you two lovebirds want the night alone." Jaemin teased. "We really want you guys there."

"Jaemin, just drop it." You said, rolling your eyes.

"I was talking to Mark, Y/n." He replied, dismissing you.

Mark's easygoing demeanor stiffened slightly as he shot Jaemin a look. "Don't talk to her like that dude." Then after a quick glance at you he continued. "Look man, I really appreciate it and everything, but she wants to spend Valentine's alone, so we're gonna do that... all day." His said, his voice softening.

"Well damn," Chenle muttered into the awkward silence. "and we thought Y/n accepted the invitation."

Your patience finally snapped. "Okay! We'll go, goodness me." You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor.

"We will?" Mark asked, blinking at you and scratching the back of his head.

"Yes, we will." You answered quickly, shooting a glare at Jaemin, who looked far too pleased with himself.

"That's great." Jaemin said, his smugness radiating off him.

You exhaled sharply before turning to Mark. "Now babe... Mark, can we please leave?" Your voice dripped with frustration.

Mark bit back a laugh. "Sure thing... babe girl." He sucked in his breath slightly, bracing for your reaction.

You narrowed your eyes, but couldn't stop the small giggle that slipped out. "Ridiculous." You said, shaking your head. 

Mark stood, offering the group a small wave. "It was nice meeting you guys."

"Nice meeting you too Mark." Jaemin said, clearly entertained. "Hope we can all get together before the Valentine's party."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Bye guys." You added, throwing one last glance at Jaemin before turning and walking out, Mark right beside you.

As soon as you stepped outside you let out a deep sigh. "Mark, I'm seriously so sorry. They're typically not like this."

He laughed, hands in his pockets. "Nah it's okay, I swear. I'm just more worried about how we're gonna show up to this Valentine's party."

Your stomach dropped. "Oh fuck Mark. I panicked—I didn't even realize."

He smirked. "Yeah, I noticed."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "It's fine, I'll just tell them we broke up or something."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good to me."

A brief silence passed before he glanced at you. "Now, if you don't mind or anything... do you wanna grab a real lunch?"

You blinked at him before breaking into a smile. "Yeah that sounds good... like our break up hangout." You giggled.

He chuckled. "Yeah, something like that."

You paused. "I'm not paying for you." You looked at him with squinted eyes. 

Mark scoffed. "I guess not." 

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

The two of you sat at the table, the world outside fading as you talked and ate, lost in conversation. There was something surprisingly natural about it—like you'd been friends forever.

You swirled your drink absentmindedly before slipping in a question. "So, like... what do you do?"

Mark blinked, then grinned. "Oh... I'm a music major. So... make music, I guess?"

"Oh that's sick. So you just write music for class? That sounds fun... and easy." You teased, raising an eyebrow.

Mark scoffed, shaking his head. "It's not actually. Right now, we're starting a project where we have to tie music and cinematography together. It's due in like a month.

You tilted your head, thinking. "So, February 7th? That's such a long time."

"Mhm, that's not even enough time." He said, nodding seriously.

"You'll be fine, it's easy." You waved him off.

"And it's summer." He shot back.

"What?" You asked, furrowing your brows.

"Oh, I thought we were lying about things." He said with a cheeky smile.

"Mark, please." You giggled, shooting him a playful glare.

Still smirking, he leaned back. "Alright, since my major is so 'easy', what's yours?"

"Digital Art and Media." You replied.

Mark's eyebrows lifted. "That's why it's easy for you, you do photography and digital art."

"I only took one photography class, relax bud. I'm not an expert." You said, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Yeah, whatever. More experience than me." He said, playfully rolling his eyes right back.

"Yeah, yeah."

Time slipped away unnoticed. What was meant to be a quick lunch turned into two hours of laughter, and playful conversation. You hadn't even realized how long you'd been sitting there until you glanced at the time and your stomach sank.

"I'm so sorry Mark, but I have an assignment due that I have to do." You said, frowning.

He gasped dramatically. "Wow, you need better time management."

You scoffed. "Yeah? Well, I guess time passes when you're having fun with someone."

The words left your lips before you could process them. The moment hung between you for a split second too long before Mark's grin widened, his cheeks rounding.

"Yeah... that's true."

You cleared your throat, shaking the moment off. "We should definitely do this again... but, you know, as regular friends." You shot him a bright grin as you stood up.

Mark nodded quickly, standing up beside you. "Yeah, no, yeah... totally." He smiled, but there was something in his expression.

"Well, I had fun. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, see you later." His gaze lingered as you waved and walked away, feeling lighter than before.

Hours later, you were deep in your assignment, tackling it with as much focus as you could. The only problem? You'd made the grave mistake of leaving your phone off Do Not Disturb.

It buzzed. Once... twice, a few unimportant messages. Then, one caught your eye, a familiar username.

@onyourm__ark

Your fingers hovered over your phone. You needed no distractions, but the message was simple.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Curiosity won.

"Yeah, what's up?" You typed back.

His response came almost immediately.

"Do you like... actually need me to go to this Valentine's party thing?"

You bit your lip, considering. "Would you? What would you want in return?"

The three little dots popped up. Then:

"Well... your major is like really really cool... and exactly what I need for my project. So, could you help me with the project over the month? If I get an A, then I'll go with you."

You tapped your fingers against your desk, thinking. 

"Hmmm... that's a good deal actually."

Before Mark could even finish typing a response, you sent another.

"Eh, that's too much work though. Look, I'm currently working on something right now... my classes are hard this semester."

His reply was immediate.

"Oh... I thought it was so 'easy.' 😂"

You groaned, shaking your head. 

"Yeah, when that's your only class. I appreciate the offer, but I can't. I'll just tell them we broke up lol."

"Ok ok... good luck with them."

"I'll manage.🫡"

You put your phone down, determined to get back to work, but your mind kept drifting. You didn't even know what the project fully was, you could at least hear him out... right?

With a sigh, you hesitated before unlocking your phone again, opening your messages with Mark.

"So like... what's the project? What do you have to do?"

This time, the response came instantly. Almost like he had been waiting for you to ask.

"I have to make a song and record a music video for it."

Your eyes flicked over the message. 

"So just videography, and text work?"

"Not even... the song doesn't have any lyrics, so just videography."

You chewed your lip.

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"It sounds like someone's changing their mind👀... I hope."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. 

"Perchance."

"Say yes, say yes, say yes."

You sat there, staring at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You weren't actually considering this, were you?

...Maybe you were.

"Ok, fine."

His response was immediate.

"YESSIR!"

You chuckled, shaking your head.

"Let's meet up sometime next week and get started, if that's okay with you?"

"Yeah, that's perfect."

You locked your phone and leaned back in your chair, exhaling.

This was going to be... interesting.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

It was the next week, and you two finally met up at the park.

"Y/n!" Mark called out, waving you over with a bright grin.

"Mark!" You waved back, jogging slightly to meet him.

The two of you sat on a wooden bench, its surface worn smooth from the weather. The cold seeped through your clothes, but the excitement of finally starting the project kept you warm.

"So, what's the plan for this music video?" You asked, tucking your hands into your pockets.

Mark exhaled, his breath visible in the cool air. "Well, I want it to be naturally focused—kind of like me being out and about. Then I also want to show my process—like me writing and recording the music, you know?" His gaze flickered to you, his cheeks slightly pink from the cold.

You nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, that sounds sweet. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yep! I even brought the camera with me." He reached into his bag and pulled out a silver camcorder, a Spider-Man keychain dangling from the side.

You couldn't help but smile. "Oh, that's cute."

Mark chuckled, spinning the keychain between his fingers. "I haven't used this thing in ages though... let me make sure it's working." He flicked it on, the lens whirring softly as it adjusted. Without warning, he turned it toward you.

"Say hi Y/n." He prompted.

You straightened up, flashing a peace sign at the camera. "Hi hi, hello!"

Mark grinned behind the camera. "We're here with the super duper awesome Y/n."

"In the flesh." You responded, throwing up two rock hand signs.

Mark laughed. "In the flesh?" He turned the camera toward himself, raising an eyebrow.

You smirked. "We have a hater here guys." You motioned for him to hand over the camera, and he did so with an amused expression.

You turned the camera around, focusing on him. "Look at this hater. Super duper hater Mark."

"In the flesh." He said expressionless, before glancing at you to catch your reaction.

You scoffed playfully, rolling your eyes as you turned the camera to frame both of you in the shot. "Alright, and with that... this test video is over." You smiled, locking eyes with Mark for a beat before looking back at the lens.

After stopping the recording, you both huddled together to watch the clip, laughing.

"Is this the type of video you're looking for?" You asked, glancing at him.

"Yeah, basically. This is awesome." His smile was wide and genuine.

"Great." You mirrored his smile, the warmth between you two making the cold a little more bearable.

A gust of wind rustled through the trees, and Mark tucked his hands into his sleeves before glancing at you. "Do you want to grab some lunch or something? It's on me."

You raised an eyebrow. "Free lunch? Why would I pass on that?"

Mark laughed, standing up and stretching before leading the way. The two of you walked to the familiar cafe where you always met, slipping into your usual routine without much thought. After ordering you found yourselves at your regular table, the conversation flowing as effortlessly as ever.

You set your cup down and leaned forward. "Wait, this would be a great shot." You reached for the camera, and Mark passed it to you without hesitation.

You turned it on, panning it toward him as he casually picked up his cup, taking a slow sip.

A giggle escaped you from behind the camera, and Mark's gaze flickered up. He smirked, trying, and failing, not to laugh.

"Wait, wait." He said, holding out his hand. "Let me capture my POV."

You handed the camera back, and he immediately started recording. First, he zoomed in on his cup, then moved to some of the food on the table, narrating dramatically.

"Here we have... a masterpiece." He slowly panned upward, the lens landing on you.

A small smile played on his lips as he held the camera steady. "Working on the project. This is the same day as the test recording, but who cares?"

You made an awkward face at the camera before sticking your tongue out playfully. "Documenting history." You teased.

Mark chuckled, lowering the camera slightly. "I think this might actually turn out great." He admitted, glancing at you.

You met his gaze, something lingering between the two of you.

You agreed softly. "Yeah, I think so too."

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

You had been recording with Mark for about two weeks now, always keeping the shoots outdoors, but today was different. Mark said it was time to capture one of the final stages—him recording it. For that, he invited you over to his apartment.

You of course agreed. It was part of the project anyway, but what surprised you was realizing that his apartment was only about a ten minute walk from yours.

Taking advantage of the convenience, you decided to walk there, stopping by a store on the way to grab some supplies for a separate project you needed to work on while Mark was busy. As you waited at the checkout, a small Spider-Man figurine caught your eye. Something about it reminded you of Mark—probably that old keychain hanging from his camera. With a small smile, you grabbed it and added it to your purchase.

Soon, you were standing outside his door, a small brown paper bag in hand. You knocked, shifting on your feet as you waited.

The door swung open, and Mark greeted you with a bright smile. "Hey Y/n!"

"Hey Mark." You smiled back, stepping inside and slipping off your coat and shoes.

His apartment was cozy, a subtle scent of coffee and something faintly citrusy in the air.

"This place is nice." You commented as he led you toward his studio room.

"Aw, it's nothing." He said calmly, but there was a hint of pride in his voice.

You stepped into the music room, immediately noticing how it felt both chaotic and comforting. Wires across the floor, tangled yet somehow purposeful. Instruments leaned against the walls, and scattered notebooks were filled with what you assumed were unfinished lyrics. It wasn't pristine, but it felt real—lived in.

"Sorry for the mess." He said sheepishly, tidying up a few papers.

"No, it's cute. I like it."

He paused at that, looking at you for a moment longer than necessary, a small genuine smile tugged at his lips as he let out a soft giggle. "Thanks..."

You cleared your throat, settling in. "So, you have some finishing touches to do?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I just need to tweak a few things, then record. You can work on your project while I do that—I'll just set up the camera to capture everything, if that's cool?"

"Of course, do your thing." You assured him.

Mark adjusted the camera on its stand, making sure it had a good angle before grabbing his guitar and plopping down on the couch.

"I hope the noise isn't too distracting." He said, glancing at you.

"No, you're good." You gave him a reassuring smile before pulling out your supplies.

As you sorted through the contents of the bag, you came across the Spider-Man figurine. You hesitated for a second before looking up.

"Oh uh, Mark?"

He immediately looked over, giving you his full attention.

"I got you a little something. I saw it at the store and thought of you." You pulled out the figurine and held it up, waiting for his reaction.

His eyes widened slightly before a grin broke across his face. "Oh my god!" He took it from your hands, examining it like it was the coolest thing in the world. "This is literally my favorite... thank you so much."

You laughed at his enthusiasm. "Yeah, yeah, you're welcome."

Mark immediately ran over to the camera, crouching in front of it with the figurine. "Look at this super cool gift Y/n gave me. Isn't it epic?" He held it up proudly, his smile contagious.

You shook your head, watching him with amusement.

"Everyone say 'Thank you Y/n.'" He continued, turning the camera toward you.

"Thank you Y/n." He said in a lighter voice. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, but smiled. "You're welcome guys."

Mark turned the camera back to himself. "But wait, what is Y/n working on? We've been stuck on me when we have a hardworking creative genius over here."

You lifted the almost finished postcard you had been making. "Well guys, I just have to make some postcards."

"Ooo, pretty." He said in his high pitched voice again.

You smirked. "Wait—me or the postcard?" It was meant to be a lighthearted joke, but Mark answered instantly.

"Both."

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off, but he just grinned at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Clearing your throat, you turned the postcard over in your hands. "You know, why am I even making this? My major is digital design."

"Crazy wonders of the world." Mark said, raising an eyebrow dramatically.

"I know right?" You giggled.

"Wait, hold up the postcard." He said suddenly.

You obliged, holding up the small card that was a sunset over the city skyline.

Mark placed the Spider-Man figurine in front of it, adjusting the camera's angle. "Spider-Man Mark in Y/n's pretty city." He moved the figure as if it were walking.

"Pretty Spider-Man Mark in Y/n's regular city." You corrected teasingly.

"Ah, that's not true. It's not regular, nothing you do is regular."

You turned to him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Mark immediately panned the camera toward you, catching your reaction.

"Guys, did you hear that?" You asked, smiling.

"I think they did... uh oh. I've been caught." He said dramatically.

Laughing, you shook your head. "Alright, alright, let's get back to filming."

Mark sighed, setting the figurine aside. "Okay, I'll finish recording my song. Back to boring me."

"No, I should be recording this part." You insisted, spinning around in his desk chair. "That's literally the point of the project."

"It's fine—"

"Nope." You stood up, grabbing the camera and plopping onto the bean bag in front of him. "Alright, let's hear it."

Mark adjusted himself on the couch, strumming a few simple notes at first as you zoomed in slightly.

"We want to hear the song!" You said in a high pitched voice behind the camera.

Mark looked up, straight into the lens. "Guys, you have no say in this."

"Hey! Don't talk to them like that. We all want to hear the song... you must oblige."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, all of you?"

"Yes." You nodded, keeping the camera steady.

"Well... I guess that means I have no choice." He sighed, dramatically adjusting his posture. Then his expression softened. "Alright. Here goes."

As he began playing his eyes fluttered shut, lost in the melody. The notes filled the room, smooth and rhythmic, but when he opened his eyes again, they didn't go to the camera— they went straight to you. Suddenly, he stumbled. "Wait—I'm nervous when you're looking at me play... turn the other way."

"What? How am I supposed to turn away? I'm literally filming. If you suck, just say that." You teased.

Mark groaned. "That's not fair."

"Fine, fine, I'll close my eyes." You smirked. "You're lucky I'm talented and can record with my eyes closed."

You heard him chuckle before he started playing again and this time, he didn't stop. The music wrapped around you, soothing you into a quiet rhythm as you swayed slightly.

When you finally opened your eyes you smiled. "Wow... you're good."

He set the guitar down. "Me? Nah."

"You're definitely better than me." You admitted.

"Wait—you play?"

"Barely."

"Give it a try."

"Oh no, no, no—"

"Oh yes, yes, yes."

And before you could argue, he was handing you the guitar and taking the guitar from you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You hesitated, staring at the guitar now resting in your lap as you glanced up at Mark, who was grinning.

"Mark, no. I can't." You said, shaking your head.

"Yes, you can." He countered, adjusting the camera to make sure it was still recording. "If you guys want Y/n to play say, 'Play Y/n.'" He turned back to you with a teasing smile.

"Play Y/n." He said in that high pitched voice again.

You groaned, pointing at the camera. "You guys are traitors."

Mark beamed. "You must listen. You must oblige, right?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight your own smile. "Fine, but I'm telling you I suck."

"It's okay, take your time." He reassured, watching you expectantly.

Taking a deep breath, you positioned your fingers awkwardly on the strings, recalling the few chords you knew. You strummed slowly, hesitant. The sound wasn't smooth—it was a little choppy, a little messy, but you pushed through, playing a simple tune you vaguely remembered.

As you focused on the guitar, you felt Mark's gaze lingering. When you glanced up, he was watching you with a small smile.

"Okay, I'm done." You announced quickly, placing the guitar back on your lap like it was some kind of dangerous weapon.

Mark clapped dramatically. "That was good!"

"Mark, do not lie to my face right now."

"I'm serious!" He leaned forward. "Better than some people in my classes, I swear."

"Right..." You scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes.

"I'm not lying! It takes practice." He insisted. "You're the best in my eyes, okay?"

Before you could process his words, he gently took the guitar back from you and placed it across his lap.

"You'll get better, it's all about growth." He continued, casually strumming a few quick chords.

"Oh, now you're just showing off."

He grinned. "No I'm not, stop."

You shook your head, still smiling, before glancing at the clock. It was getting late.

Mark must've noticed too because his fingers slowed on the guitar. "You should probably head home soon, huh?"

You sighed. "Yeah... probably."

A beat of silence passed between you, filled only by the faint buzz of the camera still recording. Neither of you moved right away.

Then Mark stood up abruptly. "Wait, let me walk you home."

You blinked. "Mark, it's literally a ten minute walk."

"So?" He shrugged, grabbing his hoodie off the back of the chair. "It's dark out."

"I'll be fine." You reassured him, standing up and stretching.

"Still, I wanna make sure." He smiled at you.

You held his gaze for a moment before exhaling in defeat. "Fine, but if we get jumped you better be ready to fight for your life."

Mark laughed as he grabbed his keys. "Don't worry, Spider-Man got you."

As you both stepped outside into the cool night air, walking side by side under the streetlights, you found yourself stealing small glances at him.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

The familiar ding of Mark's apartment buzzer echoed as you rocked back and forth on your heels, hands stuffed into the pockets of your hoodie. Moments later, the door swung open revealing Mark in a black hoodie and sweatpants, hair slightly tousled like he'd been running his hands through it.

"Y/n! My favorite editor has arrived." He said with a teasing smirk, stepping aside to let you in.

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes. "Flattery will not make me do extra work Mark."

"Damn...worth a shot."

He led you into his workspace, where his laptop was already open, the editing software pulled up on the screen. A few loose papers and a notebook was scattered across the desk. You settled into the chair, rolling up your sleeves, ready to finish what had been weeks of filming and late night texts about clips and transitions.

As Mark settled onto the couch behind you, tuning his guitar absentmindedly, your eyes drifted to the notebook lying open beside the keyboard. The title at the top caught your attention.

200

Your brow furrowed as you skimmed the first few lines.

"Hey, what's this?" You asked, fingers brushing the edge of the page.

Before you could read any further Mark was suddenly there, reaching over your shoulder and snapping the notebook shut in one motion.

"Nothing—just a project for another class." He said quickly, his voice a little too casual.

You arched a brow, turning in your chair to look at him. "Oh yeah? What class?"

He blinked. "Uh—songwriting."

You smirked. "You're a bad liar."

"I am not lying." He countered, crossing his arms, but the way he avoided your gaze told you otherwise.

You let it slide—for now. "Fine Mr. Songwriter. Let's get back to the actual project before we run out of time."

He exhaled in relief, moving back to his spot on the couch as you clicked through the footage. The two of you worked, laughing over bloopers and trimming clips.

After a while, Mark leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of the chair. "Hey, so... I wanna learn how to add text to videos."

You glanced at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah, like... just in case I ever need to make a music video by myself." He explained, his voice dipping slightly.

You smirked, already sensing where this was going. "You mean in case I'm not around to do it for you?"

He grinned, not even denying it. "Exactly."

You hummed, clicking through the editing software. "Alright, pay attention."

Mark pulled his chair up beside you, leaning in way too close as you navigated the program. You felt the heat of his gaze more than once, but you pretended not to notice—until you did.

"You're not even looking at the screen." You said, turning toward him.

"I am." He defended, but his smirk gave him away.

You huffed, placing your hand on the mouse. "Watch closely."

You leaned in to type and in the process, your knee brushed against his. Instead of moving away, Mark just smirked slightly, shifting even closer.

"So, you click here to add a text layer." You explained, voice steady despite the way your skin tingled. "Then you can choose the font, size, and animation style."

"Mmm, what if I want it to fade in all smooth and cool?"

"Then you'd go to transitions and—"

You clicked the wrong thing.

A bright pink, curly font popped up on the screen, reading: SUPER AWESOME Y/N IS THE BEST.

Mark burst into laughter. "Ohhh, I love that...perfect title."

You groaned trying to fix it, but he grabbed your wrist gently. "Wait, wait. Keep it."

"Mark, no."

"Mark, yes." He teased, his fingers still lingering on your wrist. "It's only fair, you are super awesome."

You shook your head, deleting the text despite his protests.

You both finished the editing, but before you could say you were done for the night, Mark stretched with an exaggerated groan.

"You know what? You should stay for dinner." He said casually.

You blinked. "What?"

"Stay for dinner." He repeated, standing up. "I'll cook."

You raised a suspicious brow. "You cook?"

He scoffed. "First of all, rude. Second, yes."

You crossed your arms, pretending to consider. "Mmm, free food... and potential food poisoning?"

Mark clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow, you wound me."

You laughed, standing up. "Fine, fine. I'll stay, but if I die I'm haunting you."

"Deal." He said, heading to the kitchen. "Now sit back, relax, and prepare to be amazed."

You settled onto a stool by the counter, watching as he pulled out ingredients. To your surprise, he actually seemed to know what he was doing, chopping vegetables with ease, humming under his breath as he worked.

"So, what is your specialty Chef Mark?" You teased, resting your chin in your palm.

He grinned. "Tonight? Stir-fry."

As he cooked, the conversation flowed easily. You talked about music, future plans, dumb childhood stories. At one point, Mark wiped his hands on a towel and reached over to poke your cheek.

"You always do that when you're focused." He pointed out.

"Do what?"

"That little frown." He mimicked, scrunching his brows.

You rolled your eyes, swatting his hand away. "I do not—"

"You do." He countered, turning back to the stove with a smug smile.

Dinner was surprisingly delicious. As you ate, the conversation slowed, settling into something quieter.

"You know." Mark started, twirling his fork. "I'm kinda sad this project's ending."

You glanced up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He met your eyes. "It was fun having you around. Working on something together."

You felt warmth spread through your chest. "Yeah... it was."

Mark hesitated before adding, "We should do it again sometime."

You smiled. "We should."

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

You and Mark had finally decided to take a break from all the work, choosing a laid back hangout where you didn't have to worry about editing, filming, or anything productive. Not that it ever felt like work, anyway—not with him.

The two of you strolled down the sidewalk, warm coffees in hand. Laughter spilled from your lips as Mark animatedly told you some story, his voice light and his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold.

"Wait, wait... so you're telling me he actually tried to—"

"Y/n?" A familiar voice cut through your laughter, making you pause mid step.

You turned toward the sound and immediately spotted Jaemin approaching, his usual smug grin plastered across his face. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his coat, but his sharp eyes flickered between you and Mark, already scanning for... something.

"Jaemin... Hi!" You greeted, putting on your best casual smile.

Mark lifted his hand in a small wave. "Hey man."

Jaemin's smirk deepened as he reached you both, tilting his head slightly. "Feels like I haven't seen you in forever." He said, his gaze still shifting between you and Mark, clearly analyzing.

"I know right?" You chuckled, shifting on your feet. "I've just been, you know... busy with my boyfriend." You emphasized the word, nudging Mark slightly with your elbow. He played along instantly, nodding in agreement with a small smile.

"Ahh, right." Jaemin said, dragging the words out as if he were testing how it felt on his tongue. His expression remained unreadable, but the skepticism in his eyes was unmistakable. "You guys look... closer than ever."

"Well, yeah." You replied, flashing a polite smile. "That's sorta what happens when you date someone."

Mark let out a quiet chuckle beside you, sipping his coffee.

Jaemin squinted at the two of you, lips pressing together like he was trying to piece something together. The silence stretched just a little too long before he finally let out a small hum.

"Hmm. Yeah, you're right."

"Well." You started, eager to end the interaction before Jaemin could get any ideas. "We're gonna get going—"

"Wait."

Your heart sank just a little.

Jaemin grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. "We miss you." He said, looking directly at you. "Why don't you and Mark stop by this Saturday? Hang out with everyone... you know, like the old times."

That smug expression on his face told you that declining wasn't going to be easy. You opened your mouth to politely decline, but before you could get a word out Mark beat you to it.

"That sounds fun, right babe?" He said smoothly, turning to you with a warm smile that almost looked genuine.

You blinked at him.

"Yeah, totally." You managed, forcing a smile back as you turned to Jaemin. "We'll be there."

Jaemin took a step back, satisfied. "Great! Just don't break up before then or anything."

Mark let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, we're good man."

Jaemin hummed again, still looking just a little too suspicious for your liking. "Kay... see you then."

With that, he finally walked away leaving you and Mark standing there in unison. You both let out a synchronized sigh.

"That was..." You trailed off.

Mark shook his head, smiling slightly. "I can see why you'd be scared to date someone...he's scary."

You laughed. "I'm not scared of him."

Mark raised a playful brow. "You sure? He had you real close to sweating back there."

You rolled your eyes. "I just think it's annoying."

Mark smiled, but then as if something weighed on him, his expression stiffened just a little. He glanced down at his coffee, rolling the cup slightly between his hands. "Seriously though... why don't you date anyone?"

You hesitated for a moment before exhaling through your nose. "I just don't want to." You shrugged. "I feel like relationships don't last. They start great, then fall apart."

Mark's gaze softened. "What makes you feel that way?"

You pressed your lips together for a moment before answering. "Just... a past relationship. It didn't work out, and honestly I don't think it's worth trying again. I'd rather just be by myself."

Mark didn't say anything right away, but you could tell something shifted in his demeanor. His usual playfulness dimmed just a little, like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if he should.

Finally, he offered a small smile. "Well... I get it I guess. If you don't try again, you won't ever know though."

"Then I guess I'll never know." You replied simply.

Silence settled between you, not awkward, but thick.

Mark looked down at his phone, biting his lip. "I should probably head out."

"Oh, okay." You said, nodding as you adjusted your coat.

He hesitated for a second before flashing his usual easygoing smile. "I'll see you this weekend, yeah?"

"Yeah... see you then." You said, forcing a small smile back.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

When you arrived at the hangout together, arms casually brushing, laughter slipping easily between you, no one batted an eye. You were affectionate without forcing it, leaning into each other, whispering small things that made no sense to anyone else, it felt effortless.

As the night wore on someone suggested a drinking game—Truth or Dare, with shots.

The group quickly agreed, the buzz of alcohol already making everyone a little looser, a little bolder.

"Drinking Truth or Dare?" Mark asked, raising a curious brow as he turned to you.

"Yeah, we do it all the time." You replied, already a bit tipsy, your tongue a little looser than it should be. "You don't have to if you don't want."

Mark smirked. "No, I want to."

And with that, the game began.

The first round started with a collective shot to get things going. The group quickly fell into a rhythm—questions growing more personal, dares becoming more ridiculous.

Then it was your turn, and your gaze flickered over to Jaemin.

"Jaemin." You said, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. "Truth or dare?"

He leaned back casually, but cocky. "Truth."

You twirled your shot glass between your fingers as a sinister thought grazed your mind. "Is it true you've been thinking about breaking up with your girlfriend?"

The air tensed. Jaemin's easygoing expression fell for just a second, his jaw clenched.

"Y/n, what the fuck? No." His voice was sharp as he reached for another shot and downed it in one go.

You shrugged, unfazed. "I was just curious. You always made fun of me for being single so... this is ironic, isn't it?"

Jaemin exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Okay, I've got a truth for you then Y/n."

You raised a brow, taking a slow sip of your drink. "Fine, hit me."

His eyes darkened just a little, his smirk twisting into something sharper. "Is it true that the reason you took this long to get into a relationship is because of how shitty your ex treated you—that you tolerated for months?"

The table went quiet.

You felt your stomach twist, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes, refusing to let the weight of his words show on your face. "Jaemin, please."

Jaemin shrugged like it was nothing, but the tension between you two was thick. This happened often, your tipsy back and forths, but tonight it was different.

"Okay Y/n. Truth or dare?" Chenle's voice cut through, attempting to redirect the conversation.

"What? I just went." You said, shooting him a look.

"Go again." Chenle pressed, his gaze locked on you.

You sighed, deciding it was better than letting Jaemin's words linger. "Fine, dare."

A slow grin spread across Chenle's face. "Alright, I dare you and Mark to do seven minutes in heaven."

You blinked. "What, are we teenagers? Seven minutes in heaven?"

Mark turned to you, his expression unreadable, but amused.

"You picked dare." Jaemin's voice cut in. "You have to do it."

"Jaemin, hush." Chenle muttered, shooting him a look.

You sighed dramatically before standing. "Fine, whatever. C'mon Mark."

Chenle led you to a small, dimly lit closet, shoving you both inside before closing the door behind you.

The space was tight—so tight that your knees brushed his, your shoulder pressed into his chest. A dim, flickering light illuminated the space, casting soft shadows on Mark's face.

"Wow, this is kinda snug." You murmured, shifting slightly.

Mark let out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah... sorry, my hand kinda hurts. Do you mind if I...?" He gestured vaguely, and you understood immediately.

"Go ahead." You said, letting him wrap his arm around you to ease the angle.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, the sound of muffled voices outside the only thing filling the space, then Mark spoke.

"You know..." His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. "You're more than what you've had in the past... no matter what Jaemin says."

You stilled, no one had ever said that to you before. You turned to him, meeting his gaze in the dim light. His expression was softer than usual. Without thinking, you reached forward and pulled him into a hug.

"I appreciate you so much Mark." You whispered, your arms tightening around him.

His breath hitched slightly before he returned the embrace. "I appreciate you too."

When you pulled back, you were still close—so close that your breaths mixed, your faces mere inches apart. Mark looked at you, his gaze flickering down to your lips. Before you could process it, he leaned in.

And you let him.

The kiss started slow, tentative, unsure—before something in both of you snapped. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you melted into him. The kiss deepened, your fingers tangling in his hair, his grip tightening just slightly as if afraid you'd pull away.

You made a soft noise against his lips, and it was all he needed to kiss you harder, more desperately.

He broke the kiss for a second, looking at you with glossy eyes as you both caught your breaths. Before you could lean in, there was a knock on the door.

You both froze, your lips slightly parted, your breaths uneven.

Chenle's voice came through. "Alright, time's up."

You swallowed, pulling away fully. Mark's ears were flushed pink, his chest rising and falling just as fast as yours. Without a word, you reached for the doorknob and stepped out.

As you both took your seats, the air between you had definitely shifted. You avoided looking at Mark, but every time your eyes accidentally met, you couldn't help but smile. It was stupid, but something about it made your whole body feel light. Jaemin, of course was the first to notice.

"What, did you guys fuck or something?" He asked, staring at the two of you.

"Cut it out." Chenle interjected. "If she's calm now, then you need to be— or do we need to send you to the closet?"

You let out a small giggle at that, shaking your head.

Jaemin scoffed but let it go, leaning back in his seat. "Whatever." He said "She knows I love her." He said, quietly.

Something in his tone made you pause for just a second, but before you could even unpack that your eyes flickered back to Mark, and just like that, the rest of the room faded.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

February 7th – The Day the Project Was Due

The moment you woke up, you grabbed your phone and texted Mark.

"It's the day!"

It didn't take long for him to reply.

"Yep."

You smiled, quickly typing out another message.

"Have you turned it in already?"

"Yep."

You paused for a moment, his short responses making your fingers hover over the keyboard. Maybe he was just busy... maybe you were reading too much into it.

"And you told me that everything should be graded by the 12th?"

"Mhm."

Your stomach twisted slightly, this wasn't like him. Usually Mark was more responsive, more animated. Right now, his texts felt distant, dry. You tried to shake the feeling.

"Well... good luck. I'm scared for you 😭."

"Thxs."

That was it... just thxs?

Something felt off, you couldn't quite put your finger on it—maybe it was the lack of emojis, or the way you were imagining his voice flat and indifferent.

You hesitated before typing:

"... Are you okay?"

"Yep, I'm cool."

You frowned.

"You sure?"

"Yep."

There it was again. The same short response.

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, but you decided not to push. If something was wrong, he'd tell you.

"Um... okay. Anyways, do you want to meet up for lunch today? I'm reallyyyy craving a sandwich right now."

A moment passed before his reply came in.

"I can't today... sorry."

Your stomach twisted again, but you forced yourself to brush it off.

"Oh... that's fine. I'll talk to you later."

You sat with your phone in your lap, waiting—hoping he'd text first like he usually did, but the hours passed, and there was nothing. No check-ins, no requests to hang out. Something didn't feel right. Just radio silence.

You sent a few more texts over the next few days, but his responses were slow and repetitive.

"Not today, sorry."

"I'm busy, maybe later."

"Sorry, can't."

Days blurred together, and before you knew it, it was February 12th. You grabbed your phone, barely able to contain your anticipation.

"Today's the day... I'm nervous... excited."

Mark's reply came a few minutes later.

"Lol yeah."

You hesitated. His texts still felt off, but you pushed the thought aside.

"Make sure to update me!"

This time he didn't even respond with words. He just liked the message. Your stomach sank slightly, but you told yourself it was fine... maybe he was just stressed.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, but the message didn't come until late—almost 11 p.m.

"So... I got a B."

You blinked at your screen, rereading the message. A B? After all the work you both put in?

"WHAT?" You typed back, your frustration evident.

"Yep."

You knew he had wanted an A. That was the whole deal, if he got an A, he'd go to the Valentine's Day party with you.

A small pang of disappointment settled in your chest as you hesitantly typed:

"Aw man, does that mean you won't go to the Valentine's party with me?"

A pause.

"Well... A deal's a deal. So no."

You frowned, staring at the screen. You knew it was silly to be upset—after all, this was fake and yet... it still kind of stung.

"Aw :("

"Sorry man."

You sighed.

"Nothing for you to be sorry about. We worked super hard... your professor will get knocked off their feet next time... swear."

"Yeah haha."

The conversation felt like it was ending, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"I hope you're okay?"

A moment passed before he replied.

"I'm fine."

You stared at his response for a moment before liking the message. That was that, The deal was off... no party, no fake date. Just like that, your arrangement was over. And maybe... maybe it was for the best.

Right?

You were half asleep when your phone buzzed again. Groggily, you reached for it, expecting it to be some random notification, but it wasn't.

It was Mark.

"I mean... are you still going to the party?"

Your eyes widened slightly. You sat up, rereading his message just to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Your fingers moved quickly.

"Probably, so I at least won't be alone on Valentine's Day 😂."

A few moments passed before he replied.

"You don't have to tell them we broke up and all that... maybe just say I'm sick or something."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"Then they're gonna be expecting you to go to future couple things. Might as well tell them we broke it off now."

A pause.

"Ah... yeah, right. Sorry."

You sighed.

"No need to be. This was bound to happen anyways. We can't fake it all our life."

The words felt wrong as you typed them.

"Yeah."

And that was that. The end of the story, at least... that's what you thought. Until the day of Valentine's Day, when your phone buzzed again.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

You stared at the name on your screen. Mark.

A part of you had expected the conversation to end earlier, but here he was, still texting about it.

"Did you already tell your friends we broke up?" He asked.

"Well... yeah." You replied, faster than you intended.

There was a long pause. The three little dots popped up for a second, then disappeared. You swallowed, waiting for his next message.

"Damn it. My teacher just randomly curved my grade. So I'm at an A now."

The abrupt change of topic made you blink, but your fingers moved quickly across the screen.

"Omg, that's amazing. I'm proud of you. I know you wanted an A."

"Thank you, thank you—but what about you?"

"What about me?"

"I have to hold up my end of the bargain."

Before you could ask what he meant, another text came through.

"Is it too late to come to the party with you?"

You froze, rereading the words. Deep down, you were excited—excited to spend another moment with Mark, when lately the people around you felt a little unbearable. You knew you shouldn't be so eager, but still...

"I mean... I guess not. I do want to see the look on Jaemin's face when you walk in anyways. He's been taunting me and I haven't even seen him in person yet. You don't have to come though, I promise."

"A deal's a deal."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips.

"Sounds great."

"Is there a dress code? Do you want to match or something?"

"I mean, that's up to you."

"I told you I was gonna be the best boyfriend they've ever seen... for that, you have to tell me how the best boyfriend is supposed to be."

"Just be you."

He saw it instantly. The typing bubbles appeared, then disappeared. You wondered what he was about to say but changed your mind on. Before he could reply, you sent another message.

"We have to meet up early so we can get each other gifts. "

"Yeah, for sure. I can come pick you up in about three hours, okay?"

"Sounds good to me."

You set your phone down, exhaling. Three hours.

Time slipped by faster than you expected, and before you knew it, there was a knock at your door. When you opened it, Mark stood there with his usual bright grin.

"Long time no see." You greeted, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

"Long time no see." HE echoed, his eyes flickering over you before landing on your sweater.

You followed his gaze, then looked at him.

"Oh, we're matching?" You asked, noticing the way his red sweater mirrored yours.

Mark chuckled. "Yeah. Great minds think alike, I guess."

"So, are you ready to go?" You asked, slipping on your shoes and shutting the door behind you.

"Yep." He said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

The drive to the store was filled with the usual back and forth, music playing softly in the background as Mark tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Every now and then, you caught him sneaking a glance at you, but he never said anything about it so you didn't either.

"Okay." You said as you walked inside the store together. "We pick out a gift in five minutes, and no peeking at each other's choice until the party."

Mark let out a small laugh. "You think you can find me something good in five minutes?"

"Obviously." You smirked. "But you? I don't know Mark. I feel like you'll panic buy the first thing you see."

"Wow." He placed a hand over his heart. "That's the faith you have in me?"

"Prove me wrong then."

His eyes held yours for a moment, something unreadable flickering in them before he exhaled and nodded. "Alright, five minutes. See you at the door."

You grinned before spinning on your heel, heading straight into the aisles.

Mark found himself standing in front of a shelf filled with different gift options—some fun, some practical, some completely ridiculous. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing over at where you were browsing on the other side of the store. You looked so at ease, so sure of yourself. Mark? Not so much.

It wasn't that he didn't want to get you something—he did. Maybe a little too much. That was the problem. How was he supposed to pick something casual when everything in him wanted to get you something that meant more?

Sighing, he grabbed some crochet flowers off the shelf, inspecting it. It had to be just enough. Not too much, not too little. Just enough, plus, he remembered you saying something about roses in the past.

At exactly five minutes, you both arrived at the door, each holding a gift bag.

"Done?" You asked, tilting your head.

"Done."

You squinted at his choice. "Did you panic buy?"

He scoffed. "No faith. Absolutely no faith in me."

As you both headed back to the car, the air between you felt lighter. The slight hesitation in Mark's eyes was still there, but he was smiling—really smiling—and it made something in your chest warm.

By the time you arrived at the party, the house was already buzzing with music and laughter. Groups of people were gathered in the living room, some sprawled across the couches, others standing with drinks in their hands.

All eyes turned when you and Mark walked in together.

You felt it instantly—the shift in the room, the way conversations paused, the way Jaemin's smirk deepened as he leaned back against the counter.

"Well, well." Jaemin drawled, crossing his arms. "Look who decided to show up together."

You rolled your eyes. "Don't start."

Mark, to your surprise, just smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder with ease. "What? We always keep people guessing, right?"

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but said nothing.

You turned your head slightly, looking at Mark. His hold on you was relaxed, casual—like it was nothing at all. His fingers lightly pressed against your shoulder, and when you glanced up at him, there was something in his expression that made your stomach flip. Maybe tonight was going to be more interesting than you expected.

The night unfolded in a blur of laughter and chatter, the energy in the room buzzing as the party carried on. At first, it was subtle—the way you and Mark naturally gravitated toward each other, always within arm's reach, but then came the couple's games.

Someone had pulled out a deck of "Couple's Challenge" cards, a ridiculous party game daring pairs to complete tasks together.

"You two are playing." One of your friends declared, shoving the deck into your hands.

You barely had time to protest before Mark shrugged. "Might as well." He said, flashing you a playful grin.

Your heart stuttered for a second, but you rolled your eyes. "Fine, ut if we lose I'm blaming you."

The first challenge was simple—"Hand holding for the next three rounds." Mark didn't hesitate. His fingers slid between yours, warm and steady.

"Easy." He murmured, giving your hand the smallest squeeze. You told yourself it was just part of the game, but the way your pulse quickened said otherwise.

The next challenge was worse.

"Whisper something sweet in your partner's ear."

You barely had time to react before Mark leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.

"You look really pretty tonight." He whispered, low enough for only you to hear.

You froze, heat rising to your cheeks as your grip on his hand tightened.

"That's cheating." You muttered.

He only smirked. "You gonna call a ref?"

Before the next round could start, someone announced: "Cookie decorating time!" and everyone quickly moved toward the kitchen, where trays of plain sugar cookies and bowls of colorful icing were laid out.

You and Mark grabbed a spot at the counter, picking up two cookies.

"What's the plan?" You asked, squeezing a tube of red icing.

Mark tapped his chin, thinking. "I'll make yours, and you make mine."

You raised a brow. "So we're setting each other up for failure?"

"That's the spirit." He teased.

You narrowed your eyes at him before getting to work. Five minutes later, Mark burst out laughing. "What is this?" He asked, holding up his cookie—a lopsided mess of icing with a poorly drawn smiley face.

"It's you." You said proudly.

"This looks like a crime scene."

"You're ungrateful."

"Let's see yours then." He slid his cookie toward you, and to your surprise, it was... actually kind of cute. A small heart drawn in icing, a little crooked but undeniably sweet. You blinked at it, warmth creeping up your neck.

"Not bad." You admitted, trying to sound unaffected.

Jaemin, still lounging across the room, clapped his hands together. "Alright." He said, his smirk widening. "Since we're all feeling festive—why don't we open gifts?"

The room filled with murmurs of agreement, but your heart skipped. You turned your head slightly, meeting Mark's gaze. His hesitation was brief, just a flicker, before he nodded.

"Guess it's time." He murmured.

The room was filled with scattered wrapping paper and laughter as gifts were exchanged, the warm glow of the fairy lights adding to the cozy atmosphere. One by one, people unwrapped their presents, each reaction bringing a new wave of excitement.

Finally, Jaemin leaned forward, smirking. "Alright lovebirds, your turn."

"Alright, alright." You said, reaching for the small bag you had picked out earlier. You handed it to him with a teasing smile. "Here you go. Try not to cry."

Mark took the bag, holding it up dramatically. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness what is about to be the greatest gift ever given."

Laughter erupted around the room, but you just rolled your eyes. "Oh my God, just open it."

Mark finally stuck his hand in the bag, pulling out a sleek, keychain shaped like his favorite guitar.

His eyes widened slightly before he let out an impressed whistle. "No way." He said, running his fingers over it. "How did you even find this?"

You shrugged, grinning. "I have my ways."

He twirled the keychain between his fingers before nodding in approval. "Alright, I'll admit it—this is actually sick." He turned to the group. "Thanks, really." He murmured, and for a second, his voice was softer, more genuine.

You felt your heartbeat stutter.

"Okay, okay." Jaemin interrupted, smirking. "Now, what did you get for her Mark? Better be good."

Mark grinned, reaching behind him and pulling out a simple brown paper bag. "Alright, I went with something classic."

You took the bag from him, curiosity bubbling in your chest. As you opened it, your breath hitched.

Inside was the bouquet of crochet roses, your favorite flower.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. "Oh my God... you remembered?"

Mark's smile softened. "Of course I did."

A collective "Aww" echoed through the room as you stared down at the roses, warmth spreading through your chest. It was such a simple gift, but it meant more than words could express. Before you could say anything else, Mark clapped his hands together.

"Alright, I actually have one more surprise."

Your brows furrowed. "Wait—what?"

He stood up, brushing his hands off. "I'll be right back."

The group looked around with curiosity as Mark disappeared down the hallway. Moments later he returned, carrying his laptop.

"Uh... can I hook this up to the TV?" He asked, looking toward Jaemin.

Jaemin raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Yeah, go ahead man."

Mark quickly connected the laptop, and after a few seconds, the screen flickered to life. Your stomach flipped when bold white letters appeared on the dark background.

"200, by Mark... for Y/N."

Your breath caught in your throat and then, music started playing.

“First, you crashed into my life and you just broke, my roof and my window, girl, you had me shook—”

Your eyes widened in shock. It was the song you had found in his notebook. The one he had been working on, the one he had never let you hear.

Your heart pounded as the video started and suddenly, you were on screen.

The footage was a collection of moments—the two of you laughing during late night study sessions, joking around between takes for the project, him catching you off guard with his camera and you playfully shoving him away. The edits were smooth, timed perfectly to the beat of the song. You felt mesmerized as you listened to the lyrics.

They were about you.

Every verse, every carefully chosen word—it was all about the moments you had shared, about the way you made him feel, about the way he saw you when you weren't looking.

You barely noticed the people around you reacting. You were completely lost in the song, in the video. When a clip of you making a ridiculous face appeared you let out a soft laugh, covering your mouth. When the video cut to Mark recording you while you weren't looking, glancing at you, your heart clenched.

And then all too soon, the song ended.

The screen faded to black, and for a moment silence filled the room.

Jaemin just shook his head, muttering, "Wow." as everyone broke into collective "Aw's"

You turned to Mark slowly, your eyes shining. "You really did this... for me?"

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little sheepish. "Yeah. I mean... yeah."

You could only look at Mark.

And he could only look at you.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

When you arrived at Mark's apartment after the party, it was quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the heater as you stepped inside.

"You really learned how to edit lyrics for this?" You asked, shaking your head slightly as you set the bouquet down on the counter. "Mark, that was so thoughtful... really."

He glanced at you with a small smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Learned from the best... for the best."

His words made your stomach flip, but you ignored the feeling and nudged his shoulder playfully. "You didn't have to do all that for me."

Mark raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. "I told you I was gonna be the best boyfriend."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Well, you got a B, so you really went far and beyond."

For a split second, something flickered across his face—hesitation. His body stiffened slightly, and he averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well..." He trailed off, voice quieter. "She curved it... so I technically got an A."

You slowed your steps as you both entered his studio, brows furrowing. "Does your teacher provide feedback?" You asked, curiosity creeping in.

Without thinking he replied, "Yeah, of course."

Something about his tone made you pause. "What feedback did you get? I'm just wondering why you got a B in the first place. Not trying to toot my own horn, but the video was pretty nice... and the song—don't get me started, it was beautiful."

Mark let out a nervous chuckle. "Uh, yeah... haha. Sucks."

You narrowed your eyes. "Let me see it. I wanna read it."

Suddenly, he looked really nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Oh, uh—you wanna see it right now? My phone is dead, so we can't."

You turned your head toward the couch, where his phone was lying face up. Right on cue, the screen lit up with a notification.

Mark froze.

"You just got a notification." You pointed out, looking at him suspiciously.

His laugh was forced. "Oh, that's funny. Haha. Well, it's about to die..."

"Ah okay... but your computer's right there." You said, nodding towards his desk.

He followed your gaze, swallowing hard. His entire body tensed, and you could practically see the internal panic. Before he could come up with another excuse, you sat down in his desk chair and gestured at the laptop. "Just open it."

Mark hesitated. "Oh, I forgot my password."

You slowly turned back to him, deadpan. "Mark... What's wrong with you?"

He didn't respond.

"You're acting really weird, just open the computer."

His hands twitched at his sides before he finally moved forward, his fingers slightly shaky as he clicked onto the website to check grades.

"Log in." You said, watching him carefully.

Mark exhaled slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Are you sure you wanna see it?" He glanced at you briefly. "I just don't want your feelings to get hurt or anything."

"They're not." You said, glancing up at him.

He let out a dry laugh. "No, but they are."

You stared at him, your confusion growing. "Mark... just open it. I didn't sit here working on this project to not see what went wrong."

He nodded, pressing his lips together before finally typing in his username and password.

Incorrect password.

"Oops." He muttered.

You tilted your head. "Take your time."

He tried again. Incorrect.

And again. Incorrect.

"Mark." You said, your voice firmer now. "Seriously, what the fuck?"

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but then he suddenly stepped back, raking his hands through his hair in frustration.

You stared at him, concern creeping in. "Mark, what's wrong—"

"I lied." He blurted out.

"What?"

His jaw clenched. "I lied."

A heavy silence settled between you. You shook your head slightly, still trying to piece together what he was saying. "About what?"

He exhaled sharply, his hands still gripping his hair. "I lied about the feedback. I lied about the grade. I've lied about everything."

You felt your heart drop. "What are you talking about?"

His gaze finally met yours hesitantly. "I got a perfect score, okay?"

"Wait... why did you lie to me?" You asked, your voice was quieter now. "Did you not want to go with me or something? You know you could've just said that."

A flicker of panic crossed his face. "No, no—it's not that."

"Then why?" You pressed, your emotions starting to surface.

Mark swallowed hard, his usual easy confidence completely gone. He looked at you, his expression torn, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Y/n, I can't."

Your chest tightened. "No, you can. You literally can. Are you playing with me right now?"

He quickly shook his head. "No, no—I swear I'm not. Please Y/n... I don't want to ruin anything."

Your lips parted slightly, hurt creeping into your voice. "You kinda already did." You turned to leave, your heart pounding, but before you could step out of the room—

"I like you."

You froze, your fingers curling slightly at your sides, your back still turned to him.

Mark swallowed hard before continuing, his voice softer now. "I've liked you this whole time... but this was all fake. And then you told me you didn't want a relationship, and I just—I didn't want to ruin anything."

Slowly, you turned to face him.

He looked wrecked.

"And then the kiss and everything was so... complicated." He went on, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know what to do, I was scared."

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

You exhaled shakily. "Do you know how unfair that is?"

Mark's brows furrowed. "What?"

You swallowed hard, your emotions rising to the surface. "I tried so hard to keep my feelings in check, to remind myself that this wasn't real. I told myself over and over again that I couldn't like you, but you... you were just lying to me the whole time?"

"Y/N—"

"What?" You said, a broken chuckle escaping your lips.

His gaze searched yours, uncertainty flickering across his face. "I—I didn't know you felt that way. You told me..." He trailed off, voice hesitant.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I know what I told you, and I was so stupid for saying it."

Mark's eyes softened, studying you carefully, taking a step closer

"So... you do want a relationship?" He asked, his voice uncertain.

You hesitated, lips parting slightly. "I don't know." You admitted.

His face dropped slightly, just for a second—but before he could say anything you spoke again.

"Try asking."

Mark blinked, his frown fading as realization washed over him. Slowly, a smile tugged at his lips, cautious at first—then warm. He took another step forward, reaching for your hands, his fingers curling gently around yours. His touch was warm.

"Y/n." He murmured, voice softer now.

"Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?"

Your heart swelled at the way he said it—so sincere, so hopeful. A slow smile spread across your face as you nodded.

"Yes. I will."

Before you could say anything else, Mark let out a breath of relief, grinning as he pulled you in—his hands slipping around your waist, yours resting on his shoulders, and then he kissed you.

It wasn't rushed or hesitant like before. His lips moved against yours with a mix of relief, excitement, and something deeper. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as if he was afraid to let go now that he finally had you.

You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, smiling against his lips. When you finally pulled away, Mark rested his forehead against yours, breathless and grinning like an idiot.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, like, for real." He admitted.

"Well, now you can do it whenever you want."

His eyes gleamed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Mark hummed, brushing his nose against yours before pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

"Best. Valentines. Ever." He murmured against your mouth.

You laughed, pulling him closer. "Yeah. It really is.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

The group hangout was going great—laughter, drinks, and playful chatter filling the air as everyone lounged around in Jaemin's living room. You were curled up next to Mark on the couch, his arm draped casually over the backrest behind you.

Jaemin squinted at the two of you, tilting his head. "Something feels... different between you two."

You glanced at Mark before turning back to Jaemin with a playful smile. "Well, we just hit our one month anniversary."

Mark's gaze flickered to yours, amusement twinkling in his eyes. He smiled softly, playing along.

Jaemin blinked. "Wait, what?" He leaned forward, looking genuinely confused. "Hasn't it been like... three months since you told me y'all got together?"

You and Mark just stared at each other, expressions blank as the realization sank in. Mark was the first to recover, turning back to Jaemin with the straightest face and shrugged.

"Yeah, whatever." He said smoothly. "Time is an illusion."

Jaemin shook his head, chuckling. "Y'all are so weird. I don't get paid enough to deal with you two."

"You don't get paid at all." Someone added from the other side of the room.

"Exactly."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you turned to Mark. He was already looking at you, his eyes warm.

"Time is an illusion?" You teased quietly.

Mark tilted his head, grinning. "Hey, it got us out of that conversation didn't it?"

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. "You're ridiculous."

"You like it." He shot back, bumping his knee against yours.

And yeah—you did.

Jaemin's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "I still think something's weird about you two."

"Maybe you're the weird one." Mark countered smoothly.

Laughter rippled through the group again, the conversation shifting to something else. But you and Mark? You stayed in your little bubble.

Maybe time was an illusion, or maybe for the first time, it was finally moving exactly the way it was supposed to.

── 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸 ──

[gold-onthe-inside]

a pearl

who? spencer reid (post-prison) x fem!reader based on: a pearl by mitski (and also pearl diver also by mitski) written for: @mggslover's event lyrics: “You’re growing tired of me. You love me so hard and I still can’t sleep/Sorry, I can’t take your touch. It’s not that I don’t want you.” word count: 0.9k content warnings: mentions cat adams, reference to addiction/drugs & sobriety

He stared at the flickering flame in the living room, knowing he’s left your sleeping frame upstairs, and rubbed the sobriety chip between his thumb and forefinger, and he remembers the moment he had fallen in love with your smile, a warm saccharine thing that had brightened your whole face when he tried to pull a coin from behind your ear, but it hadn’t worked, only for you to find it in your pockets. He hasn’t made you smile like that in a while. Not in 3 months, 20 days, and 14 hours. Not since Cat Adams had made it her mission to ruin his life, and yours along with him. This year had just been the tip of a long-building iceberg of issues that you kept having to put up with because of him.

And sure, things were okay now. His mom was in a good home in DC, always a call and a drive away. They had gotten his murder conviction overturned. He was supposed to be safe. Then why did he feel this uneasy all the time?

He’s so lost in himself, the firelight reflecting in his soft and worried hazel eyes, that he doesn’t hear you coming down the stairs, doesn’t see the cute donut pyjamas that usually make his heart melt, and physically flinches when you touch his shoulder, the chip in his hand falling to the floor. “Sorry,” you said instantly, “I didn’t mean to… You just weren’t in bed, I wanted to make sure you were—”

“I’m fine,” he said, a little too sharply, and usually, you’re better at controlling your expressions, but it’s 2 in the morning and you’re tired, so the concern is visible on your sleepy face.

“Honey, you don’t seem fine,” you said softly, approaching him like he was a skittish horse.

He let out a breath, bending down to pick up the sobriety token, while you wait and watch him straighten. “Can we not do this right now?” he asked, sounding tired, and he can see your concern deepen, adding another wrinkle to your brow, the corners of your lips turning down. He can see the battle that rages inside you every day, every time he acts like this — do you confront him? Do you put your foot down like you had all those years ago when he was coming to work while in withdrawal? What would it take for you to finally retaliate?

“Okay,” you said, in your gentle but firm way, looking at him evenly. “Two choices. We sit here and talk, or you come back upstairs with me and get some sleep. Either way, I’m not going back up without you.” Your arms come up to cross against your chest in what you think is a firm, decisive position to take, but Spencer’s sorely tempted to smile at you, and then his heart sinks all over again. It must have come up on his face because your arms start to fall and you walked over to pull him to sit next to you on the couch. “Sweetheart, will you please just tell me what’s going on with you?” you asked, and you think your heart might crawl out of your throat when Spencer pulled his hands away from yours.

“It’s nothing,” he said, and you can see his body closing off, all your work to bring him out of his shell, to coax him into the sunlight, vanishing like smoke. “Everything’s, you know, it’s fine. The team’s fine, my mom’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Which means it’s only a matter of time before things aren’t fine again,” you said, tilting your head to meet his eyes. “Right?” You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t felt it too — the panic in the middle of the night when he’s not there, the reminder you have to give yourself that he’s not in prison anymore, that he’s safe.

“I’m so tired,” he told you, his eyes falling to your hands, where you were gripping each other for fear of reaching out to him again. He was tired of waiting to get the phone call saying his mom was gone. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of feeling afraid in a house that was supposed to be his refuge.

“Sweetheart, you can’t rest when your body still thinks it’s on the run,” you told him gently.

“Then how do I get it to stop?” he asked you, a hint of desperation rising into his throat, causing his words come out more broken and shaky than he meant for them to, and it just made his chest ache more.

You leaned closer, pressing your forehead against his and cupping his cheek, feeling the light stubble on his jaw. "Stay here," you whispered. "In this moment. You and me. Nothing else."

“In this moment,” he echoed, his voice soft and quiet, barely more than a whisper. “You and me, and nothing else.” A hint of a smile spread across his lips, and you pressed a butterfly kiss to the corner before laying your head on his shoulder while he slid his arms around your waist. You don’t move, just eventually shift so you can both lay on the couch, the fire dying out into embers as he finally fell asleep to the rise and fall of your chest.

[ivonhart]

if you’ll have me | nam-gyu x fem!reader

— one shot

masterlist

requested by: anonymous

cross posted in ao3

gif credit: @cressidium

summary: You and Nam-gyu both joined for the same reason...to help each other. The rehab debts forcing both your hands, resulting in the two of you to call the number given by a mysterious man. The twisted games of life and death solidifying the bond you already shared in an unbreakable way.

a/n: Haven't written in a while...kinda nervous :0 NAMGYU FLUFFFFFF *we all cheered* I wrote him different from what we see in the show because of the fact he's in recovery so he wouldn't be all other Thanos like we saw in the show - think I deviated off from the og ask SORRY

You should’ve listened to your gut when the mysterious man with a briefcase showed up beside you on a subway bench. You should’ve listened to your gut when he handed you the small brown card accompanied by a wad of cash. You should’ve listened to your gut when it told you it was too good to be true…it had to have been. So why didn’t you listen to your gut?

The empty apartment and a stack of threatening letters was why you chose to ignore your gut and call the number. You needed the money…for him. But now, as your unsteady legs trudged you back towards the large room you suddenly woke up in you realized you should’ve listened to your gut.

Your arms wrapped around yourself as your fingers clung to the green jacket that covered your shaking shoulders. Ears still ringing slightly from the mass amounts of gunshots that echoed throughout the field you played your first twisted game in. You never heard a gunshot before…you didn’t think it would be so loud.

You could feel sobs begin to weigh down your chest at the knowledge you’ll most likely die here. The images of the falling, bloody bodies making your mind run wild - making you imagine yourself as one of the fallen. What would he think? Would he think you finally got sick of his struggles and left him?

Your body was running on autopilot as you walked towards the bed you were put in, paying no mind to the voice that shouted your name until you felt a familiar pair of hands grasp your shoulders. “What are you doing here?!” That voice snapped you from your haze, causing your head to whip towards the source, only to find the eyes of the very person you thought of.

A cry left your mouth as you launched into his arms. “NAM-GYU!” One of his hands immediately cupped the back of your head while the other wrapped around your waist. Your arms circled around his neck with your fingers balling his jacket up. Both of your bodies relaxed in the arms of one another.

The horrors of the games you found yourselves in faded away…if only for a moment. Those around you blurred into the background as the two of you embraced. Your tears dampened his jacket and when he pulled away the hand that once cupped the back of your head found its place on your cheek, slowly wiping the tears away before pulling you into a nearby corner to talk.

As he did, you spoke. “Gyu, what are you doing here?” Your question came out sharp but he knew it was only because you were scared. “I could ask you the same question.” He responded back with a half-hearted smile…trying to ease some of the fear you felt. His hands found yours and rubbed his thumbs along your knuckles as you sighed.

“T-The loan shark came by our apartment a few days ago…” Your voice trailed off as your head hung low. “My job cut my hours and I haven’t been able to pay them back.” Tears stung the back of your eyes as shame washed over you. “Did they do anything to you?”

The question tore out of Nam-gyu’s mouth with an edge of worry and anger. Your head shot back up so that your wide eyes could meet his. With frantic shakes of your head you responded. “No no. J-Just a bit of verbal threatening–but that’s besides the point…” You were quick to change the conversation topic towards him.

“What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be in rehab.”  That’s when Nam-gyu told you that the rehab center kicked him out for missing too many payments and another wave of shame hit you. After multiple times in rehab you had been worn thin with his addiction and struggled because of it.

So, one day, when he was sober, you gave him the ultimatum; either get better or you would leave. But now…you couldn’t help but feel like this was all your fault. “Babe…don’t do that.” He cupped your cheek and looked into your guilt-filled eyes. He knew you. He knew that you were blaming yourself. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“D-Did you–Where did you stay?” He knew what you were starting to ask. It had been a long and hard journey and he realized some time ago that he had taken advantage of your good heart. So, when you put your foot down and gave him an ultimatum he knew he had to get clean. He couldn’t lose you. “I didn’t relapse.”

He saw the way the tension released from your shoulders as he ran his hands up and down your arms. “Why didn’t you come home?” Nam-gyu let out a small sigh and stepped closer so that he could rest his head against yours. Your eyes closing at the contact.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I was ashamed? I kept fucking up and needed to go back so many times.” You felt his sigh caress your face, but before you could defend him another voice broke through your little corner. “Nam-suuuuuu, who's this pretty lady?” You looked towards the sound to see the face of the rapper your boyfriend loved to listen to.

His purple hair popped against the otherwise stagnant white room. “Thanos?” His rapper name came out instinctively which caused a wide smile to spread across his face. “The one and only, Señorita.” When he got closer you stepped slightly behind Nam-gyu and sought out his hand - which he took immediately. You always had trouble with attention. Never really knowing what to do if it was turned towards you.

Thanos eyed your intertwined hands and smiled even wider. “Aw shhhiii…this your girl?” He asked Nam-gyu, causing the man to nod. A laugh left Thanos. “Alright! Another member of Thanos World!” As he spoke you took note of how dilated his pupils were. A sight so familiar that you knew right away what state the man was in.

Perhaps he was high when they took him or maybe, somehow, he managed to take something during the first game. You felt a ping of pity shoot through your heart knowing he was probably high to deal with the situation you all found yourselves in. He spun on his heel with a giggle and moved back towards his bed, not before turning back and waving the two of you to follow. “Come on gang!”

-

You were stuck here for one more game…just one - that’s what you and Nam-gyu promised each other. The blue O that clung to your shirt told everyone you were willing to put your life on the line for the chance of more money. It was a heavy weight to carry, but you could pay off the debts with the money you and Nam-gyu would get put together. “We have to stay.”

You told the love of your life after Player 456 spoke up for a vote. “We’re gonna die either way. Out there…by the loan sharks. Or in here…with a chance of getting the money.” Nam-gyu wasn’t happy when you said that. The thought of you dying made him sick to his stomach but he knew you were right.

You were always the smarter one in the relationship. “One more game?” He had asked. “One more.” You promised. The second game was a Six-Legged Pentathlon - with you and Nam-gyu refusing to separate all you needed was three more players…and your third body came bouncing over with a wide smile. “My gang!”

Thanos exclaimed as he threw his arms around the shoulders of both you and Nam-gyu. Despite his outlandish nature you could tell he had a good heart. In a way he reminded you of your Nam-gyu. A nice boy haunted by his past…struggling with addiction. “Are we ready to do this or what?” His positivity was almost infectious, causing you to slowly nod while glancing towards Nam-gyu.

That snowballed events leading to you, Nam-gyu, Thanos, a young woman named Se-mi and a young man named Min-shu - who Thanos took to immediately - sitting on the dirt floor waiting for your team's turn. Nam-gyu kept his hand on your thigh while he looked around to watch for when the guard’s would close in to “eliminate” the losers.

He always covered your ears when the gunshots would ring out. From the corner of your eye you could see Thanos’s hands shaking. With each gunshot the shaking grew more and more intense and slowly you grabbed hold of his hand before it could reach for his necklace. A sharp inhale breaking the tense bubble that surrounded him.

“If you need to take something…take it.” You began to say towards the purple-haired rapper. “But…just know you're not alone. Not anymore.” His wide eyes looked up at you and all you did was send him a sad smile before turning your attention back on Nam-gyu. You knew your words wouldn’t cure his cravings, but you needed him to know that he was with a group now. People that he could rely on.

The hold on Thanos’s hand never letting up as you laid your head against your boyfriend’s shoulder. The comfort eased Thanos’s racing heart just a bit, but his free hand was quick to open the cross once more. “Whatcha thinking about?” You quietly asked your boyfriend. He had been strangely quiet the whole time - not knowing that the man was thinking about his life with you. He couldn’t imagine a world without you in it and he couldn’t die without telling you.

A few seconds passed before you felt his shoulders rise as he puffed his chest out. “We are gonna win this because I’m not going to die without making you my wife. If you’ll have me.” His words came out with a purpose. He wasn’t saying such things to say it…he meant every word. 

Heat bloomed across your cheeks as you looked at him with wide eyes. Then, tears stung your eyes as you let go of Thanos’s hand to cup Nam-gyu’s cheek, turning his eyes towards yours. The look that his eyes held made your chest ache with a sickening sense of purpose.

You and him were tied together…your souls tethered through space and time so that even if you died here today you would find one another in the next life. And all the others after that. “You had me from the moment we met.” You whispered with a wide smile.

-

When your team passed the finish line a sheer joyous cheer ripped through your throat and those around you. With just five seconds to spare you passed the finish line. Nam-gyu was quick to engulf you in a kiss that left you breathless.

He always kisses as if you gave him the air that filled his lungs…and to him you did. When he pulled away you saw his smile. It was as bright as the sun and radiated the same amount of warmth. “You were fucking amazing.”

He panted against your mouth as a guard unlocked the cuffs that bound your legs together. When you felt your legs get freed you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist.Your arms locking around his neck in practiced ease from doing so many times before. The rest of your team was seemingly abandoned as he walked with you back towards the dormitory. “You still gonna marry me?” You questioned with a smile.

A string of giggles passed your lips as Nam-gyu nipped at your throat with a smile. “I’d marry you right here if I could.” Your giggles carried into the sleeping area as he carried you back to the bunks you slept in. You and Nam-gyu shared a bed whilst Thanos slept in one of the neighboring bunks. “My friends, that was awesome!”

The words from Thanos were in a language you didn’t understand, but from his wide smile you assumed it was a celebration. You and Nam-gyu plopped down on your bunk as Thanos scurried over with a laugh. Se-mi and Min-su not far behind him. The unspoken bond that formed between the team carried over from the win, causing them to settle in close by.

You silently watched as Thanos exclaimed over everyone’s performance with a soft smile. Your back pulled into Nam-gyu’s chest as his hands rubbed your arms. You could only hope that the money made from this round would be enough to pay off your debts.

When the time came for the money amount to be announced, everyone hurried towards the center of the room. And then the amount showed up…and you stared up at the total money amount with wide eyes. It was enough. It was more than enough.

When you and Nam-gyu put the money together there was plenty to pay off the debts and have so much left over. “My love…” You began to whisper. Slowly, you looked at the man with a laugh. “I know.” He responded. The voting went by in a blur and when Player 001 cast his vote the X side erupted in hoots and hollers of joy.

You won. You won. Your scream of happiness joined the others as you jumped into Nam-gyu’s arms. Tears fell from your eyes as you kissed him with all the love you could muster. “I’m gonna marry the FUCK out of you the moment we get out.”

-

tag list: @vip-luc

[delilahsturns]

— ୨୧ getting older . . . m.s

in which . . . two childhood best friends bump into each other after drifting apart.

warnings . . . resolved angst, fluff toward end.

a/n 💌 : based off of real life experiences lol, it’s been a while since i’ve written angst so i hope you like it!

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

The coffee shop in boston, massachusetts smelled exactly the same as it always did. a nostalgic and sweet blend of cinnamon and espresso that floated around the air. you had been avoiding this cafe for quite some time now, considering that you had just moved back to boston around a year ago to be closer to your family and friends. too many memories were wrapped up in this place—so much laughter, whispered secrets, and mostly of all…him.

you sighed heavily, adjusting the strap of the bag slung on your shoulder as you waited in line, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. suddenly, you heard a voice call out your name. a warm, and familiar voice you hadn’t heard in nearly eight years.

“y/n?” the voice asked softly. your heart stalled, something in your mind clicked. fuck, this couldn’t be, this had to be some sort of illusion, hallucination. but it wasn’t. you slowly turned around, and there he was.

matt sturniolo. the only man you’d ever been in love with.

he looked older, of course. his shoulders looked broader, his hair was a little messier as it fell effortlessly over his forehead. but his blue eyes—those hadn’t changed one bit. they still held the same welcoming expression and warmth you remembered, the same warmth that persuaded you to believe that you and matt could have been something more. but that wasn’t possible, not in this lifetime at least.

you lightly swallowed, your eyes darting in different directions as your breathing grew slightly quicker. “matt.” you spoke, emptiness present in your tone. it felt…odd. the way you interacted with him felt nothing like when you and matt were kids, running around recklessly in his backyard. all the stupid arguments over mario kart, and so much more. nothing felt the same, and you were sure it wouldn’t ever feel the same ever again.

silence. complete silence. that was, until matt spoke. “you still drink caramel lattes?” he asked, nodding at the menu as he stepped closed to you, now standing next to you in the line. you blinked, caught off guard. “you still drink black coffee and pretend to like it?” you grinned. matt chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “yeah, some things never change i guess.” matt turned his head to look at you, giving you a somewhat smile.

but, things do change.

all you could think about was your past with matt. how you both talked every single day, how you once knew everything about each other—your fears, your dreams. the way you and matt were absolutely inseparable, everyone in both of your families knew it, and so did you. however, your lives changed. college and matt’s career drove the both of you in different directions. you and matt promised to stay in touch no matter what, but that quickly faded into distance, and silence.

“you live here again?” matt asked, shifting on his feet. you quickly nodded. “mhm, moved back here last year after i finished college, you?”

“y’know, me and my brothers are just visiting our parents for the weekend, then we’re gonna head back to LA.” matt said, glancing down at the ground as if he was unsure of what to say to you next. then, with a hesitant smile he finally spoke up. “do you maybe wanna…sit down and talk for a minute? it’d be nice to catch up.” matt asked. you hesitated. it would be easier to make an excuse, to walk away and let the past stay where it was. but, something in matt’s expression—the way his eyes softened as if he was pleading, made you nod.

the both of you ordered and collected your drinks, finding a small table by a window. and for the first time in years, you both talked, it felt genuine this time. you both talked and laughed about life, catching each other up on what had been going on with your lives for the past few years. somewhere between the occasional stolen glances and laughter, you had realized something. even though time had pulled the both of you apart, with matt smiling at you the way he used to, it didn’t feel so much like the end anymore.

after all, it felt like your friendship was just beginning again.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

[asahicore]

hometown - pjs (teaser)

teaser wc: 1.8k don't ask me about the expected word count or release date. that's knowledge only the higher powers of this universe have access to just a little extract from the exes to lovers, small town au Jay fic i'm working on because I feel like I haven't posted in eons... hope you guys like it and are looking forward to it, I was going thrrooooough it writing this for some time but now it's getting better and i'm enjoying the process... let me know if you'd like to be tagged when it comes out!! enjoy!!

You stay behind. Jay doesn’t know if the three women are exceptionally good at reading the room, or if he missed some silent signal of understanding between you and them, but they don’t question your not following them. The sudden quietness makes Jay feel like a giant in a too-small space, a room that can’t possibly contain the two of you.

And yet. You sigh and head back to the living room, going for the couch rather than the cushions on the floor, but Jay can’t bring himself to join you, and so sits back at the same spot from earlier.

“Seriously, Jay?” you say, chuckling, but he detects an actual trace of annoyance in your voice. Unable to hide your thoughts as always, you are. You pat a spot on the couch next to you. “Come here.”

But Jay doesn’t move. Can’t. All he can do when he looks at you is search for traces of grief. He had five years to work out all of his feelings around your breakup, and he thought he had sorted through everything, gone through all the phases. Seeing you again, he feels like he has to start over. The past week hasn’t felt real, he thinks. He thinks it so hard, he says it out loud, only realizing what he did when he sees your expression soften.

“It’s been weird, hasn’t it?”

“Weird is one way to put it, yeah.”

There’s a pause, of which he spends every second worrying about what sort of turn this conversation will take.

“Is this a good time to talk about the elephant in the room, then?” you finally say.

He looks around, eyebrows furrowed with worry. “There’s an elephant in this room?!” he whispers.

You burst into laughter. “I see your humor hasn’t improved over time.”

“Seeing as you’re laughing, I’d say yours hasn’t, either.”

“Touché.”

Silence settles between the two of you again, creeps inside Jay, makes him wait for your next words with bated breath. 

He had a feeling that all the skirting around the subject you’d been doing would come to this. It’s not that you’ve pretending it didn’t happen, that would be impossible, for him, at least—he looks at you and he’s transported back to Seoul five years ago, at school, in one of your apartments, in the streets after dark. But you haven’t been actively tackling it either and with every passing day, the weight of unspoken words grew, making every conversation, every look at you harder and harder to navigate. This is new for the two of you, who in your six months of being together, had mastered your communication skills—you never didn’t speak to each other. You especially were good at saying what was on your mind without ever being hurtful, and you’d helped Jay stop bottling his feelings up when he thought he could get over them himself and not have to trouble you with them.

Nothing you say could ever burden me, baby, you’d told him. I want to know everything that goes through your head. 

And many things have changed since then, but maybe this hasn’t—the look you have in your eyes now is the same one as then, soft and inviting, aware that conversations aren’t always as easy as they are necessary. 

“You’re here,” you say after some time. Jay was so caught up in his own thoughts, entire minutes could’ve passed without his noticing. You spoke so quietly, he wonders if he imagined it until you add, “You’re in Sojuk-ri.”

He smiles, stops himself from replying with something annoying like “What an astute observation, Y/N,” it would only be stalling. So, for lack of a better alternative, and because he assumes you have more to say, he whispers, “I am.”

“We used to date.”

Jay isn’t sure where you’re going with this. He nods, unable to suppress a grin. “We did, yeah,” he replies, louder this time.

“Then we broke up.”

A chuckle escapes his lips. “You’re on fire this morning,” he says, because he can’t help himself, and warmth envelops his heart at the sound of your laughter.

“I just want to recontextualise.”

“Wow, big words.”

“Big word, singular. And shut up. I’m trying to be serious, here,” you chide, still smiling.

“Sorry.”

A sudden shadow passes over your face, making your eyebrows furrow, your smile disappear. Jay’s heart drops, his feelings, as always, a mirror of yours. You rise from your seat on the couch and make your way to him. Every step you take echoes inside of him and grows louder as the distance separating you decreases. Then you’re standing in front of him, and he looks up at you, and there’s something like a magnet under his skin, desperately reaching out for yours, that makes his hand wrap around your ankle. His eyes stay trained on your face as you lower yourself to the ground and cross your legs. If you mind his touch, you don’t say or show it. 

“It doesn’t feel real,” you say. Your eyes sweep his face, focus on one part at a time. You simply stare at him for a moment as though trying to convince yourself that it is, indeed, real, that he is really there, not a figment of your imagination but a person whose flesh and bones used to be as familiar as your own. He lets you look to your heart’s content, because it allows him to look at you, too.

His loose grip around your ankle tightens ever so slightly and you look down at his hand as if suddenly noticing its presence there. After a second of what seems to Jay like hesitation, you place your hand atop his. “Would you still have moved here if you knew this was where I lived?”

“I would’ve come here years ago, had I known,” he says with a small smile.

You furrow your eyebrows. “You didn’t even try calling.”

This takes him aback. Was that what you’d wanted? “I texted you, and you blocked me right away.”

The crease between your brows deepens. “I know.”

“You also didn’t try calling.”

“I sent you a letter.”

For some reason, it astonishes Jay that in all of five years, communication between the two of you amounted to one unanswered text and a letter with no return address. “You did. That was nice of you.”

Finally, this gets a smile, albeit subdued, out of you. “I know.”

“If I’d managed to call you somehow, would you have picked up?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. Then, “No. I don’t know.” Then, in a smaller voice, “It hurts too much to think about the other ways it could’ve gone. The better ways.”

Jay sighs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Then let’s not think about them. It won’t do us any good.”

Your eyes meet. The sadness in yours tugs at his heartstrings. “Are you mad at me?” you ask, the tremble in your voice making it sound like you’re on the verge of crying, and it’s all Jay can do not to take you in his arms and hold you tight against his chest.

“No. Not at all,” he says, and he hopes his tone alone is enough to convince you. 

This magnet under his skin is uncontrollable. It raises Jay’s hand from where it was resting on your shoulder to your face, makes it cup your cheek, makes his thumb swipe slowly across your skin, right where tears are threatening to fall, as if preventing them.

“I tried being mad at you,” he says. “I tried a bunch of emotions. Sadness. Indifference. Nostalgia. But anger made things so much worse. It didn’t feel right, because I’d never been angry with you before. And it felt… It felt like admitting things could’ve gone differently. It felt like grieving a version of us that never existed because it never got the chance to. I decided to focus on the actual memories we had, and remember them fondly, instead of wasting my energy on being angry.”

A single tear falls from your right eye, wetting the top of Jay’s thumb. “I understand why you did what you did, baby,” he continues. “You had your reasons. You handled everything the best you could. It hurt like hell, but I can’t be mad at you for that.”

Jay doesn’t have to hold himself back from embracing you; you do it for him. Arms wound tightly around his neck, face in the crook of his neck, you quite literally cry on his shoulder. He hadn’t realized how close he himself was to crying until tears start falling freely from his eyes, mouth trembling as they gather at his jaw before dropping down the back of your t-shirt. Between sobs, you say, “I’m sorry. Even if you aren’t angry, I’m so sorry, Jay.”

He has never expected, and to this day doesn’t expect, anything from you, least of all an apology. Yet hearing those words from you heals some of the fissures in his heart, puts the pieces back together like superglue. He doesn’t need or want a repeat of your break-up conversation, and he doubts you do. He doesn’t want to hear how staying together wouldn’t have been a possibility, how you’d both have too much going on, how you were too young to hold each other back, how the distance between France and South Korea was too substantial to dismiss.

He wraps his arms around your waist and brings you closer to him. Closing his eyes and trying not to let your proximity overwhelm him, he strokes your hair, rubs your back, tells you it’s all okay. “Don’t apologize, baby,” he says, the nickname unwittingly slipping from his lips a second time. “We’re here now, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” He feels you nod against his shoulder, but your sobs don’t relent.

Would it be very wrong if Jay said he missed having you like this? Of course, he hates to see you unhappy, but there’s a part of him that has always been endeared by the sight of you crying. If he could, he’d destroy the thing making you so upset in a heartbeat, but it’s him that you go to for comfort, and he can’t help but selfishly rejoice in that. It’s in his arms that you find what it is you need to get over what’s troubling you; under his touch that you slowly calm down.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stay like this, nor does he care, but at some point, you lean back and take a deep, stabilising breath. Jay feels a page turn when your eyes meet—there might be no way to change the past, but the future is a blank canvas, the blinking line at the start of a computer document, and it’s up to the two of you how you want to write it.

You smile, and so does he. “I missed you,” you say.

“I missed you, too.”

There are more things to be said, but you’re both talked out. You have so much time ahead of you anyway.

[spinchip]

“Women and Children were targeted first,” Vex says at his emperors side, a shadow that clings to the edges of the Emperors long shawl dragging in the slush. Snow melted under boots and so well trodden that there were dirty pathways cut into the drifts pooling in the village- more mud than snow now. More blood than snow, too. “The men were away on a hunt.”

The Emperor surveys the remains of the village, the bones of their homes mingled with bodies strewn across the wet earth. It is a gruesome scene, a violent attack. He takes several more slow, shambling steps before Vex can no longer stand the silence and speaks again.

“The men came back to a trap.” He adds. “I believe-”

“Be quiet.” The Emperor's voice rolls and rumbles its way out of him, the roughness of it grating in the cold air. “Allow me a moment of peace to mourn.”

Vex falls silent, slowing down so the Emperor can continue on his march alone. The blizzard Samurai moving around the camp don’t speak, either. They are gathering the bodies and preparing the burial rites, the sound of boots squelching in mud makes the Emperor's chest ache. Senseless violence. His people slaughtered, their homes destroyed- he did not protect them, and now he was to bear witness to his failure. He grieves quietly over the dead as he twitches his fingers, casting the snow away and revealing hidden remains.

“When did the attack take place?” He asks tonelessly, turning his head just slightly to indicate his question is directed at his faithful advisor.

Vex steps forward and rejoins him as they move through the village, “It is impossible to know exactly when. A patrol returned this morning, and their report detailed that the tribe had already been slaughtered when they arrived.” He clicks his tongue as he thinks, “The trip here is not long through Wojiras passage, and our warriors have been able to pass through without issue since your dragon made its presence known to the beasts in the mountains. They should have made contact here at least two days ago, and it has taken us a day to arrive.”

“Three days.” He murmurs.

“It could be more.” Vex says quietly.

How long had his people been laid here, unable to rest? Spirits bound to their bodies cut down with no respect, left to preserve perfectly in the frost. There will be no one here left alive to mourn these people when he and his company make their leave. The thought of it makes the empty caverns of the Ice Emperors mind echo with sorrow.

“My Emperor… you cannot allow this to happen again.” Vex speaks so softly it’s only the northern wind's strength that carries the words to him. “They are animals.”

“They speak and they understand.” The Emperor reminds him stiffly.

“Then they are monsters. Look at the carnage they have wrought!” He sweeps his arm out at the scene before him, old blood and snow mixing in the afternoon light into an ugly ruddy brown, “You have been lenient with the Yeti. perhaps too lenient.”

“Watch your tongue.” The emperor says sharply.

They once again lapse into silence.

“...Your efforts to find peace have been admirable, my Emperor.” Vex continues slowly, “but you must open your eyes. These people are dead, and it was the Yeti who came down for the slaughter.”

The wind blows harshly around them, but neither of them feel the chill of it, “What evidence do we have?” He asks finally.

They turn a corner and come upon the blizzard Samurai preparing a body for transport.

“You have seen the injuries of the dead, my emperor.” Vex says soberly, “You know as well as I who was behind this.”

Teeth Marks. Uneven, choppy bites torn into skin and bone, rending thick fur-lined leather apart like paper. It doesn’t make sense. Why would the Yeti come here, so far from their homes up in the northern mountains? The longer he looks at the body in front of him, the more a creeping sense of doubt crawls up his spine. The bitemarks looked… too perfect. No pull of skin from blunted teeth. Like a clean cut. Done post mortem, maybe. The yeti did not hunt formlings for food, so why..?

The Emperor resumes his walk as he thinks, trailing around the village slowly while Vex follows.

“Were any resources salvageable?” The Emperor pivots the conversation as they walk past the stalls of what might have once been a small market. “Their sister village has been weakened by illness. We should not allow anything to go to waste- it is not the way of the formlings to discard what could be used.”

They quietly discuss these things as they make their rounds. There are things that could be offered to the neighboring tribes. Blankets, furs, and spices. Fishing and hunting equipment. Medicines. There are more things that cannot.

“And what of the livestock?” Is the final question the Emperor has, spurred only by the way they had come upon chicken coop tucked away behind one of the few homes that still stood.

“We have found no signs of animals. I imagine that is, perhaps, spoils of the conquest that the yeti took with them.”

The Emperor hums quietly, staring at the coop with blank eyes.

“You have sent for a reverend.” It's not so much a question as it is a flat statement.

Vex answers it anyway, “Yes. I had a scout leave the moment we got the initial report. He should be arriving soon- from the tribes west of here.”

“Good. We will stay for the funeral rites and then we will take our leave.” the Emperor sweeps his long coat as he turns away from the home, grief and suspicion clouding his mind. He takes only two long strides before he freezes in place.

There’s a sound coming from behind him. Soft, rough, tired.

“My emperor?” Vex prods, concerned.

So, so quiet. Just barely there.

A small, feeble little cry.

He turns around and rushes to the chicken coop, the snow clearing for him instantly as he drops to his knees by the weather worn old thing. It’s a tiny pen, made for maybe two birds- it doesn’t even open fully. The little entrance for the chickens is the only way inside. He bends low to look in. His eyes could see things that very few could in a space as dark at the pit before him. Old straw, feathers, remnants of chicken feed- and there, tucked away deep and covered in a handful of straw is-

He’s reaching inside before he can finish the thought, hand gently grasping soft furs as he slowly pulls the bundle out of its little sanctuary.

“Doctor!” He shouts loud and sharp and jarring in the still air the moment he catches the first glimpse of the baby's face. He doesn’t need to call him again with the way his call echoes the empty landscape.

He tucks the precious thing into the crook of his right arm and uses his left to unbutton his coat, swinging the thick fur off his shoulders and onto the cold ground to offer some barrier between the infant and that creeping chill. It’s not wrapped for this cold- the furs bundled around the child meant for inside, near the warmth of the hearth. It was too cold. Had been too cold for far, far too long.

A man comes stumbling through the snow, glasses askew, “Yes, My Emperor!?” He says frantically before he catches sight of the patient that the Emperor is laying down. He gasps and rushes forward, setting down his heavy bag and immediately getting to work on the baby.

He is the only other human to accompany them out of the palace- artificial blizzard samurai make up the rest of their party. But there are things those snowmen cannot do. He had come along just in case there was a chance of survivors, but had spent the entire morning sitting in the sled he’d ridden in with nothing to do. Not until now.

His hands fly over the child as he checks it over, pulling at the swadling to peek at the blue-tinge of her extremities. He listens to her heart for a long time, and the tension in his shoulders slowly drops. He is not so quick now as he re-wraps the child gently.

“My Emperor…” He says sorrowfully.

“It has passed?” He asks roughly.

“No,” He begins, “Bu-”

“Then do something.” his voice thunders out of him, harsh and demanding.

The doctor flinches but his hands stay at his sides, “I do not believe there is anything that can be done.” He says meekly, “It has succumbed to the cold. It won’t be long now.”

“Why was she in the chicken coop?” Vex questions behind him.

The Ice emperor draws his fingers gently down the baby's cheek. It doesn’t stir at the contact. It doesn’t even shiver at the next gust of wind. He remembered, vaguely, that there had been a woman slaughtered in this home with a spear in her hand. “It’s mother hid it away.” He concludes, “To protect it from the Yeti.”

“And it worked.” The doctor says but there is no joy there, “We were just too late.”

The lone survivor is to die right in front of him.

“Perhaps it is mercy to end its suffering.” Vex says blithely, his voice closer as he leans over the emperor to look at the kid.

“No.” He mutters, “It cannot be so.”

He unstraps the mask from his head and casts his helmet aside, the thunk of it hitting the snow sounding jarring in the stillness between the three men. He had done this before- once with vex, several times with the usurpers that stole his throne. Never before on something so fragile, so small. The staff in his right hand glows as he pours focus into his mind- he cannot be too hasty, too brash. This is not something to rush. But he has to go quickly anyhow. If the baby passes before he can- there is no second chance.

He feels the familiar spit of sparks along his neck before his hair bursts into brilliant blue flames.

The doctor gasps and scrambles back, his spine hitting the chicken coop with a painful sounding thud.

He reaches his hand towards the child and allows that blue fire to trickle down the side of his throat and catch a line up his sleeve. He cradles the baby’s cheek for a moment before he moves his index finger up, pressing it right between its wispy little eyebrows. Fire drips its way over his arm and finally cascades like a waterfall over the infant. The whole bundle goes up in flames.

The doctor reaches up to grasp the holy symbol strung around his neck, whispering a prayer.

He will protect it. It is his duty as Emperor. He failed this village- he will not fail at this.

Finally he stops. The fire connecting the two of them flickers lower and then out completely.

He takes his hand away. There’s a brilliant blue star shape stained into her skin. It worked. It had to have worked.

Another heartbeat passes before the baby opens its mouth and, with a mighty inhale, wails. It screams and cries and wails in discomfort and fear until the Ice Emperor gathers it up in his arms and holds it close, the familiar comfort of being held soothing the baby. It cries itself to sleep- but it is alive.

He stands on legs that don’t shake, “I must return to the palace.” He wordlessly calls a blizzard samurai over, “Send for a midwife in the village across the river. Send her to me, urgently.”

“My emperor?” Vex says, bewildered.

“Stay here and oversee the burial.” He says plainly.

“I- but- My emperor, you…” his face seems to be morphing into a lot of different expressions as he tries to formulate a rebuttal.

“And when you return to the palace,” The Emperor continues firmly, “Prepare our samurai. We will be going to the northern mountaintops within the week.”

Vex’s shocked expression turns into a wide, hungry smile. “A wise choice, My Emperor.”

“You were right.” The Ice Emperor gazes down at the baby in his arms, at the scar he’d given it saving its life, “I cannot allow this to happen again.”

Ummm new oc. Kotori 🩵

[peachglazewrites]

𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚜 ⸙ 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙵𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕 𝙹𝚊𝚖

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: ellie/f!reader 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: tlou typical violence, blood & gore, PTSD, poor coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: angst, first meetings, ellie has PTSD, strangers to friends to lovers, SLOW burn 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘: post tlou part II, no use of y/n or physical descriptions, dual POV, reader has (had) an older brother 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 8840k

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: After the events of TLOU Part II, Ellie packs up her life in Austin, Texas to head to Boston with a single goal- finally giving Tess the burial she deserves.

You cross her path (she crosses yours, rescuing you) along the way, and you find that you're headed the same direction.

Ths rest is history.

a/n: hello!!! welcome to the fic! this was a request by a lovely anon, and what was meant to be a one shot has quickly devolved into a nine part story. please mind the tags with this one, as we hop into some pretty rough themes/mindsets!  I'm so excited to begin posting this, and I hope that you all enjoy ♡

link to the original request : ̗̀➛ masterpost

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ save/read this on ao3 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Chapter One

APRIL

Ellie doesn’t realise it’s been a year until she’s sitting down on the porch of her little house in Austin, rifle spread out in front of her, disassembled.

The call of a bird in the trees above her, so close to a baby’s cry, makes her heart race as she looks into the yard, searching for JJ; searching for the danger.

But he’s not there. He’s in Jackson, with Dina.

It doesn’t happen often anymore, relapsing back and forgetting where she is, but sometimes when she’s calm and her brain is blessedly empty, sick and cruel memories will sink their feral teeth back into her—dragging her down and making her spiral all over again.

The barrel of the rifle tumbles from her trembling hand, the one two digits down that she swears she can still feel. It clatters to the floor, rolling and threatening to bounce down the steps.

“Fuck—” Her hands come up, gripping and pulling on the hair at the back of her head as she curls up on the porch, knees pressed to her chest, eyes wide and staring down at the swirls and knots of the wood beneath her.

A year. A whole year since the screen door of the farmhouse creaked and snapped closed behind her.

April. Spring. Welcoming the new lambs in, spending the days helping Dina with the garden, nights on the porch just like this, music drifting through the open window as she plays with JJ, shirt covered in drool as he teethes. Doing everything she can to forget—

To forget this time two years ago, when she was in Seattle. Forget Jesse, Abby, Joel.

And as she sits there, thinking and mourning and spiralling with her head in her hands, she realises that the hospital all those years ago was April too, wasn’t it?

April.

Why is it always fucking April? Ellie would give anything in the entire world to never live through another April ever again.

And she’s thought about it—what she would do. What she’d be willing to give up. It’s not like she has much left, like she has anyone waiting for her in this house so far away from where she dared call home. Anyone missing her or thinking about her while she’s gone--

But she can’t. Because too many people have died for her to be where she is now; and the guilt of that lies the heaviest, heavier than the one of existing in the first place.

So instead, she uses the heels of her palms to scrub roughly at her face, rubbing the tracks of silent tears off her scarred and freckled skin, telling herself to “get it together, Ellie.”

Ellie let’s herself have thirty more seconds. Half a minute to feel and mourn and crave what she’s lost before she straightens her back, picks up the rifle barrel and gets back to work.

Pushing the thoughts from her mind how she’s learned to.

⸙

They stick around this time, thoughts thick and dark and oozing along the back of her mind. Just like they used to before she figured out how to stop caring. To repress and forget, march forwards and never look back.

Like father like daughter, she supposes.

She blames it on the time of year, this cursed month that has haunted her for seven years, the majority of her teenage life and those of her twenties. It’s clinging to her back, and she just can’t stop thinking.

She thinks about people who she’s pushed so far down, it hurts to rip them back up again. People like her mom.

Her mom who she didn’t even know yet haunts her every day—in the way she looks through the window into the backyard of the house she’s claimed as her own, reflection ghosting back at her and making her think ‘Do I look like you? The way JJ looks like Jesse?’

Ellie sighs, hands gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as she forces herself to look away, into the worn and weathered dining room beyond.

She’s been here since December, a tiny house in some part of Austin, Texas; a ghost town that’s long been abandoned. She came here after everything, after Santa Barbara, having no other direction in her head than Texas.

It’s where Joel used to live-- before. She knew that from the times he spoke about it, the promises of showing her one day that he never kept.

She used to feel stupid coming here, like she didn’t have any reason to. She wasn’t part of his life back then, didn’t know him when he was Joel Miller, father and contractor.

But she knew him when he was Joel, the man who walked a country for her. Someone she could have called dad if she wanted to but never found the courage until after he died in front of her-- and this, Texas, is the closest she’ll be to him ever again.

She walked for five months, including a temporary stop in Salt Lake City. She didn’t know exactly where Joel lived, any details he might have divulged forgotten with time or thrown away when she barely held interest for him, so she finds somewhere quiet and stays.

Ellie’s barely done anything with it. She boarded up the worst of the damage and did her best to insulate during winter, but a majority of the house she’s left closed off and unused. She’s been camping out in the living room, having dragged furniture and mattresses into the space to make it her own.

She stopped when she found the bones under one of the beds, curled up and forgotten.

Ellie lets her eyes drift back to the window, forcing past her reflection and to the lawn of the backyard, the wild reclaiming it years ago. She doesn’t tend to it, not really, though she keeps that back corner somewhat clear. Out of respect, or a semblance of it.

Three crudely made crosses-- something she made when she couldn’t sleep one night during winter-- stick out of the ground there. Only one of them has a mound in front of it, the blank cross for the bones she found.

The other two are clustered together, rough carvings of names marking the wood.

Riley and Anna.

She would have made more, a memorial of all the people she’s forsaken, but it didn’t feel right to drag them here when they already have resting places of their own.

Jesse and Joel have beautiful graves out in Jackson, headstones she’ll probably never get to sit at ever again.

Sam and Henry are out in Pittsburgh, under a maple tree where her and Joel buried them all those years ago.

Marlene has a grave in Salt Lake City. Ellie saw it when she went back to the hospital, finding a whole bunch of them out in a courtyard she’d never seen before. (She spent a long time there, sitting next to Marlene. Afterwards she searched, not stopping until she found the grave for ‘Gerald ‘Jerry’ Anderson— Devoted father and our best hope’, and she spent a long time there too.)

And Tess…

Tess is still in Boston, in that building where they left her.

It makes her skin crawl thinking about it, and god does she think about it. Tess’s bones sprawled across the tiles where she lay after she was riddled with bullets.

Was she even still there? Did they get rid of her, take her and those Fireflies that were dead when they arrived out the back and burn them in a terrible heap? Did FEDRA care enough to bother?

Ellie’s regretted so many things in her life, has had so many people die because of her and what she used to represent—but at least they’ve been put to rest, even though they’re still so impossibly loud in her mind.

And she knows she can’t get to Riley, trapped in that fucking mall in the arcade where Ellie, sobbing and bleeding from the arm, dragged her best friend she killed twice— knowing she would have liked it a whole lot better in here than in that stupid Halloween store. She doesn’t know what happened to her mom or where she could possibly be, but Ellie knows enough to realise there’s nothing she can do about it.

It's why she made the crosses, giving them a place to rest knowing it’s impossible to do anything more.

But Tess—

Ellie hangs her head, fingernails splintering as she grips the counter tighter, eyes closed as she thinks of that domed building—Tess’s mausoleum.

She needs to go to Boston.

⸙

It doesn’t take Ellie long to pack her life up into the backpack she’s had since she was thirteen. She truly doesn’t have much, mostly just her clothes and weapons. She indulges herself and keeps a few items that aren’t tied to her survival; things she hasn’t been able to let go that sit in the bottom of her bag. Joel’s watch, Dina’s bracelet, a stack of trading cards, and her journal. They take up hardly any space, so she doesn’t feel bad about the room that could have been used for more important things, like food and ammunition.

She puts the house back the way she found it-- out of respect or something, she’s not too sure. The only thing she leaves behind are the locks of hair she cuts from her head, the ends choppy but now barely brushing the collar of Joel’s flannel.

It makes her a little emotional, leaving this place. A small tug in her heart, something pulling and pleading for her to just stay. This is the most she has, a place she can call her own. Something stable.

God, does she want stable, but she also needs to do this. This is one of the only things she has left that she can fix. The others feel far beyond her.

Ellie planned her route the night before, laying out a map on the wooden floor of the living room, pencil in hand and journal in her lap. She knew she wasn’t close to Boston, but being nearly two thousand miles away shocked her a little bit. That was the optimistic number too, assuming that roads would be clear, and she didn’t run into any detours. Knowing Ellie’s luck, she’d be lucky if she got there before winter, a good eight months away.

She writes down her plan in her journal, taking over one of the empty back pages. It’d be much more convenient to take her notes on the map itself, but she refuses to make that mistake twice.

Ellie hitches her backpack onto her back, freshly cleaned rifle strapped and sitting against her left shoulder, bow slung over the same one. Joel’s revolver, also recently cleaned, sits snug in a holster clinging to her thigh, switchblade in her back pocket.

She hasn’t fully kitted up like this in weeks, not needing to after finding that person’s bunker the next town over. She almost felt bad taking as much as she did, stuffing her bag and an old duffel with as many tins and cans as she could take. She doubted anyone had been there in years—but if they had?

Well, it’s a dog-eat-dog world, out here.

Ellie takes a breath, holds it until her lungs burn and her eyes water and savours the that moment of light-headedness then let’s go, stepping off the porch and letting the door shut behind her as she leaves; an all too familiar feeling.

She heads north, cutting up across the country.

First stop, Dallas.

⸙

It takes just over a week on the road before something inevitably goes wrong.

Ellie had been doing fine. She always does. She’s not new to this kind of travel-- hunting and scavenging, camping out under the stars or cramped into corners with her rifle in her hands. As much as she misses Jackson, the farm, and sometimes even her dorm in that shitty FEDRA school, there’s something about being out here that feels right to her.

It reminds her of that year with Joel. When she was fourteen and trusting this man who wanted nothing to do with her with her life, and then somewhere along the way he had taken her in as his own. It reminded her of learning how to shoot, of a thousand games of I Spy, serious nods as she explains the volume of Savage Starlight she just read and what she thinks happens in the gaps of the volumes she doesn’t own.

She realises that no amount of safety and security, high walls and locked doors, would ever make her feel as welcomed or soothed as these open roads.

It makes her sick to think about it.

Ellie was only a couple of days out of Dallas, standing in the last city she’d hit before then. The roads ahead of her were littered with traffic, hundreds of cars left abandoned to rust for the rest of eternity. Rubble from collapsed buildings block alleys and side streets, creating craters in the pavement below where they’ve fallen. Bodies, gaunt and skeletal, decorate the footpaths beneath her feet, tattered clothes bleached by the sun and fluttering in the wind.

The sun above her was low, sliding behind towering buildings and painting the sky in reds, pinks, and purples. Ellie would have to get inside before it gets too dark to see, her flashlight only making her a sitting duck in the middle of this unfamiliar road.

She can be reckless, but she’s not stupid.

So, she sticks to buildings, climbing through open windows and sneaking through propped open doors. There’s infected about, because when is there not, but they’re just stragglers—not worth the time or risk. Ellie is slippery, sneaky, her weathered converse that are worse for her feet than boots but infinitely quieter making no noise as she crawls.

The office building is where it all goes to shit.

To be fair, she didn’t realise what kind of building it was when she snuck in, stepping through the door to the fire escape and creeping up the stairwell. She only wanted to reach the top floor, make her way to the roof so she can get a better view of the city from above, but the top stairwell was blocked with desks, cabinets, and even part of the ceiling before she could get there.

Ellie retreats inside, through the door closest to her, pausing when she sees the rows of office cubicles moulding away in front of her.

“Oh, come on,” she curses, turning on her heels, trying to backtrack and leave the way she came, but the door slams shut before she can slip through, vibrations rattling the doorframe.

A low, metallic groaning muffles through the wood, Ellie cautiously stepping back. The groaning gets louder, reaching its peak before making a series of loud thuds, ending in one final crash against the door.

Ellie blinks, staring at the fire escape, her way out.

“No fucking way, dude…”

She tries the handle, and while it turns, it barely budges as she pushes on it. She tries over and over, shouldering the wood to try and get the thing open even just a little bit, enough for her slip through.

No luck.

“Shit,” she groans, pitching her head forward to hit against the wood a few times.

Ellie hates offices. Too many floors, too many places for things to hide. It’s practically a death sentence walking into one. She’s never had a good experience in one of these buildings, and she has a sneaking suspicion that her luck isn’t about to change.

Ellie pushes herself from the door, leaning down to unclip her revolver from the holster on her thigh. “Okay,” she breathes, turning around and assessing the room. “You’re good. Just gotta find a way out of here…”

Adjusting her grip on the gun, she begins a careful sweep of the room, watching every step she takes as she walks across the office floor with a precision that has been drilled into her.

There’s row after row of cubicles in the centre floor, private offices and meeting rooms shooting off to the side. She doesn’t bother with any of these, wanting to just get the fuck out of here before it gets too dark.

Thankfully, on the other side of the room is a stairwell, one for public use that is blessedly free from doors that will slam shut behind her and trap her inside.

Ellie sighs with relief, pressing onwards with her revolver held out in front of her, sticking close to the wall as she approaches the stairwell. She does a quick sweep before she enters, checking the floor above and below for anything before continuing.

She takes the steps one at a time, watching her feet. She barely makes it down the first flight when she hears it.

It’s faint, muffled, but echoes up through the empty stairwell. A thump, thumpthump, thump—like something hitting a wall, maybe a door. Ellie curses, a quiet “Fuck,” under her breath as she pauses to listen.

The sooner she can get out of here, the better.

The further down Ellie gets, the louder the noise becomes. The thumping is soon joined by low croaking, the familiar screeches and clicks of a clicker on high alert.

She holds her breath as she gets closer, clinging close to the wall, hoping to god that she can just keep going down these steps and—

“You’re kidding me,” she groans under her breath.

The stairway ahead of her, just as she rounds the corner, is blocked. Desks, chairs, cabinets, half the goddamn office. It’d almost be impressive if it wasn’t ruining her life right now.

The only way forwards is through the doorway to Ellie’s right which leads into another office, but it’s in here that the noises are the loudest; the banging, the clicking, the croaking cry of something else.

Ellie retreats until her back is pressed into the corner, crouching over her backpack to breathe and take stock of what she has. She’s not doing too bad on ammunition, both guns fully loaded for the time being. She’s also got a handful of arrows left—six to be exact—thanks to a resupply a few towns over.

From the noises alone she knows there’s two, maybe three infected in there. Most likely all clickers.

She can do this, if she’s careful.

Swinging her pack over her shoulders, she sticks low to the ground, creeping back to the doorway. Her fingertips graze the ground as she leans forward, peeking into the room.

The first thing she notices is how empty it is, the first row or so of cubicles missing their desks and chairs. Deep ridges rip the carpet, a series of drag marks marking the path of each piece of furniture as it was pushed down the stairs.

This was done recently, Ellie notes, the carpet where the desks once stood pristine and free of thirty years of dirt and grime.

The next thing she notices is the body.

It’s mildly fresh, a couple of days old at most, sprawled out on the carpet, a deep brown puddle of festering blood soaking beneath him. It’s a man, mouth agape and eyes open, foggy irises staring right at Ellie.

She stops breathing, throat closing as she stares back at him, his face swollen and horrifically bloodied, the side of his skull caved in, his greying hair plastered to his face, thick with blood and brain and—

She splutters, gulping in air as she retreats, pressing her back to the wall once more. Her eyes are wet yet impossibly dry, so she blinks and scrubs hard with her palm heels until she can’t see anymore, black spots blurring her vision.

“It’s not him. It’s not him,” she murmurs, hands shaking as she pulls them away from her face.

Ellie swallows, waiting for it to feel like she’s not going to throw up before she crawls back to the entryway, forcing herself to peer back inside.

The man on the carpet is young, older than her but not by much. The bullet hole in his cheek tears the skin open, a gnarly flap of it hanging down his face. The skin is mottled with blues and green, spidery veins that creep up from his neck and eyes, broken capillaries typical with the freshly turned.

He was barely infected before he was shot.

Question is, who the fuck shot him?

Ellie’s eyes flick up, desperately ignoring the way her breaths are still uneven, hitching softly in her throat. A remnant of her moment of weakness.

Across the room and right up the back, not one, but two clickers throw themselves at a door, some sort of supply closet. They’re agitated by something on the other side, screeching and snapping at the wood. Whatever it is has their full attention; they’re not stopping any time soon.

Opposite this door, settled on the other wall is the fire escape, a single desk piled high with chairs and wastebaskets and who knows what else barricading it to all hell.

What is going on?

Ellie holsters her revolver, reaching a trembling hand up to unhook the bow from her shoulder. She fumbles with it in her left hand, adjusting her grip a few times as she raises to stand to her full height, stepping slowly into the doorway.

She had to completely relearn how to handle the bow after she amputated her fingers. She had to relearn a lot, actually, more than she was expecting. She’s forever grateful that it was her left hand, and that it wasn’t any of the more important fingers like her index or thumb—but it impacted her life in ways she never even thought about.

She’s still figuring out the guitar.

Ellie takes a step closer, pulling an arrow from her pack and notching it on the bowstring. She pulls it back with one fluid movement, holding her hand up to her cheek as she aims, focusing on the back of one of the agitated clickers.

She knew that this was risky, that this would most likely alert the other, and that she’d need to act fast. Drop the bow, take out her revolver, and run. But there’s the smallest chance that whatever is in that closet is distracting enough that it won’t care, and she can take both down no problem.

She draws in a breath, letting it all out slow through barely parted lips as her fingers twitch around the notch of the arrow.

Multiple things happen at once.

Ellie let’s go, the arrow sailing smoothly through the air and burying in the back of the clicker’s head with a sickening crunch of fungus and cartilage. A strangled croak leaves the creatures throat as it falls, crumbling to its knees and slumping against the door. The arrow sticks right out the back of its skull, a perfect shot. She’ll be able to grab that, later.

The clicker next to it pauses, just for a fraction of a second before whatever the hell is on the other side of that door brings it attention back, continuing to gnash and slam against the wood.

At the same time, a gnarled croak and rapid footsteps from behind make Ellie spin on her heels, turning around just in time to hold her arms up to block the strike of a stalker that lunges right for her.

She falls back, dropping her bow and taking the stalker with her as she lands on her back, head knocking to the side as she grapples. The dead guy is next to her, and his cloudy eyes meet hers for just a moment before she has to pull herself away, bracing against the creature atop of her. It’s sat up enough to swipe at her, swinging it’s arms down to claw at her raised arms.

“Fucking—Get off me!”

Ellie grunts with effort, planting her feet on the ground and using the leverage from her pack to push, rolling both the stalker and her over. It’s still crying out, teeth gnashing as she straddles it, one hand pressing down on its concave chest as she fumbles around her thigh for her revolver. She has to keep ducking and shifting away from it’s gnarled hands, jagged nails split and yellow swiping up at her face and arms.

A screech, sharp and piercing from the other side of the room raises the hairs on the back of Ellie’s neck, eyes widening as she whips her head up. Her scuffle has alerted the clicker by the closet, and she can do nothing but watch as it twitches and lurches to face her.

“Oh fuck—”

Ellie finally gets a grip on her revolver, cocking the hammer and pressing the barrel right between the stalker’s eyes, firing. The sound is deafening up close, a high-pitched whine muffling her hearing. The creature under her shudders with a dying croak, and Ellie can’t get away from it quicker, pushing herself up until she falls back on her ass. Legs scramble in front of her, pushing and crawling until she backs up into the wall behind her.

The clicker is rapidly approaching, arms winding madly and head twitching from side to side.

The wooden handle of the revolver creaks under Ellie’s grip, hand clenched tight as she cocks the hammer and aims, shooting up at it. It misses the head, hitting it right in the middle of the throat in a spray of black and brown. The creature gasps, faltering just enough for Ellie to push herself up off the floor and run, sprinting to the other side of the room to give her space to breathe and think.

She can do this. She’s done this for years. She just needs to focus.

Focus, Ellie. Focus.

She unlatches the cylinder, taking note of how many shots she has left. Four. She could pull out the rifle if she needs, but the room is far too small and the clicker is far too close for it to be safe.

Better make each of these shots count, then.

The creature is persistent, having gotten over the shock of the bullet through its throat. It charges towards Ellie as she fires once more, breaths heaving her chest, a spray of chitinous fungus exploding from the side of its head.

She has no time to celebrate, pulling back the hammer once more as she stumbles back, putting a desk between her and the clicker. She aims, doesn’t hesitant for a second as she fires, hitter the fucker square between what used to be its eyes.

It screams, a chittering, croaking wail, and Ellie winces as she watches it spin, stumbling and falling to the ground in a heap.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes out, chest rising and falling with her panting breaths. “That’s right.”

She collapses against the desk, pressing her hands to the surface, hanging her head down so her chin meets her chest. Her whole body hurts— the back of her head aches from where she knocked it, blood flows down her arms from the stalker scratches.

Too close.

A noise, a soft thump from nearby has Ellie tensing, grip tightening on the revolver as she whips her head up, scanning the room.

Nothing. Well, nothing alive at least. She’s the only breathing thing left in here, and with the stairs and fire escape blocked she doesn’t know where else—

She hears it again, a soft thump followed by a long, low sound, muffled and interrupting her thoughts. It sounds like it’s coming from nearby, through the wall.

Like the closet.

Shit, Ellie thinks, eyes dragging towards the door, dead clicker still slumped against the wood. Was this what was setting those clickers off?

She pushes herself off the desk, wrapping her other palm around the revolver as she drifts to the wall closest to her, covering her back. She only has two bullets left in the cylinder, so she takes the couple of seconds of approach to reload.

The closer she gets, the clearer the sound starts to become. It’s a low cry… human. Like a sob.

With a foot to the back, Ellie grabs the arrow from the back of the dead clickers head, the one keeled over against the door, and pulls. It dislodges with a sickening crunch and sucking noise, and she uses the momentum of her foot to shove the body out of the way of the door. It slumps, thudding to the ground and rolling over on itself.

The rhythmic heaving of choked sobs drifts through the wood, making Ellie’s gut twist uncomfortably.

She could just go. She’s dealt with the issue, done whoever was on the other side of this door a major solid. She doesn’t need to involve herself more, throw herself into danger. Infected are unpredictable and fast, bodies strong and jaws stronger.

Humans can plan, deceit and lie. Hold weapons. Shoot.

She cocks her revolver.

“Hey,” Ellie calls out. Shit, she’s rusty, voice crackling around the edges from disuse. She hasn’t spoken properly in weeks, speaking only in murmurs or yells and nowhere in between. She swallows, wetting her throat. “You can come out, now.”

The sobs on the other side cut off with a sharp gasp, replaces with the shuddering pants of someone in a panic. A hiccup.

“I-I don’t…”

The sobs begin again, clawing their way out of the person’s raw throat.

Ellie sighs, chewing the inside of her cheek as she glances at the clicker on the ground, black blood and remnant brain matter leaking from the hole in its head.

“They’re dead. I took care of it.”

Nothing. Just more crying.

She seriously should just leave. The fire escape is right there; all she needs to do is move the desk out of the way, then she’ll be free.

Her gaze flicks to the side, to her freedom, then back down to the handle of the door.

“Are you trapped in there? Is this thing locked?” A hesitant hand rests on the handle but doesn’t turn it.

Those shuddering breaths, the wracking sobs from within continue. Why is she still even here? This isn’t any of her business.

The noises stop.

Ellie pauses, a frown twitching the edge of her lips, scar tugging uncomfortably at the skin. Unease curdles in her twisting gut; she presses her ear against the wood.

Sharp inhales, a shuffling of feet against carpet, ragged wheezing as they try desperately to suck in air.

Fuck.

Ellie steps back, fingers of the clicker on the floor crunching under the heel of her converse. Her lip is pulled between her teeth, chewing on the already torn skin as she looks between the closet and her escape.

“Shit, okay.” Dragging a hand through her hair, pushing the greasy strands out from her face as she thinks. “Uh, I’m coming in,” she calls to the person inside, pressing down on the handle.

It’s unlocked. She can feel the way her heart thunders behind her ribs, the way it vibrates through her veins and makes her hand tremble. As much as she wants to believe it’s from the rush of the kill, the adrenaline, she can’t ignore the chill of fear that settles like a block of ice in the bottom of her stomach.

Ellie pushes the door open, revolver at the ready.

A shot rings out in the small space and Ellie ducks, covering her head with her bloodied arms. It goes wide, missing her by at least a foot as plaster from the ceiling rains down on her. She swears, pushing her back against the wall next to the doorway, quickly swiping debris from her eyes.

Ellie’s trembling hand clasps around the other over the handle of her revolver, arms extended and pointing at the floor. She can feel her breathing getting sharper, shallower, and forces herself to get it together, breathing in deep through her nose to be rid of her light-headedness.

The fire escape taunts her, lopsided barricade making it impossible for her to retreat. She should have just left. Why didn’t she just fucking leave?

She waits for just a few more seconds, waiting for whoever was inside to act first. Nothing. Nothing except for those choked, wheezing gasps that she’s more familiar with than she’d ever like to be.

Revolver out in front of her, Ellie turns round the doorway. Her finger ghosts the trigger, ready to fire at whatever she finds inside.

Fire at you.

“I-I’m sorry—” you wheeze, chest heaving and shuddering as Ellie blocks the light flooding into the closet, silhouetting her from behind. A pistol, black and sleek, trembles in your hand that lays fallen against the floor by your thigh. The other is clawing at your throat, where you’ve started to turn red from the strain of not breathing.

Ellie sweeps the closet from top to bottom, eyes flicking over shelves of copy paper and boxes of pencil before focusing back on you, trembling on the ground.

“Put the gun down,” she barks, her own unwavering of its aim at your head.

You listen, hand letting go of the pistol to come up to your shirt, gun clattering to the floor as you tug and pull at the fabric that feels too tight around your throat.

“I can’t—I had to, I-I’m so fucking sorry—”

Ellie knows this. She’s lived this. She can practically feel it as she watches you, clinging and clawing and begging. Maybe that’s why she does what she does next-- a weak moment of sympathy she’ll tell herself later.

She lowers her revolver and steps into the room.

“Breathe. You need to breathe.”

Okay, Captain Obvious. As if you didn’t already know that.

“Can’t—” you gasp, eyes red with the strain, glassy and looking so far into the distance, further than the walls of this room would allow.

“You have to.” She changes her grip on the gun, holding her left hand out, what’s left of her pinkie and ring finger twitching. “Just take a deep breath, as deep as you can, and hold it.”

She waits for you to do as she says, eyes focused on the hitching of your chest as you try so desperately. Your eyes flutter closed, fists clenched tight as you draw in an admittedly weak breath, but it’s the deepest one you’ve had in a while.

“Good. Slowly breathe out-- nice and easy.” Ellie steps closer, revolver pointed to the ground, hand out like she’s approaching a wounded animal.

Nodding, you hiss out the air in your lungs in one, long, stuttering breath. Your whole body is wound tight, and tears still stream down your dirty cheeks, but your sobs quiet as you breathe.

Ellie approaches as close as she dares, sticking a foot out to kick the pistol away from you, the gun clattering as it skids across the closet floor. With it out of the way, she slowly lowers to a crouch, forearms resting on her knees as she looks at you.

Frankly, you look like shit. Everyone these days does, but you especially so. Your clothes are caked in brown blood and dirt, the sleeve of your shirt ripped and dangling onto your shoulder by a thread.

Your cheeks have that sunken look to them, the one people get when they haven’t eaten in days, and your quivering lips are chapped and cracking, blood oozing from where it splits open.

A spray of blood has dried on your face, your silent tears running muddy tracks through the gore.

Ellie’s eyes linger on the deep red mark at your temple. A perfect circle, likely to bruise. She flicks a quick glance to the discarded gun, then back to you.

“What’s your name?” She asks when she thinks you can handle it, breaths evening out.

You don’t look up at her, haven’t since she’s walked in, focused too hard on something else, somewhere else. Your name tumbles from your lips, and Ellie nods.

“Ellie,” she offers, barely willing to give it up.

Hesitantly, she holsters the gun back on her thigh, fingers twitching. She’s careful not to take her eyes off you, watching those hands that have loosened around your shirt and throat.

Ellie carefully shoulders off her bag, unzipping and reaching for her canteen. Undoing the cap, she holds it out to you.

“Drink.”

You swallow, mouth thick with dehydration, looking up for the first time. Your eyes flick to the canteen, then drag slowly up to Ellie. The shadows of your face are deep, and there’s a broken blood vessel in the corner of your right eye.

She gestures out again, water sloshing in the container.

You look back down, trembling hands hesitantly reaching out and taking it, pressing the plastic to your bloodied lips. The moment a drop of water touches your tongue you start guzzling the whole thing, drinking quick.

“Hey—whoa!” Ellie reaches for you, grabbing your arm to pull it back. You flinch and stare at her with frightened eyes, gasping as you take a fresh breath, a trickle of water running down the corner of your mouth.

Ellie removes her hand.

“You’ll throw up if you’re not careful.”

You blink, looking back down at the canteen, pulling it up for another sip, this time a lot more careful.

You both sit there as you get your fill, drinking all her water. Ellie doesn’t mind. She’ll fill it again once she leaves.

“Your arms are bleeding.”

It startles her a bit, your voice clearer, yet still croaked through the strain, louder than she’s heard it yet.

She shrugs, dismissing you. “I’ll deal with it later.”

She watches as you polish off the canteen, tilting you head back as you wait for the last drops to coat your tongue.

“Were you the one who barricaded the stairs?” Ellie reaches for the canteen when you offer it, gripping onto the container until the last second as if you’ll never have another opportunity to drink after this. She buries it back in her pack.

“My brother.” You tone is flat—tired. The exhaustion has crept up on you, sapping all of your emotions away.

Ellie thinks to the man on the floor.

“Is he…” she trails off, not knowing how to ask, eyes falling to the doorway.

“Dead.”

Ellie nods. “Infected?”

Your head drops, gaze focused on the dirty nails of your hands cradled in your lap. “We were getting chased. He barricaded us in so we could hide, but we were so focused we didn’t realise—” your voice cracks, coming out quieter when you continue. “I shot him. In the head. I didn’t want to, I promise, but he started shaking and this stuff was coming out of his mouth and his eyes were all weird and he just started running towards me and I couldn’t—”

“Hey.” Your eyes snap up to hers, your panicked rambles dying on your tongue. Ellie swallows, thick and unsure as you hold contact, looking into your eyes. Eyes she’s seen so many times in herself, caught in flashes as she passes her reflection.

She can’t bring herself to tell you that what happened isn’t your fault, because if she’s being honest, she doesn’t know. She has no idea who you are or how you came to be here, and at the end of the day you pulled that trigger and your brother is rotting into the carpet just a few feet away. That guilt will haunt you forever, no matter how much you try to come to terms with it. So, she doesn’t say that.

“You did what you had to.”

You look away, back down to your hands, blood marring the skin.

Sympathy twinges within her like a plucked guitar string, vibrating along her skin. She tries to shove it away, to not let herself feel too much for a stranger who was about to end it all in a supply closet.

But she can’t help it, and she finds herself unzipping the largest pocket of her pack, taking out a protein bar and a tin of beans and placing them on the floor next to her.

There. She’ll leave these here, and that’ll be it. Guilt cured.

She stands, hauling her pack over her shoulders once more. Your eyes follow the action, the movement of her hands, but you make no move to say or do anything.

Ellie steps back, looking to the doorway then back to you, alone in the middle of the floor.

“I’m gonna unlock the fire escape. You’ll be able to get out that way, but I’d wait until sunup.”

She waits for a response, a nod or a murmur, and when she doesn’t get one she steps out, leaving you behind in the closet.

Your brother did a pretty decent job with the barricade. Ellie really has to push for the desk to move, legs catching on the carpet, everything stacked on top rattling as she pushes and shoves. She doesn’t bother with moving it completely out of the way, forearms stinging too much for her to try, so she does just enough for her and her pack to wriggle through.

“Ellie.”

Her body freezes, caught between the door as she’s stepping through the gap. Hearing her name spoken by another person for the first time in weeks… She doesn’t like how it makes her feel. That trickle of warmth, the intimacy that comes with knowing a name. It’s enough to make her stop and listen and she wants nothing more than to leave.

She turns her head, looking back at you.

You stand just past the doorway of the closet, crumbs stuck to your bottom lip and down the front of your shirt from the protein bar, tin of beans clutched tight to your chest. You cradle it as if it were your child, something precious. Your eyes meet Ellie’s, guilty and apprehensive and so fucking tired.

You swallow, tongue wetting your lips.

“ I can’t… I don’t have a can opener.”

𖧧

You can barely taste the beans with the way you’re shovelling them in your mouth, already scooping up the next spoonful before you swallow the first. You should feel ashamed or self-conscious for the way you’re eating, no doubt making some kind of mess, but you’re much too hungry to care.

The woman in front of you— Ellie— says nothing about your lack of manners, tending to the fire between you, instead.

Ellie has hardly said a word to since leading you out from the office building you were trapped in, telling you to keep quiet and follow her lead before exiting back out onto the road. The setting sun was blinding after so long in the dark, and you had to take a second and make her wait for you to adjust before you could continue on.

She’s quick on her feet, battered converse barely making a noise as she leads you out across the city, ducking in and out of side streets and over fences in backyards. She’s difficult to keep up with, though there’s some part of you that makes you think that this was her trying to be slow, giving you a chance to match pace.

You should maybe care more about being led away by a stranger into the dark, but at this point you can’t really find it within you to care. Besides, if she wanted to kill you, she would have done it there and then back in the closet, revolver in hand and pointed at your skull.

You end up settling in a park, deep within a crop of trees. Ellie works silently and independently, leaving you to stand and watch along the sidelines as she builds a small fire. She’s quick, practiced, and you find yourself sitting against a tree with an open tin of beans warming your tingling hands before you can let the doubts of being out here with her get to you.

“When was the last time you ate?”

The spoon hangs out of your mouth when she asks, low voice making you pause. You suck the sauce off the utensil and lick your lips, swallowing your mouthful. It’s the first proper thing she’s said to you since the office.

You should feel embarrassed, but you don’t care.

“A few days ago.” You dig back in, scraping the side of the tin to make sure you’re not missing a single drop.

Ellie makes a noise, something noncommittal in the back of her throat. She sits back on her knees with a sigh, dusting off her hands, brushing dirt from the bandages she’d applied after she’d given you something to eat.

“Is that how long you were stuck there?”

The food sours on your tongue, thick and fermenting. Your hand begins to tremble as you watch the red drip from your spoon, soaking and seeping into the ground below you, the clumps that decorate the carpet as he falls and—

“Yeah.” You swallow hard, throat clicking. You drop the spoon back in the tin, placing it shakily on the ground beside you. “The… The gunshot it—” You can’t find it within you to finish the sentence, to say out loud how you had to leave your brother there, twitching on the floor as those things tumbled down the steps, forcing you to lock yourself inside that room in the pitch black. You tried to keep track of the day/night cycles through the crack under the door, but all it did was confuse and upset you.

Ellie nods, planting her feet on the ground, resting her forearms on her knees. Her rifle sits across her lap, ready.

“I’m uh…” she starts, not looking at you. Her throat clears, easing some of the tension from her tone. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

It’s nice; a kind gesture. And you’re sure that under different circumstances that you would appreciate it more, thank her and let the sentiment comfort you… but you’re finding it difficult to.

“Me too.”

It’s silent for a while after that, the two of you sitting by the fire. She offers you another canteen of water, boiling and cooling down river water in the night air. You take it gladly, sipping at it much slower this time around, allowing yourself to savour it.

You spend this time observing Ellie, watching her scan her surroundings.

She’s littered in freckles and scars, not an inch of her skin untouched. There’s a noticeable silver scar slicing the tail off her right eyebrow, a similar one splitting her upper lip. It tugs at the skin when she talks, pulling it taught whenever she widens her mouth.

Blue-grey ink bleeds from underneath her bandaged arm, the tips of ferns peeking out as they curl around the back of her hand. You’ve seen people with tattoos before, but never anyone with something so delicate.

Her green eyes are constantly scanning the area around you, flicking from tree to tree, keeping watch like a dutiful soldier. She sniffs as she raises a hand, pushing back strands of her auburn hair from where they hang in her face.

“Where are you headed?”

The question has her snapping her eyes to you, calculating. Her lips twitch, jaw tensing as she thinks. She looks back down to her rifle.

“As far as I can get.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She says nothing, shuffling her converse into the dirt.

You draw your legs up to your chest, mimicking her body language as your hand fiddles with the sticks and leaves of the dirt beneath you.

“We’re headed to Massachusetts.” You pause, frowning. “I mean—We were heading there. I don’t uh… I don’t know what I’m doing now.” Your throat feels tight, eyes burning.

Ellie says nothing, watching you play in the dirt, picking up a stick and dragging it through the soil.

“Tom, my brother, he was taking me home to Grafton. I’ve never been there, but it’s where he was born. Where our parent’s lived, before everything.”

You don’t know why you’re telling her all this. Telling a stranger your life story. Maybe it just feels good to talk, to have someone breathing and alive acknowledge your presence. Not that this Ellie is much of a talker, just sitting there and listening.

You spear the stick in the ground. “He said he knew where the house was. That we could live there, like before.” The stick snaps, splintering in your hands; 35 Sinclair Street written into the dirt.

The wind picks up as the fire goes down, and you shiver, drawing your arms around your knees. Your shirt, ripped from where an infected had grabbed you, does barely anything to keep out the cold.

You don’t have anything but the clothes on your back. Your brother had the bag, the duffel full of your shared belongings, but he had to cut the strap off and dump it when he got caught by the infected that ambushed you, it tangling itself with him and the bag. That’s most likely when he got bit, that dreaded mark in the webbing between his thumb and pointer of his right hand.

You shiver again, but not from the cold.

You know you shouldn’t have, but you looked at him when Ellie led you out of that building. You’d felt him laying there the whole time you were trapped, festering and rotting into the carpet on the other side of the room, behind a wall of wood and monsters.

Was there any part of him left when you killed him? Was he stuck behind the haze of the infection, watching as you put that gun to his head and killed him? Did he forgive you? Know why you had to?

You’d begged for him to do the same for you, when things got bad and you were sure that it was going to be you who would leave him behind, not the other way around.

“Here.”

A bundle of fabric is thrown at you from across the fire, a grey plaid falling to the dirt by your feet.

She makes eye contact with you when you don’t pick it up, face impassive.

“You’re cold. Take it.”

You blink, looking down at the cloth and picking it up, shaking out the bundle. It’s a flannel, big enough for a man much taller and wider than yourself. A ‘J’ is messily stitched into the inside of the collar in white thread, where the tag should be.

“… Thanks.”

You tug it on, the thick material already making the cool night much more bearable. You have to roll the sleeves up slightly over your hands, but otherwise you button it up and curl right into it. It smells nice, the specific way flannels do when they’re worn in and loved. There’s something else, a faint trace of gunpowder and something spicy, hard to place.

The events of the day, of the past week catch up to you as you curl into the borrowed shirt. You so tired. Exhausted. It feels like you’re using all of your strength to keep your head up, your eyes open, your brain from shutting off.

You shift, lowering yourself to the ground, moving an arm to cushion your head in the dirt. It’s not unfamiliar to you, roughing it like this. You’re used to having your brother with you, the two of you taking turns in keeping watch. And though he’s not here now and never will be again, Ellie’s intense gaze on the trees around you makes you feel a similar way.

Your eyes are half lidded, watching the dwindling flames of the fire, light and shadows flickering on the ground beside it. It’s soothing, and you try your hardest to focus on it and not the thoughts clawing away at the back of your head, the ones that will no doubt make themselves known the second you fall asleep.

Ellie shifts, crossing her legs under her, hands still settled on the rifle. They twitch as she curls around it.

“I’m headed to Massachusetts, too.” You hear, quiet in the night. “Boston.”

You don’t pick your head up, but your eyes flick to hers, opening slightly wider. She’s staring out in the trees.

“I’ll be leaving at dawn.” She looks at you, just for a moment, then back to her post.

You don’t know this woman. You’ve barely spoken, yet you can tell there’s a whole lot going on in those eyes of hers, so incredibly sad and haunted.

But that look is familiar, and you see yourself in it when she looks at you, and you know, despite it all, that what she’s offered is an invitation.

You close your eyes, nodding into your arm.

“Dawn.”

«« masterpost ꩜ next »»

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

VERSION IV.

(a/n: Hey everybody! Really sorry for not updating this week's been VERY hectic, but im back and ready to post new eps again 🙏 thanxx for your support ❤️)

WARNING!-none

wc: 1.1 k words

ALSO: tags-@ttheggrimrreaper ❤️ bear with me, ur episode is coming i swear

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…11, Isagi Yoichi."

The icon of an unknown person appeared on the screens. Looking closely, you tried to recall if you had ever heard of him during your training, before realising you didn’t interact with the male species for months so you definitely can’t remember the boy.

‘Maybe someone mentioned him a few weeks ago?’

Heading to the assigned room and getting there, Anri immediately gave you a bunch of stuff while telling you about some of Ego’s newly adapted annoying habits. Minutes later, she finished her complaining and let you go you to find your new player.

Imagine being the manager of Isagi Yoichi, the heart of Blue Lock.

——————

Isagi Yoichi, with whom you immediately click moments after you first meet him, the conversations going surprisingly smooth. His attentive and kind nature made you much more talkative than usual, feeling lucky that you somehow managed to get a normal boy. The nightmares that tortured you for the past week, anxious about who you were gonna end up with were also nowhere to be found. Between the breaks of practice matches, Yoichi would always come to the benches, eager to continue your little chat from earlier, seemingly taking genuine interest in you. And when he had to go back to the field, you simply watched him in silence while quickly reading through his data sheet.

——————

•Isagi, who you notice that literally every day, during all the matches tends to think and analyze a lot, which surprised you a bit, didn’t expecting to get someone who actually thinks before he acts.

•In the first few days he would mostly keep his thoughts to himself and although he does share some of them regarding soccer with you, he still remains a mystery.

•Isagi, who has been really curious about you from the start, and because of that you two talked a lot. From telling him how you ended up in Blue Lock, to him being silly and secretly imitating some of his teammates for fun. He also shared his own goals and how he hoped to be a good player, so you wouldn’t have to deal with all his shit in the future.

•He's also the one who's been holding whichever team he’s been part of together since the beginning and has slowly but surely earned a reputation within the facility. That wasn’t the problem, but rather the fact that your player was known for his harsh words and slurs towards his opponents and for being a completely different person on the pitch instead of the usual respectful guy, making you worry a little.

•The cherry on top however is that he somehow always manages to piss off the biggest, most skilled, clearly not in the mood to be insulted type of players.

•Dealing with this is probably the hardest part of being his manager. Apart from that, you have a pretty normal, simple routine, compared to the others, because well…you don't have to do much other than the standard work schedule, since Isagi is just easy to deal with. He doesn’t break the rules, eats what he’s given and always gets up on time.

•This is usually how your days go until the unexpected U20 match announcement comes, which makes the boy much, much more motivated making you basically fight to be able to keep up with him. Your tasks suddenly also multiply, having to give more detailed reports to the boss, monitoring Yoichi’s food portions and supliments way too carefully all while trying to help him achieve the perfect build for the upcoming match, hoping he gets selected.

•Your secret stash of snacks that you keep hidden in your room specially for him is also prohibited to touch, knowing damn well if Ego or Anri notices the few more calories on his data list both of you will be punished.

“So no more sneaky sweets?”-he asked one night, to which you just nodded regretfully.

“Nooooooooo…”

——————

After the U20 match…

•Isagi changes. A lot. You would say he has improved and currently still is at a frighteningly fast pace. From the very first match he plays with his ‘new’ team to way he thinks and acts is different. This probably earned him one of the best players title as of now.

•He recently also began to follow a stricter training plan, and although the few chocolate bars you secretly try to give him are reeeeaally tempting, he always rejects them, saying that when he feels like he deserves one, he will accept it, resulting in you having to eat all of them alone before they expire.

•Changing places, didn’t necessarily mean new teammates. Yet, the people in Blue Lock he was the closest with all chose different countries, only some of them going on the same path as Isagi.

•Fortunately, he had no problem finding new and old friends to hang out with, so you thought at least you didn’t have to worry about that. Wrong. You should have.

•Because although Isagi may have gotten along with the Japanese players, the Germans were different. First you thought, maybe it was because of his duality while playing, but it seemed like his mere existence was a problem for specifically 2 German people. They were extremely bothered by him, the murderous look in their eye every time, made you try to keep your player away from them as much as possible.

•Isagi changing meant your nightly routine had to be adjusted as well. Instead of an hour, you now sat with him in front of the big monitors for 2, carefully analyzing his movements every second, papers full of notes and comments to discuss later.

•He also gained immense popularity all over the world with his goal against the U20 that day, receiving comments and praises from fans on a daily basis with them saying how humble and good he is. Yet, despite all this, for some reason he’s need to get a compliment or praise only from you, rises drastically.

•“I’m with you all day, you know me best. I’m just simply curious about your opinion!”

•He, with whom you focus quite a bit on learning the basics of the German language, yet somehow the pronunciation, even the rules have no place in the boy’s puzzle anymore. Still, he tries hard because talking to Bastard München fans and mocking Michael Kaiser in his own native language seems so tempting.

•Over time, you guys became much closer to each other, and even though he has thought about asking you out on a date, he still doesn’t do it because he’s afraid that if things don’t go well, you’ll quit and he simply wouldn’t risk it. You’re the best manager and if necessary, he will continue to try and see you as a friend, as long as you’ll be by his side until the end of his journey.

[mannythemunchkin]

HERMES' SAGA

SUMMARY: Modern day Greece has left the gods with not much to do, so when a intriguing mortal arrives at the shores of Ithaca, Hermes couldn't help but have a little fun, but after she leaves, he can't stop thinking about her. He follows her to her homeland, and so, his saga begins.

WORD COUNT: 1.9K

TAGS: Fluff, Hermes being Hermes, a little ooc, Hermes being a little obsessed, modern day au, oc x Hermes, not beta read we die like the crew.

A/N: I have become a smidge obsessed with Epic The Musical, and Hermes has changed my brain chemistry, SO HERE WE ARE! This fic is so self-indulgent, but I needed it out of my brain, and I hope you'll love it as much as I loved plotting and writing it! ♡ special shout out to @kquil for motivating me to actually finish and post this! Love you MWAH!♡♡

ART BY XIMENA NATZEL

What on earth was he doing here… literally, why was Hermes, messenger of the Greek Gods, God of Mischief, Thieves, Merchants etc sitting in a café in a city in Sweden, sipping some sweet concoction of coffee, cream and sugar, while staring out the window. Hermes frowned as he looked at all the people passing by, both outside and inside, no one noticing him since he had glamoured himself to stay hidden from the eyes of mortals. The God leaned back in his seat, a leather couch that he had deigned a good enough spot for him to plan how he should approach the reason why he had left his home on Olympus.

Saga.

A mortal woman who had arrived at the coast of Ithaca about five months ago, her presence having caught Hermes’ attention almost instantly. Normally the gods didn't care for mortal tourists in Greece, yet as soon as this little human had arrived, Hermes couldn't help himself from investigating, because this little human had divine essence in her veins. It was barely a drop, having been diluted over the centuries, but it was there. And it was foreign. How could he, the local trickster and messenger deity, not want to investigate such a rare occurrence.

So he had. Some might have considered that a mistake, because Hermes became utterly and completely infatuated with her. What he had intended to only be a little fun had turned into a full-blown obsession almost. He had spent all three weeks of her stay guiding her around the island, showing her all of the places no one knew about, telling her the true events of Greece's legends and myths, and just spending time with her almost every day.

So once Saga had announced she was moving on to the next country for her travels, he had followed her, telling himself that he was the God of Travelers, and he hadn't guided many of those in the past centuries, so why not this little intriguing mortal. Hermes followed her for weeks, not interfering or revealing himself, just watching in case something happened. Which nothing did, of course. And when Saga had returned to her homeland, he had made sure she was okay before returning to Olympus, only to have the little Swedish mortal stuck in his head for the next few months, much to his own and the rest of the pantheon's dismay.

And now he was here, in this little, quaint café in Saga's city. Hermes had made sure it wasn't a place she came often. He needed time to plan the perfect “meet cute”, theatrics were everything obviously, so he had spent about two weeks in her city, memorizing her schedule, noted all of the places she went and which she loved the most, and the café wasn't anywhere near where she usually ventured. Hermes took another sip of his coffee and hummed thoughtfully as he considered his options, his silvery eyes scanning the patrons in the café in slight boredom, until his gaze fell on a certain platinum blonde head of hair, and he almost dropped his coffee.

Saga turned around, her own coffee in hand, and her eyes landed on him, and they widened in surprise. No, wait, that couldn't be. Hermes looked around himself, but there was no one but him on this side of the café, so it was definitely him she was looking at. Which shouldn't be possible, he had hidden himself from the eyes of mortals, not wanting to be bothered, so when Saga shot him a bright smile and began walking over, Hermes quickly removed his glamour in a panic.

“Kostas! What are you doing here?” Saga plopped herself into the couch opposite Hermes, her smile radiant and sweet, her emerald eyes shimmering with joy. Hermes returned her smile with a playful one of his own, barely managing to mask his bewilderment of how Saga had been able to see through his glamour.

“Why, Saga darling! What a delightful surprise to see your gorgeous face here.” He greeted her with his signature toothy grin, and he leaned forward, propping his elbow on the table between them to rest his chin in his hand. Saga shrugged off her coat, dumping it on the seat next to her before replying. “Well, it's not as much of a surprise since I live in this city, but you on the other hand, Kostas, you are so far from home! Why on earth are you in Sweden?”

Why on earth indeed, little mortal… Hermes thought to himself as he shrugged at her question with a small sound of indifference. “Ithaca was getting too small, too boring. Needed to experience something new, so I thought why not the homeland of my favorite little tourist?” He replied with a wink, causing Saga to laugh, the sound like music to Hermes’ and he smiled wider. “But tell me, my sweet Saga, why are you here? You never mentioned this quaint little place back on Ithaca.” Hermes narrowed his eyes playfully to mask the real purpose of his question. He was so certain that she had never been here before, maybe before they had met, but it wasn't a spot she frequented, and Hermes would know, he had practically stalked his little mortal for weeks.

Saga just chuckled and shook her head as she took out her phone, the screen lighting up when she put it on the table, and Hermes’ eye twitched. Her lockscreen was art of none other than Zeus from some musical about Odysseus’ journey from Troy and back home to Ithaca, a legend that Hermes himself had taken part of. Hermes pretended to feign offense, his arms crossing over his chest as he huffed in disbelief.

“Still obsessed with that silly play I see.” He grumbled, his tone a little more offended than intended, and Saga raised an eyebrow before laughing at Hermes’ seemingly silly behavior. “I know he's not your favorite, Kos. Let me show you my homescreen.” Hermes harrumphed in protest, but still glanced at her screen as she unlocked it and held it up for him to see, and he had to do a double take. A wide, satisfied grin spread on his lips. Saga's homescreen was art of none other than himself, not that it was completely accurate, but the winged helmet donned on top of the character's mussed hair was impossible not to recognize.

“Oh my, I see your tastes have improved, sweetheart! He's such a handsome fellow, isn't he.” Hermes grinned while nodding approvingly at her. Saga rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't help but chuckle at Hermes’ instant mood change. She turned off her screen and placed it back on the table, before leaning back in her seat, bringing her coffee to her lips and taking a sip. “I felt bad about how I talked about him while on Ithaca, so I decided to give him a chance. He has begun growing on me a little, I admit.”

Hermes’ entire face lit up, he simply couldn't help it, and he leaned closer, folding his hands under his chin as he smirked. “Sweet Saga, darling, dare I assume that you changed your screen to Hermes because you missed me?” He teased her with a sweet voice, his silvery eyes shining with delight and mischief. His eyebrows rose and he tilted his head, his smirk widening when a bashful smile tugged at Saga's lips.

“Well, yes. You made my time on Ithaca unforgettable, Kostas. I couldn't have asked for a better guide, and you were so sweet and kind. So yeah, I've missed you.”

Oh, oh how Hermes wished she'd talk about him like that, not as the human, Kostas, he was parading around as, but as Hermes. His real self. But that would probably never happen, simply because no mortal could look upon the true form of a God, and also because no mortal would ever believe that the ancient gods were real.

Hermes felt his grin falter, but only for a split second, and he waved her off with a small playful scoff. “It was nothing, sweetheart. I couldn't just let such a sweet looking tourist wander around on her own.”

Saga rolled her eyes at Hermes' dismissive, yet playful attitude. She put her now empty coffee cup on the table, and took out her phone again. After tapping around on the screen, she held it out towards Hermes, who quirked an eyebrow and gave her a questioning look. “What do you want me to do with that?”

“Your number. I'll be your guide while you're here.”

Well fuck. Hermes glanced between Saga and the phone, unsure of what to do. He knew what phones were, obviously, but he had a distaste for them. They could leave him without a job, after all, but luckily none of the Gods back in Greece had had any interest in that specific technology, so he remained their messenger. He didn't own one, and he wasn't sure he would know how to operate the thing even if he did.

“Ah, well… I don't have a phone, darling.”

His response resulted in Saga giving him an incredulous look, finding it hard to believe that a young man like him didn't own a phone in this day and age. She retracted her hand, and sighed. “Well, how am I going to get in contact with you then? Back in Greece you always just kinda showed up, so we didn't need to be able to call or text.”

His little mortal was right, annoyingly so. Hermes hadn't thought this part of his plan through. Yet. But only because he wasn't given the time to since, apparently, Saga's divine heritage made her able to see through his invisibility spell, much to Hermes’ dismay. Leaning back in his seat, Hermes crossed his arms over his chest, and let out a sigh. Back on Ithaca he had just appeared when the moment felt right, and Saga didn't think much of it because, well, she thought he lived on the island. With a dramatic roll of his eyes and light click of his tongue, Hermes reluctantly replied.

“Fine, I'll acquire… a phone.” He grumbled, his eyes slightly narrowed in irritation, but when Saga's expression practically lit up at his words, all annoyance he felt evaporated, and he couldn't help but flash her a cheeky half-smile. “But! Only if you help me get one, sweet Saga.”

"Oh, absolutely!” Saga hastily grabbed her coat and almost bounced out of their booth as she swiftly put it on. Turning to him, she held out an expectant hand while smiling brightly at Hermes, who chuckled at her with a small shake of his head, but took her hand in his nonetheless, and got up. His little mortal all but dragged Hermes out of the café, her mouth working overtime as she rattled on and on about different phone models and accessories he could get once he had chosen one.

As Saga dragged him through the streets, Hermes couldn't help but smile almost fondly at her back, not that he'd ever show her that side of him. The fond smile quickly disappeared when Saga looked over her shoulder with a wide smile, and Hermes gave her his signature cheeky grin, showing off his tooth gap.

“Keep going. I'm in your capable hands, darling.” Urging her on to keep talking and leading the way, Hermes winked playfully at her. Saga laughed sweetly, the sound tickling Hermes’ brain just right, almost making him stop in his tracks. He knew little about love and being in love, but whatever Saga's wonderful laughs had just done to his body… it felt a lot like how most mortals, even some of his fellow gods, would describe it.

And it felt dangerous.

[rypnami]

Two Years Later...

Happy Anniversary Hogwarts Legacy!

it's been 2 years of this game!!! that means... it's MC's 7th year!

this started as an idea in my server for a group collab, but i don't know who's still doing it. i might as well post my own, at the least!

now that MC is a 7th year, what are they up to? how did they cope with the events of 5th year as time passed? how do they feel about graduation coming soon?

i've decided to explore this with aurelia, since she is my 'canon' MC. i do look forward to seeing others' takes!

this is mostly just me rambling and auri maybe finally learning that she doesn't have to be terrible to people ALL the time. and her meeting daphne, that's a big part of this. shhh i just wanted to finally write auri being a loser lesbian.

word count: 1561

Two years ago, if you had told Aurelia that there would be a day she was sad to leave Hogwarts, she’d have laughed in your face. How could she ever be sad about leaving behind this dingy old castle, never to return? Back then, she’d hated all the people, hated taking classes, and would rather bite her classmates than have a civil conversation. 

She isn’t sure when the shift happened. Perhaps when Garreth had miscalculated his umpteenth potion recipe. When it exploded in his face, it had turned his hair a vibrant pink. It was the first time she’d realised she could laugh at something that wasn’t someone getting hurt, and watching him desperately trying to wash the pink out for the whole week after had provided enough entertainment value that she thought she might even be a little sad if he were to die. Who would ever think she’d one day care about what happens to a man?

Or, perhaps it was when she’d at last mastered broom flight, and bested Imelda at her own broom trials for the second year in a row. There was the satisfaction of beating someone at their own game, the thrill of victory, and the fact that she simply really got on with Imelda. The same energy, the same passion, the same general dislike for slow people… how could they not become friends? To think, if she’d just thrown in the towel after the first round of trials like she’d originally planned, she may never have truly gotten to meet a dear friend. It still sounds odd, sometimes, to think of anyone as a friend.

Perhaps, still, it was when Anne had finally recovered and been able to return to school. At long last, that had made Sebastian stop acting like a bellend and he’d finally given up his stupid obsession with Dark magic- mostly. Auri would put a few Galleons on the assumption that he still sneaks into the Restricted Section to read otherwise forbidden books, but with Anne back around to keep him in line, and Ominis finally speaking to him again, it’s likely quite a bit less than what he used to do. Surprisingly enough, she finds herself enjoying all of their company these days.

Privately, however, Auri thinks what actually began to change things was the day she met Daphne Weasley at the beginning of 6th year. She was a complete accident, someone she might never have seen at all if she hadn’t literally fallen into her after tripping over her untied shoelaces. From the jump, Auri had been fascinated by her. Not only was she completely opposite to her loud, chaotic brother, Daphne was also everything Auri was not. Thoughtful, genuinely polite, didn’t go out of her way to scare small children, and overall pleasant to be around. She was captivating, and so Auri did the only thing she could think of to learn more about her. She started following her around.

It was NOT stalking, no matter what gossip Sebastian might be spreading. And who is he to attempt to have a moral high ground, anyway? He killed someone! So has Auri, but that’s neither here nor there, really. 

Auri was not nearly as sneaky as she might usually be when (not) stalking someone, and Daphne was surprisingly not too perturbed by the creepy girl who threatens at least a dozen people a day following her. In fact, she’d almost seemed just as drawn to Auri, and in no time at all they had actually become… friends? Not long after, Auri was doing the very normal and mature thing of screaming into her pillow every night and crying to anyone who would listen about how goddamn pretty she was.

She’d decided to write to Lily Prewett for advice, the only other lesbian she’d ever heard of ever, who had graduated the year before. They’d never been friendly, but who else was she to talk to? Lily had bombarded her with owls about it, and although Auri had thought most of her advice was stupid and pointless (being nice to her? Since when has that been a thing?), it had actually worked. 

Even now, almost a year later, she gets several letters a week. They aren’t so much about romantic advice anymore- just asking how her day has been, how she’s feeling nearing graduation, if classes are going well. It’s something else Auri knows would have had her absolutely raging back in 5th year, but now, she looks forward to it. Every morning in the Great Hall, she waits to see her owl swoop in, usually with more than one letter, seeing as Lily almost always realises she has more to say right after sealing the envelope.

In fact, it was one of her letters (and a few weeks of convincing from Daphne) that finally gave her the nerve to do what she’s doing today. To, for the first time, take the small footpath that diverges from the regular road to Hogsmeade, that leads up to where Professor Fig was buried at the end of 5th year. She’s never been up to see it, not even once.

It’s a tree with a twisted trunk that overlooks Hogwarts, just before you’d reach the Mooncalf den. Quite a few of its leaves are gone, having fallen off before winter, but already new ones have started to grow in, fresh and green. At the base of the tree, roots surrounding it like a frame, is a small headstone. There are fresh flowers laid upon it, and growing around it. Auri wonders for a moment who put them there, though it doesn’t truly matter. Everyone had loved Professor Fig. Even she had, much to her own surprise at the time. Death is something you’d think a vampire would be more than accustomed to, but standing here and staring it in the face is much harder than she expected.

“Erm. Hi.” She crosses her arms, slightly uncomfortable. “I… am sorry I haven’t come to see you before. It never… felt right.”

A warm wind ripples through the air, rustling the newly growing leaves as well as her hair. It almost feels like a sign. It’s okay. I understand.

“I’m sorry you died. I’m sorry I wasn’t… better back then.” That hardly covers it. She’s got a lot of blood on her hands, much of it there long before she ever knew what Hogwarts- or even the United Kingdom at all- was. “I still think of you all the time. Without you… I dunno where I’d be. But I wish you were still here. I wish you could see me now.” Auri sits down, crossing her legs and staring at the grass. “You helped me more than you ever knew. You always believed I could be a better person than I was when you were here… I suppose you were right after all.” 

“Graduation is in a few weeks, but you probably already know that.” She picks at the flowers growing around his burial place, trying to avoid looking at the headstone. “I’ve done really well, these past 2 years. I… er, I passed all my O.W.Ls, and my N.E.W.Ts went well, too. I still don’t know what I want to do, after school. Or where I’ll go. I have friends, now, though. And… Daphne. I think you would have liked her.” She shrugs. “I really like her.”

She finally looks up at the grave. It has his name carved in simple lettering, and above is what looks like the artists’ attempt at a thestral. “I… yeah. That’s about it.” She brushes a few leaves off the top of the stone, letting her hand linger on it for a moment. “I promise I’ll come by more, okay?” She gets back up, dusting off her skirt as she does. “And after graduation. I’ll tell you everything about it.”

Daphne was waiting several paces back, standing out of the shade of the tree. Sunlight bounces off her auburn hair, and by the great gods is she the prettiest person Auri has ever seen. She smiles as Auri walks back to her.

“How was that?” She asks.

“Good.” Auri takes Daphne’s hand in hers. Though her own skin is always ice-cold, Daphne’s is as warm as the summer sun, and never fails to spread from her fingertips up throughout the rest of her body. “Overdue, I think.”

“Are you alright? Sure you’re ready to join the others?” She gives Auri’s hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Of course. Sebastian says Anne was able to bribe Feenky into making us an entire basket of Treacle Tarts, and I want to get some before Leander eats them all himself in one go, the greedy bastard.”

Daphne laughs, which makes Auri feel incredibly pleased with herself. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Please do! Then he might learn a little thing called sharing.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“When I hog all the sweets, it’s cute. When he does it, it’s annoying!”

“Can’t argue with that, I suppose.” They both laugh as they walk hand in hand back down the path to the castle.

One might almost forget Auri is an undead being of unimaginable horror. Or, rather, used to be. She is still, certainly, undead, but perhaps not particularly horrible anymore.

And she just might like that better.

[kaysfanficcorner]

Out of this World Chapter 9: Reunions and Revelations

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Earthling OC/Reader

Summary: When an unexpected arrival shows up in Tatooine, the Mandalorian and the Earthling decide to delay their quest to find the Jedi for a few more days.

Author's Note: Oh boy, I can't believe it's been so long since I posted chapter 8. All I can say is that my life got a little chaotic for awhile and I had to put this story on hiatus while I figured a few things out. But I'm back in business! I always intended to ride this story out until the end, and I am finally in the headspace to be creative again! I never forgot about this story or these lovebirds! I love my Earthling OC/reader so much. That being said, I first posted this story two years ago and I felt that some of it could be approved upon. So I just finished going through the original 8 chapters and I made some edits. Nothing changed with the overall plot or themes, I just fixed a few mistakes and fleshed out a few scenes some more. Chapter 9 gave me a lot of trouble but I'm excited to get back into this story! I am so proud of it and I appreciate every single one of you who has taken the time to read this. If you want to be added or removed from the taglist please let me know!

***** = A break in the scene or a switch between character pov.

Mando'a: Ner - my Ad’ika - little one Burc’ya - friend Cyare - beloved Cyar'ika - darling or sweetheart Riduur - spouse (husband or wife) Riduurok - marriage bond Ni kar'taylir darasuum - I will know you forever (I love you)

Warnings: Cursing, references to past trauma, conflicted foster parents, and of course, sexual situations🌶️ Smut and Fluff abound. My Din Djarin is a sweetie and just needs to be loved.

Minors DNI, Strictly 18+

AO3

*****

"Granddad?” Your voice is so small as the word comes out, so unsure. Standing in the heat of Tatooine's twin suns, Hangar 3-5 is nearly spinning as a new sort of wooziness overcomes you. Beginning to sway, a hand reaches beside you to grip at the Mandalorian's vambrace covered forearm. Steadying yourself with the one and only person you know in this galaxy who grounds you.

The old man in the dark red engineer's jumpsuit says your name again, the cadence of it sounding so familiar to you that it spawns a small sob from your throat.

“This is marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!” He says cheerfully, moving forward. “I can't believe you're really here! Took you long enough, punk.”

Peli looks you over with a facial expression of both shock and recognition, then back to the man whom she'd referred to as her partner. “Wait a sec, you mean to tell me that's really her?”

“That's really her,” the man agrees, closing the distance between himself and the rest of the group. “It appears that fate has brought us together again after all.”

Beside you, Din's body straightens up. His voice is laced with an edge that alerts you to how skeptical he really is towards this stranger. Your Mandalorian does not trust newcomers lightly.

“I believe an explanation is in order,” he says seriously, looking between Peli's new engineer and yourself.

“Quite right,” the man agrees, looking right into your eyes. “But I think it's best that you and I speak in private.”

“I agree,” you say, more words unable to find you at this moment. The shock and anger you feel is simply too great. Beginning to step towards him, you're stopped when Din grips your wrist.

“Are you sure he is trustworthy?” He asks, voice low.

“Honestly? I don't know. He was once the most trustworthy person I knew,” your own voice feels icy as you finish with, “but clearly I have been lied to. I didn't realize that deception was one of your many talents, Grandad.”

Your grandfather, Richard, looks incredibly hurt by that. The littlest pang of guilt strikes you at the sight of his downtrodden facial expression, but you try your best to ignore it.

“That's a bit unfair, punk. But you have every right to be upset,” Richard offers lamely as he moves closer to you. His arms are reaching out to perhaps offer a hug, but you're having none of that right now.

Taking a foreboding step forward, you poke a hard finger into his chest. “You're damn right I do! What the fuck, Grandad!”

The child's ears cast downward and he makes a little upset noise in Peli's arms. That's enough to steady you, to remember that your boy is watching you. Learning life's great lessons from paying attention to how you interact with others. With a sigh and a deep breath, you stop the anger before it manifests anymore than it already has.

“I will not lose my temper in front of Green Bean,” you say to no one in particular. “Let's go somewhere to talk this through.”

“Yes, let's do just that.” The old man agrees, a weary look on his wrinkled features.

You move to pat the child on the head, and his ears shift upwards again with a chirp. “Sorry about that, buddy.” Then you turn to face Din, and his body language alone tells you all you need to know of the tense mood he's suddenly in. “I will be back when he and I have said all there is to say. I do not know if we can trust him, but you know you can trust me.”

“Keep your com link open. Just in case.”  

“I will call you if I need you. Always. Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” you breathe that last part up at him, following your instinct to acknowledge your love for him regardless of those watching. It's important for you to let him know that the connection you share is still very real to you in such a surreal moment. Besides, you highly doubt your grandfather or Peli knows a lick of Mando'a.

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” he repeats, your name dancing on his tongue at the end of it as he nods once at you.

Then you turn back to your grandfather and the two of you exit Hangar 3-5 to walk the streets of the Mos Eisley Spaceport.

*****

Din Djarin’s chest seizes up and his stomach simultaneously drops to his boots as he watches you walk off with a man who is both a complete stranger to him, and a close blood relation to you. The sudden appearance of your grandfather has thrown him for such a loop that he's getting dizzy. It feels as if he’s not in reality anymore. There is a physical pain in his upper body. His brow is breaking out into a sweat beneath the beskar, a sweat that has nothing to do with the heat of this planet's twin suns.

Peli seems to tell that now is not a good time, so she takes the child off to her office without being promoted to do so. Calling over her shoulder, she says that she’ll keep him for a while and makes herself scarce as quickly as possible. Normally Din would argue against the child being taken away, but right now he can't think that straight.

Unsure of where else to go, he makes his way up the open ramp and into the empty Razor Crest. His way around the galaxy, and the home he prides himself with. It used to be a comfort to enter his ship completely alone, feeling no sign of another presence anywhere near his own. Din's perpetual solitude was never an issue before. In fact, it had been a welcomed thing after long days of dealing with tiresome social interactions or a particularly difficult hunt. The rest of the world would slip away and he would be in his safe haven once again, whirling through hyperspace. He'd liked that everything was in its proper place and he didn’t have to worry about anyone besides himself. A lonely existence to be sure, but one Din thought he was fine with until a few months ago. Aside from his life, when it came down to it he really had nothing to lose.

Now the ship is occupied by others and he feels as if he has absolutely everything to lose. It scares the living hell out of him to care for others, and Din Djarin has spent most of his adult life feeling scared of very few things. Fear is such an unnerving thing to him, but since you and the kid both fell into his lap he's felt it more and more every day. Din is just good at keeping uncomfortable feelings buried deeply within his chest.

Seven months ago the Razor Crest would have barely passed for a home in the eyes of another. Din’s life had been so simple then. No decor, no real personal items to speak of save for weaponry and clothing. His needs had been very basic and therefore his living conditions had been very basic. Jump to the present and the Razor Crest is a real home full of love. You have unwittingly changed the interior of the ship so much in the several months you’ve been living on it. The kid’s various art projects are hung up here or there. Your personal items have started showing up literally all over the place. He finds something of yours where it shouldn’t be at least once a week. It had irritated him once upon a time. Now he feels as if having to live without it would tear his heart in half right down the center.

Looking into the cot, Din really stops to soak in how much the tiny sleeping cabin has changed. The fluffy black blanket and accompanying pillow are neatly laid out in a way that makes it look almost like a real bed. A picture, the one the kid drew on Nevarro of the three squiggles together, hangs just above where his helmeted head rests each night beside yours. Together the three of you have a mixed scent that naturally hangs in the sleeping space. It comforts him every time he catches a whiff of it. The kid’s stuffed lava meerkat is in its rightful place, nestled in the tiny hammock. Din’s not ready to face the possibility that all of this could be about to change back to the way it was before. Cold and empty, just as he once was.

You've spoken so openly about feeling like Earth is no longer where you belong, but what if you had been saying that to try and convince yourself of something that was not true? To protect yourself from the pain of not being able to return to where you came from? He feels himself shake a little at the thought of it... that you could possibly look up at him with those big eyes that he loves so much and tell him you've changed your mind about staying. About being by his side.

It hurts so bad that an actual sob escapes his mouth, and he has to grip the ladder rungs to keep himself steady.

*****

“Explain yourself,” you say, arms crossed over your chest as you look your grandfather up and down with scrutiny. He’s changed so much since you last saw him. Thinner, but more fit. The facial hair is new, the deep tan is new. His eyes are the only true giveaway that this is really him. Striking and kind at the same time.

“What would you like to know?” He asks, seeming amused. He also seems to be taking in your appearance, regarding you with interest.

This only serves to irritate you. You’re frustrated, angry, and confused, in no mood to be funny whatsoever. “Everything, Grandad. Why did you leave? More importantly, why didn't you tell me? Was it an accident? Did you do it on purpose? Did you consciously abandon me?”

The amusement never leaves his wrinkled features. “Is it alright if I answer one at a time?”

Rolling your eyes, a sharp, angry noise escapes you. “Do you think this is funny? I mean, honestly? Stop and think about it for a moment. You fucked off out of the blue and left me to deal with all of them by myself. With her. You’re legally dead back home, just in case you were wondering about that. Oh, and your ex-wife took the fucking house away from me. Slapped me in the face with it, both literally and figuratively. I guess you better hope that no one else finds the lab. God! How fucking irresponsible can you be?!”

His face has been growing serious the entire time you’ve been angrily ranting at him, and now a deep frown has found its way into the depths of his beard, the lines of it creasing his forehead. All of the amusement in him is gone as he intones your name gravely. “No one will find the lab. The only other person on Earth who can get into it is you and now you’re finally here. There’s a fail safe in place. After you came here, everything in the room was to be rendered useless and all data was to be scrubbed. Essentially, if I did everything right, the lab will have self destructed in a way.”

“So you knew I would eventually come here?” You’re aware that he glossed over the comment about being left alone, abandoned, but you can’t help but focus on the way he said that you’re finally here.

“Well, I had hoped. I couldn’t be sure that you’d find the lab or the instructions I left you,” he replies plainly. “I also couldn't be sure that you would choose to come.”

Your jaw drops open at that. “Instructions?! There were no instructions!”

“What do you mean? I left you a recording in the lab. Is that not why you figured out how to get here?” He seems just as surprised as you are.

Shaking your head, you explain, “I only found the lab when I was told I had to move out and I was looking for paperwork about the house in your office. It was all completely accidental. After you left and a few years went by I got sick of living alone so I adopted an orange tabby cat. She’s named after Jupiter because her fur pattern reminded me of the planet. I took Jupiter down to the lab with me and she got herself into trouble as soon as we set foot on the ground. I didn't have time to take in my surroundings or find a recording before I was being sucked through time and space against my will.”

The old man gawks at you, openly dumbfounded. “Wait… do you mean to tell me that a god damned cat triggered the intergalactic transplant?”

“Ew, that’s a really gross name for that, Grandad,” you start to laugh, then the sudden swell of emotions crashes over you, sending you into a fit of near hysterical laughter. You're not sure if it's laughing, crying, or both. All of this is so incredibly surreal. It’s like he never left for a split second when you catch yourself talking to him in such a snarky tone, sounding like a much younger version of yourself.

“You know, that is a gross name for it,” the old man laughs along with you, wiping tears from his eyes. Then his tears seem to become real for a moment as well. “Jesus Christ, you’re lucky you weren’t split in half. God," he says your name in a pained voice, "I’m so very stupid and selfish. Forgive me. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you what I was doing. I told myself that not a single person could know.”

“But why?”

“So that there was no way for the government to find out about it and put an end to it. If they'd caught on to what I was up to I would have either been thrown in jail for conducting illegal experiments, or the loony bin. Once my clearances were revoked I was forbidden from practicing that kind of science. But I wanted you to be involved. I wanted to teach you about what I was doing. I was just so terrified. A part of me was afraid that I really was just a crazy old man who’d read too many science fiction novels as a boy. What if after all this time, after all I had given up, I really was wrong?”

He stops walking to grab both of your hands in his, looking deeply into your eyes as he continues on, “My ego got the better of me, just as it always has. I couldn’t risk letting anyone find out about it and so I convinced myself that I couldn’t risk you being involved either. So, yes, I made the hard decision to keep you in the dark. But I felt so guilty that I decided to leave you that recording before I left. I wanted to give you the choice to either destroy everything and forget about it or to follow me here.”

“It would have been nice to just have that choice up front, you know. Not because you changed your mind at the last minute.” You cannot hide the hurt in your tone, nor do you try to.

Richard's voice is solemn, “There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by since I left that I haven’t regretted my decision not to tell you.”

Fresh tears of your own begin to fall freely as you speak from the heart. “You have no idea what I’ve dealt with in the last five years. It’s been fucking hell, Grandad. Dealing with the family was like dealing with a pack of rabid, feral dogs. The head bitch was the worst I’ve ever seen her. Pure evil. The house upkeep was stressful when I had no idea what I was doing. The government did investigate your disappearance but that didn't last long. People thought I was either nuts or sad or both for believing that you were still alive. But I had to. I had to hold onto the thought that you would never abandon me, at least not on purpose. They only declared you dead recently, so as soon as she could your ex wife was trying to get her hands on anything of yours that she felt she had a claim to. She was ready to take the house from me and leave me on the street without a care in the world. Mom and Dad certainly wouldn't have taken me in. They haven't spoken to me in a long time.”

Richard hangs his head, avoiding the intensity of your gaze. “I’m sorry all of that was so hard on you. I didn’t think about the consequences of my actions and that’s on me.”

“Yeah, you really didn’t. I missed you so much, but deep down I was also so angry with you that I wanted to find you just so I could rip you to shreds myself.” That intensity isn’t going to leave your eyes anytime soon. This is all just far too much. You're so overwhelmed. “And while you’ve been gallivanting on your grand space adventures, I’ve been trying to stay sane picking up the pieces of what you left behind. If I hadn't ended up here when I did, who knows what my life would look like right now.”

His voice wavers slightly, “Not all of this has been an adventure. I’ve had a couple of pretty close calls. Ended up in a prison camp at one point. Got picked up by slavers and only barely escaped. You won’t believe the kinds of awful things going on in this galaxy. Wasn’t until I met Peli that things started to feel right, like I was finally home.”

You scoff a little, “Oh I believe it. I’ve just spent the last seven months traveling the outer rim on that Razor Crest with the Mandalorian and the kid. I’ve nearly been killed. I’ve killed. I’ve seen some weird ass shit… but honestly, Grandad? I’ve never been happier in my entire life. I feel like this is where I was always meant to be. Weirdly enough, life here has started to make sense in a way that it never did on Earth.” As the words leave your lips, you realize just how true that statement really is. This galaxy really feels like home now. Earth doesn't even feel like an option anymore.

Richard’s eyes hold the smile that graces his lips long after they return to a neutral state. “Well you fit in with this part of the universe beautifully. I didn’t recognize you at first, and I mean that as a very large compliment. This feels like the most authentic version of you, punk. And it's a good thing, too. In the recording I left you, I told you not to make the decision to come lightly because if you did, then you could never go back to Earth again. So I hope you're fine with sticking around.”

You can't help but agree, “Same goes for you, old man. I barely knew it was you at first when you came out from behind the Crest. But this suits you. You fit here. And at first I wanted to go back to Earth because I was terrified and confused, but now I can't imagine what the point of going back there would be at all. I've changed so much. And even with danger around every corner, this galaxy is so much better than Earth. I've been to so many planets and moons, met so many different species.”

“Seems as if we’ve both changed for the better," he muses.

You regard him seriously then, continuing to walk down the sandy streets of the desert city. “I need to understand everything. Please, I’ll listen as long as I need to but I have to know. How did you even figure out how to get here? Did you know where you were going to end up when you did it?”

Richard chuckles at your rapid fire questioning, musing, "Some things about you haven't changed at all. That’s a lot of ground to cover, but I promise to tell you everything. Can you convince your Mandalorian friend to stay for a few days? We’ve got so much catching up to do.”

Just thinking of Din brings a happy smile to your lips, feeling excited to share the tale of the love you’ve found with your only father figure. “I think he understands the gravity of the situation. He probably already knows I’ll want to stay on Tatooine for a few days, even though we are on a mission of sorts. The Mandalorian and I are… close.”

With a knowing glint in his eye, he smiles at you fondly. “I thought I suspected a certain intimacy between you.”

You can’t help it, gushing a little as you reply. “I’ve never felt love like this, Grandad. He’s my best friend. He’s becoming everything to me. So is the child under our care. They're my family.”

“Then I must know everything about him. How the two of you came to be.”

“You’re not getting off that easy. You first.”

“Alright. I suppose it's best to start at the beginning. What do you know of the phenomenon the locals refer to as The Force?”

*****

“Where’s Mando?” You ask Peli as you re-enter the hanger a long while later, eyes on the lookout for your cosmic companion and your would-be foster child.

The twin suns are nearly set when you and your grandfather return from the long walk on the hot sands. Being reunited with him is both a thrill, and a drain. You're exhausted after talking for so long, listening to him talk, and feeling through so many complicated emotions in one afternoon. You desperately want to be surrounded by your little family and take comfort in the solace of your mobile home. After the conversation with your grandfather, you're filled with a new confidence about your feelings for both Din and the child. The closeness with them is somehow more real than it was before.

The eccentric little woman is currently using the flames from an engine to cook the hunk of krayt dragon meat on a makeshift spit. Noticing this, you finally spot one of your boys. The kid is standing a little too close to the flames in your opinion, so on instinct you move him about a foot backwards. When he pouts up at you, you wink down at him. “Gotta stay safe, Green Bean. It’s only because I love you.”

Peli shrugs, looking as if she’s genuinely concerned in spite of the fact that she’s trying to play it off. “He’s on the ship. Been up there since you two walked off. Seems moodier than usual if ya ask me.”

With a soft roll of the eyes you shake your head, having a good notion as to why Din may be acting moody. After seeing how stiff he was acting before you'd left, it makes sense. Crouching down in front of the kid to pat lovingly at his little head, you ask him, “Can you do me a favor, kiddo? Please stay down here with Peli and Gramps while I go see what’s going on with your dad, okay?” The child nods up at you in response, and you thank him as you look back at the two elder adults. “Do you guys mind watching him for me?”

Richard shakes his head, “Of course not. Go ahead, punk.”

Making your way up and into the ship, you hesitantly call out for Din. He doesn’t respond, so you go looking for him. Not in the cot, the fresher, the galley, or the cargo hold. Upstairs is the only next logical option so you climb the ladder's rungs, growing increasingly more worried the closer you ascend to the top. The cockpit door stands motionless before you, so you take a deep breath and shake out your arms a little before you press the button to open it.

Din is seated on the floor, his back up against the pilot's seat with one leg tucked underneath him and the other laid out straight. He’s facing your direction, so when the door opens with a loud swoosh, his silver head immediately snaps up to look at you. Jupiter is in his lap, a bare hand nestled in her fur as he strokes her back softly.

You come to sit down on the floor in front of him, legs crossed in front of you. You wish briefly that you could take the helmet off. Not to see him, but to comfort him by touching his face. He’s sniffling slightly, and you can't help wondering if he’s been weeping.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him genuinely, reaching forward to touch his helmet with gentle fingers. The cat chooses this moment to leap from his lap and leave her two humans to seek out something only a cat could want.

His breath hitches, coming out with a hiss in the speakers of the modulator. You're surprised when he turns his head from you as he speaks, clearly avoiding your gaze. “You can leave now. Go back to Earth. If you ever decide that this isn’t what you want, you can just leave and then I’d never see you again. When I realized that, ner cyare, it frightened me more than anything in a very long time.”

Part of you is floored by this for a moment, shocked that he would think that you would even consider going back to Earth after all that the two of you have been through together. But a part of you also knew that this was how he may react to the sudden appearance of your long lost grandfather. The entire situation is jarring, so you don't really blame him for having anxiety about it.

“You’ll be thrilled to know that Grandad hasn’t created a way to go back and he doesn't plan to. He came here with the intention of spending the rest of his life here. According to him the device back home has been rendered useless. But more importantly, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here. With you. You’re my family, Din Djarin. You and our Green Bean.” Whispering this last sentence, you realize that this is the first time you’ve declared him to be your family to, for lack of a better term, his face. The feeling of fullness in your emotional center warms you, spreading throughout your body in little waves.

Din counters, “Technically he has the ability to build another device if you really change your mind. If he could build it once he could theoretically do it again. And he has access to much more advanced technology here.”

A little noise of frustration erupts from your throat, your hands balling up into fists as you speak, “Oh my god, Din! What in the hell do I have to do to convince you that I’m not going anywhere? Marry you?!” You freeze up as you say this, having not realized the gravity of your words before letting them leave your mouth. A hand flies to your lips, but it's too late to contain what you've already said.

He says nothing at first, only stares at you for a long moment. Then he tilts his head, almost in a foreboding way. His voice sounds dead serious, “Do not make light of that, please.”

“I’m not making light of that. I’m being very serious," you plea.

“I wouldn’t want you to marry me out of some sort of obligation to make me feel more secure,” he replies, the slightest bit of bitterness in his tone with a taste of fear at the edge of it.

“That’s not-,” you start to get fired up again but you quickly stop yourself with closed eyes, taking a deep breath as you adjust your posture. “You misunderstood me. What I was trying to say is that I want to be with you for as long as humanly possible. So if that means eventually marrying you and making this a true life-long bond, then I would do so without hesitation. It wouldn’t be out of obligation in the slightest, it would be out of love.”

Din's shoulders relax a little, voice relaxing as well, "I would like to be with you as long as possible too, but right now I do not know what that entails. We need to figure out what's going to happen with the kid before anything else."

"I know that. I was just trying to make a point." As you try to reassure him, suddenly an embarrassed little feeling stirs in you for having steered the conversation in this direction by accident. The newness of the relationship and the subject of marriage being brought up so early into it, twice in the same week, makes you feel anxious as a silence befalls you both.

“That Tusken was right, though. You’d make a fine wife,” Din says after a moment, his voice sounding significantly better as he sits up. The anxiety laced within his tone is melting away.

Your heart soars at that, your own anxiety subsiding a little. Grinning, you lean forward and kiss the helmet where his cheek lies beneath the beskar, using the pad of your thumb to wipe away the mark your lips leave behind. “Sounds like you’re smiling again under there, Chrome Dome.”

He stiffens slightly. “How do you know that?”

You give a knowing smile of your own, grasping for his gloved hand. “I can hear it in your voice when you smile sometimes. It’s only something I’ve picked up on recently. I like to feel your mouth when I’m blindfolded, and I’ve started to realize what your voice sounds like when those lips of yours are turned upwards at me.”

Din makes an indistinguishable noise. “Come here, ner burc’ya.” He pulls you to him then, holding you in a firm embrace as he rests his helmeted head on your shoulder. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

“I love you too, my sweet warrior.” Cradling the beskar, you hold him against you for a long while. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum. I told you I would know you forever. I wouldn't say it the Mandalorian way if I didn't mean it. Please trust that I'm not going to leave so long as we continue to be good for each other."

"I will," he breathes, "I will trust you."

“You’d make a great husband, you know,” you say after the silence which befalls you both no longer feels comfortable. Now that it’s out on the table you might as well talk about it. If he's going to trust you, then you're going to have to trust him in return. Trust that he will handle your feelings with the care and respect of a true partner.

He lifts up to look at you. “You think so?”

“Duh," you exaggerate the word, "I can’t imagine a better man to spend my life with. It would be an honor to introduce you to others as my husband, and to grow old by your side.”

Din sighs, avoiding your gaze again for a moment. “Occasionally I worry that the affection you have for me is misplaced.”

“Why?” You ask, urging him to look at you with a gentle hand to the base of the beskar.

Din shrugs, shaking his helmeted head before the visor looks you dead on again. “I cannot provide you with a normal life. I can only offer you what I know, and I only know the life of a Mandalorian.”

You scoff, “I’ve never once said that I want a normal life.”

“What if you decide that you do one day?”

With a roll of the eyes you squeeze his bare hand, then bring the knuckles to your lips and kiss the ridges with several small pecks. “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. We can figure out what our normal looks like. My poor shiny friend, you worry far too much. Learn to live in the moment, to enjoy your present life before it passes you by. I'm finally learning to do that myself.”

Din's head tilts slightly. He doesn't break the contact between your hands though, running his thumb over yours. “I’m a trained Mandalorian warrior. Planning for multiple outcomes and thinking tactically is how I was raised.”

You frown, “This isn’t battle, though.”

His tone shifts to a vulnerable one, his head shifting again with it. “In a way it is. In a way, a life long bond between two individuals is just as much a strategic thing as planning a siege. You have to map out the right time to bring up something uncomfortable, just as you would map out the right time to blockade all entry points of an enemy’s base. You must devise when it’s appropriate to trust another with your most sacred and private feelings, just as you must devise when it's appropriate to offer a bargain for the enemy’s surrender. You have to think every choice over carefully when your heart is entangled with the heart of another, or you could strangle both hearts entirely and kill whatever it is that binds them together in the first place.”

You stare at him for a long moment, taking in everything that he just expressed as your eyes scan over the beskar. For a man who barely spoke when you first met, he’s gotten much more comfortable with long and eloquent ways to articulate his thoughts. Hearing him describe what he shares with you from his viewpoint is incredibly powerful, helping you to better understand the man you care for so dearly.

“Thank you for explaining your perspective. I feel like I just got to know a much deeper level of how you see the world. That means a lot to me,” the words flow from your lips earnestly.

“I appreciate that you listen,” he says softly, “that you always strive to understand me.”

“Of course,” you reply, hand trailing over his chest plate, “but, admittedly, I’ve never had to try very hard. You make it incredibly easy to love you, Din.”

“I feel the same way about you,” he says even softer, melting your heart a little more. “Parts of this are still uncomfortable for me but loving you, knowing you, comes so naturally. I used to try so hard to fight it in those early months but it was no use.”

“What are the odds that Greef's business proposition would lead to this?” You muse idly.

“I think that very same thing all the time,” Din’s voice is almost full of wonder.

Seeing a window of opportunity, you bring up what you came to talk to him about, “Speaking of which, I actually have a proposition of my own.”

“I’m listening,” he urges you on, sitting up more.

“Since our one and only lead turned out to be a bust and we have no idea where to go next, is it okay if we delay for a couple of days? I’d like to spend time with Grandad before we carry on with the mission.”

“This is not something I would consider a delay, cyar’ika. You thought that he was gone forever, and now he’s back in your life. That is not an insignificant thing. I’ll give you as much time as you need.”

“You’re the best,” you grin, butting your forehead into his metal clad one.

“So you love to tell me,” Din chuckles.

“I do have one complaint about you though,” you say with a cheeky little smirk.

“And that is?” He sounds as if he's raised an eyebrow, head tilting.

“You're still covered in krayt dragon, and I'm pretty sure we both stink.”

*****

Nightfall comes and Din finds himself seated by the flames of a small fire in Hangar 3-5, with you seated in a way so that you are next to but also leaning on him. One arm is wrapped around your waist and the other is draped along the piece of spare equipment he’s leaning against. You feel so right pressed to him like this, and the word riduur continues to float around in his mind. He must be going mad for thinking about marriage this much and so soon. Yes, the two of you have been close friends for several months but you’ve been lovers for a much shorter amount of time. Perhaps he’s so lost in the throws of love that he cannot think clearly anymore. Or perhaps the idea of marrying you is the clearest he’s ever thought about anything in his entire life.

Either way, he pulls you close and savors how perfect your weight feels against him. The way you convulse into him as you laugh at something your grandfather says. The scent of your freshly clean body, faint as it is within the helmet. Din’s chest swells at the sensation of spousal yearning, arm squeezing you the littlest bit tighter. You seem to respond to this, pressing your hand into his inner thigh and glancing back at him with a knowing little smile. He can see the love in your eyes, and briefly wishes that you could see it being returned in his own. A wish that he quickly pushes away, ashamed slightly.

Peli and Richard have provided the group with two bottles of wine. One for the two of them and one for Din and yourself. Not usually one to drink, Din hasn’t had much of it. You’ve had one cup and your body seems to have relaxed into the feeling of it, though your mind remains sharp as you discuss the things you miss about Earth with your grandfather.

“Okay,” you giggle, a sound Din has cherished for months, “what are the top five Earth foods you miss eating? For me it's pizza with pineapples and peppers, cheeseburgers with mushrooms, any kind of sushi, cheesy mashed potatoes, and spaghetti. Angel hair pasta of course.”

Din has no idea what any of that food is. You've spoken about some of these things before, so he's vaguely familiar with the terminology you use but when it comes down to truly understanding, he's at a loss as to what constitutes as a cheeseburger. He'd be interested to know what it tastes like, if only to understand why you speak of it with such reverence.

Richard hums as he considers this, a look of concentration on his brow. “That's a good one. I think mine are going to have to be BLTs, crab cakes, French onion soup, beef stroganoff, and spaghetti for me as well. You used to make great spaghetti.”

“Oh my god I would die for a bowl of it right now,” you lament. “With extra Parmesan cheese. And garlic bread.”

“Does any of that sound good to you, Mando?” Peli asks with a scrunched expression. “These Earthlings are weird-ooohs if you ask me.”

“I'd have to see it to know, but it all certainly sounds bizarre.” Din replies honestly.

You look up at him with a wide grin, “I think a good slice of pizza would change your life, Mando.”

Just then a piece of metal whizzes past his head, nearly dinging the beskar. The kid is in your lap playing with some spare parts down by Din's feet, using his ability to make them float around in front of his face as if he is playing with toy starships. One of the 'ships' must have had a great victory over the one that flew past him, if he had to guess.

“That child is something else,” Richard remarks from the other side of the fire where he’s laying down with his head in Peli’s lap.

Din must admit, seeing Peli in a romantic relationship is very odd. He’s sure that seeing them like that is strange for you as well. Richard himself eludes Din for a multitude of reasons. The Mandalorian is skeptical of this stranger, regardless of who he is to you. When Din had asked you to tell him your grandfather's explanation for why any of this happened to the two of you in the first place, you told Din that you would talk to him about it when you've had more time to process everything. He wants to know for himself if this man can be trusted after keeping something so monumental from you, but for now he will trust you and hope that's enough.

The old man then adds, “I've heard so much about The Force but I've never seen it used before.”

You chuckle, your body rumbling into Din's as you stroke one of the child's long ears. “You haven’t seen the half of it with our little green bean, old man. He’s the most remarkable little kid in the galaxy.” The child smiles up at you when you say this, so naturally you lean forward to kiss his wispy haired little head. Din's chest swells with love at the sight of it.

“She’s not just saying that. It’s a special little critter,” Peli agrees, one hand stroking the wild gray hair of her companion. Then she looks directly at Din. “Why don’t you let us care for him tonight so that the two of you may find proper rest.”

Din begins to argue, “We sleep just fine with him.”

She counters again, “Yes but this can give you a chance to really sleep through the night. Just for tonight. I mean no offense, Mando, but you both look like you could use it.”

Din wants desperately to retort with a snarky inquiry as to how she knows what he looks like, but he holds his tongue and instead waits for you to answer. To see what your opinion is, and listen to it with respect. Almost like real parents. Like a husband and wife, he thinks against his will.

After mulling this over for a moment, you finally respond with your thoughts. “I think it should be up to the kid where he wants to sleep. If he’s excited about a sleepover then sure, but if he seems uncomfortable it’s probably best he stay home with us.”

“Well, little guy, what do ya say? You wanna camp out with your old auntie Peli and, well gee, I dunno what we should call Richard.” Peli looks at her companion curiously.

“You can just call me 'old man', kiddo. That’s what your mama always called me.” Richard offers a little chuckle along with this.

“I'm not his mama,” you blurt rather sharply, mood shifting to a saddened tone, "but what I wouldn't give to be."

Din notices how tense you get when you say that, hearing the pain in your voice. He feels a little guilty then, knowing that you're denying the title mostly to appease him and his creed. The arm he has around you tightens, and he leans in to whisper in your ear, “Cyar’ika, you don’t have to-”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Peli interjects with an almost dismissive wave of the hand, “the two of you are more like parents to him than anyone else in the galaxy. Who else provides him with a home? Feeds him? Loves him? Knows him?”

Din's heart feels strangled at that last word. Know. What a significance that word has in his culture. Love is one thing. Love is so intense and passionate and can, unfortunately, be sometimes fleeting. But to know someone is another thing entirely. The love is there of course, but the knowing is what makes that love last forever. That is why a Mandalorians says 'ni kar'taylir darasuum' in lieu of 'I love you'. Because it is so much more than that. There's no way that Peli could have known how much that phrase would impact him, could she? It feels so directed at him. But perhaps Din is feeling sensitive around the subject of the child to begin with.

Richard nods in agreement with Peli, getting up to come squat down and speak directly to the child in your lap, the fire a backdrop to his image. “I was adopted,” he tells the green baby, “and I know that the love I felt from my parents was more real to me than any sort of biological connection I have with the ones who made me. They provided a home where I was loved, respected, and nurtured. A home where I was allowed to grow and be myself. You see, I never felt like I fit in very much on Earth. Which is why I found a way to come here. But when I was a little one like you, my parents made me feel like I could fit in anywhere.”

The kid seems to be soaking in this information, looking up at the old man with wide eyes and little babbles.

You make a choked little sound and grab around for Din’s gloved hand, squeezing once you take hold. He knows then that you’re not really okay and you’re hiding it very well.

“We are his caretakers,” Din starts with the same speech he’s been giving to everyone for months, a very small sliver of him hating himself for saying it, “and should he choose to stay with us we would gladly become his parents. But it is my duty to find his people and bring him to his own kind. He must decide for himself what path he wishes to take. By creed, so it must be.”

“He’s just a baby though,” your grandfather argues, brow furrowed. "He can't possibly understand your creed. All that he understands is that you are the ones who love him right now."

Din starts to get a little defensive at that. “He’s fifty years old. He’s completely aware of what's going on around him and he’s very smart. Technically yes, he’s a baby, but he’s also more capable than the average infant.”

“You haven’t seen what he can do, Grandad,” you agree, adding, “Mando's creed is a sacred thing that none of us are equipped to understand. He's doing what is right by the kid in the best way he knows how, and that's enough.”

Although it must pain you to defend something Din knows you do not wish to be a reality, he's very thankful that you choose to back him up in this moment. You really are his partner. Wife, his mind repeats against his will.

Richard nods to Din, seeming to back off after you've put your foot down. “Well I’m sure the two of you know what you’re doing. But we’d love to watch the little one for you both tonight.”

“What do you say? You wanna have a sleepover with them, love bug?” You ask down to the kid, smile warming when he looks up at you wide-eyed. “Mando and I are fine with it, sweetheart. Might be fun to break up the routine a little.”

The kid seems to think this over before looking up at you with a little nod, squeezing your fingers with a tiny hand as he makes affirmative noises.

Conversation and drinks carry on for a while longer. After an hour the kid is just about tuckered out completely, snuggled up to Din’s left inside of the pram. He’s wrapped in his small blanket with the lava meerkat plush, eyes fighting desperately to stay open so he can be part of the fun. Din chuckles, reaching his free hand out to stroke the kid’s ear with a gloved finger. He feels endeared, recalling how it felt to be a child wanting to be included in the confusing but exciting world of the adults around him. “I know you want to stay up and see what the grown ups are doing but it’s okay to go to sleep, ad’ika. Rest. There will be plenty for you to learn tomorrow.”

As if this truly gives the child permission to fall asleep, his huge eyes slip closed and his breathing begins to deepen after a content little sigh escapes from his tiny mouth.

The adults bid each other a good night, and suddenly Din is completely alone on the Razor Crest with you. Well, alone save for the cat. It feels odd to be without the child, an awkward bashfulness he's not used to is rising in him. He feels a little nervous about what he wants to do next, but every instance when he has acted on an impulse with you thus far has been met favorably. So he decides to just go for it.

"I would like to speak to you about something," he says, knowing he sounds a little awkward.

You've begun pulling out the light clothing you like to sleep in from the compartment you took over all those months ago, but you turn to give him your full attention. "What's up?"

"I would like to understand you better," he says simply.

You grin a little, "How so?"

"If you truly will never return to Earth, then I would like to ensure that you do not forget about it. It is where you came from, and that has value. I know that a part of you does miss things about it. I do not want your home world to only be a place full of bad memories, and I feel that deep down you do not want that either."

Your grin widens as you cross the room to touch a hand to his chest plate, eyes casting upward. "I like how you say you want to understand me better, but you can read me better than anyone."

Din shrugs, "Not always. Tell me what a couple would do together on Earth if they were granted a night's respite from being foster parents. How does courtship work on your world?"

You grin as you mull this over for a long moment. "Well, it all depends on the couple. There are countless ways that romantic partners can enjoy time together on Earth, so it's really about what both people are interested in. We call the act of setting aside a special time just for the two of you a 'date'. Earth couples do all kinds of things together that may constitute a date. Walks, games, dancing. But one of the most common things is probably what we call dinner and a movie, which was always my personal favorite. Usually a couple will go out to eat somewhere nice and dress up to impress each other in their nicest clothes. Then they go to a movie theater to see whatever is out that they both would like to see."

Din nods in understanding. You told him once that the 'movie theater' was your favorite place to go on Earth. The place where you could slip away from your family's emotional abuse and escape into another world entirely for a few hours. He has only a vague understanding of what a place like that would be like, but he has a complete understanding of what it once meant to you.

"The ones you have on your personal device? Would they be sufficient for this?"

"Din Djarin, are you asking me out on a date?"

"If that is really what it is called, then yes. We've already had dinner, so I suppose we can skip to the movie part."

“Well, we are kind of limited in the selection. Back home I had hundreds of movies in my physical collection. I only have a small handful on that thing. I try not to watch them very often because it drains the battery, and I'm afraid I'll get sick of them too soon.”

“I would like for you to show me whichever one is your favorite of those options. We can get comfortable in the cot, if that sounds agreeable to you.”

“Ha,” you laugh a bit, “that's a no-brainier. I've got the perfect choice. But before we get started I'm going to have to explain a few Earth things just to catch you up to speed. Starting with a little place we like to call Ancient Egypt.”

Curled up in the cot with you pressed to his side, Din enjoys watching the tale of treasure-seeking adventurers uncovering ancient curses, while also uncovering a romance, far more than he'd realized was possible. After first it is a little difficult to understand but eventually he allows himself to get fully engrossed in the story playing on the small screen, even with the differences in speech and culture. It's easy enough to piece things together when he needs to, and the visible emotions of the characters are able to surpass any language barriers.

Afterwards he's full of questions.

“This Brendan Fraiser, he must be one of the most important- what did you call them? Actors? He must be very important.”

You chuckle, a fondness in your eyes as they meet his beneath the beskar. “He is to me and some other nerds who love his movies but unfortunately not as popular as you would think.”

“And how did they create that face in the sand? Was that real?”

“No, they used computers to create that. The technology is called CGI, or computer-generated imagery.”

“Interesting. It looked real. Odd that your culture uses computers for that and not more useful things,” Din says thoughtfully.

You scoff, “That's not the only thing we use computers for. But yes, we tend to use our technology for more frivolous endeavors. That doesn't mean that it's easy. I certainly don't have the skills for something like that. It takes a long time and a lot of people to make it look that good.”

“Very strange,” he muses.

The grin that spreads across the bottom half of your face is lovely as you say, “Well, Din Djarin, this was your first experience watching an Earth movie from beginning to end. I have to ask, what was your favorite part?”

“Mm,” he hums as he ponders, and then says almost bashfully, “I think my favorite part was the romance. I very much enjoyed watching the two characters fall in love. The way that they would look at each other with admiration was very believable. It... it reminded me of us.”

You can't help but grin lovingly at him, chest swelling. “That's my favorite part as well. I used to watch that movie as a little girl and yearn for a romance like that. I always wanted to go on an adventure and find the love of my life.”

“Do you feel like I am the love of your life?” He asks then, voice soft and hopeful in the modulated tone of his helmet. He finds himself wishing again that you could see his eyes again, see the sincerity there. Thoughts like that are worrisome if they do not go unchecked.

“I do,” you say honestly, “and this has certainly been an adventure.”

Din doesn't say more, simply nuzzling his beskar covered head into the side of your bare one.

“You know,” you say when a moment of silence goes by, “after a date it's usually customary to have sex.”

“Oh it is, is it?” Din's grin is hopefully obvious in his voice, a bare hand already snaking it's way up under the hem of your shirt.

*****

The handful of times you've had sex with your cosmic companion, you've never categorized what the two of you do together as making love. In fact, you're certain that you've never “made love” with anybody. The phrase always felt so corny on your tongue. It would make you cringe to hear it said in a film or read the phrase in a book. The concept seemed entirely fictional, like something sad women fantasize about in romance novels when in reality they have to go to bed each night with men who can barely make them cum let alone have emotionally compelling sex.

But on this night, you and Din make love in every imaginable sense of the phrase. Every touch is soft and deliberate, fueled by the pure emotion the two of you feel for one another. As if the connection between you is the realest it's ever been up to this point. It's pure bliss. Taking your time undressing one another, admiring each other's bodies as slowly as possible. He doesn't remove the helmet tonight, and it feels as if you're able to make eye contact with him even through the visor. Perhaps it's all in your head but each time your eyes meet the black T in the center of his metal clad face, you know you've locked eyes with him. The two of you move so carefully, treating each other's forms with the utmost respect.

With you on top and his nimble fingers playing with your clit, you're able to easily reach an orgasm in record time. Marveling at the realization that cumming with Din has become the easiest thing in the world. That woman from Earth who couldn't cum with a partner to save her life? Who's she? You don't know her anymore, that part of you is so distantly in the past.

His own orgasm arrives shortly after and you happily lap up the small puddle of him from his toned belly before your tongue trails all the way up his torso. Kissing and licking every salty ounce of tan skin that you have access to. As much as you long to kiss his lips, you find yourself pleased that he hasn't removed the helmet tonight. You get to actually look at his naked body in all it's glory for once, not just in passing. Usually you're blindfolded when he's this exposed.

“You have so many scars,” you muse, idly running a finger along a diagonal one that starts just below his right nipple, slanting down towards the center of his sternum. “You told me once that you have so many that you lose track, but that can't be true for all of them. Some must have a story.”

“They do,” he agrees softly, his own fingers lost in your hair. “Not all of them are stories I'd like to remember.”

“I guess that's fair. But I'd love to hear more about your past. What was your life really like before the kid and I came along?”

“Lonely,” he whispers.

“Always? There wasn't anyone?”

“I was a different man then, but there was someone a very long time ago. I was young and foolish.”

“So you have an ex you regret?”

“I do not understand the question.”

“An ex-girlfriend or lover? As in no longer a thing but once was? You said you hadn't slept with anyone in nearly ten years. Who was she? Or he?”

Din's head tilts up thoughtfully. “I suppose Xi'an counts as that, but I never loved Xi'an. Not in the way that I love you. I cared about her, but I couldn't be what she needed. She and I ran together on the same crew. We worked as hired guns, long before I was a bounty hunter. The things we did back then... I am not very proud of them. As I said, I was young and foolish. I was also very angry. Angry still for what happened to my family and my home world. I took out a lot of that anger on those jobs, and I enjoyed the pain I inflicted. It felt good to make others suffer because I had suffered. So with Xi'an it was a constant cycle of fighting, drinking, and fucking. There was plenty of lust, but never real love between us. When I decided that I'd finally had enough of that life, I left and she didn't take it well.”

“Wow, I was not expecting that. Thank you for sharing.”

“You're welcome,” he nods, gesturing towards his head. “My helmet was also a constant source of contention. She was offended that I would not take it off for her. She mocked my creed on a regular basis, and I did not take kindly to that after awhile.”

A small pang of jealous worry strikes your heart, but you push through it with hope that you're right about the answer to your next question. “So you never did the blindfold thing with her?”

Din looks at you sharply, causing a shiver to run the length of your spine as his voice becomes deadly serious. “Never. You are the only person I have ever done that with. What we have is different. You are the only woman I have ever called my cyar'ika. Ner cyare.”

Snuggling into him, your heart soars a little. You'd hoped that was the case, but until now it's never been brought up. “I don't ever want the helmet to be a source of contention for us. I would never mock your creed, Din. That's so cruel.”

Din releases a breath, sighing happily. “And that is why what we have is unique. I don't know why you respect my way of life so much, but I am thankful that you do.”

A shrug finds your shoulders. “I just think it's silly to shame others for being themselves. If this is how you choose to live and you do not force your way of thinking onto me, then I have no right to judge you or try to steer you away from it. This is part of what makes you you, and I cannot say that I love you if I do not love all of you.”

“I do not know what I've done to deserve you, but I thank whatever deity is listening that I have.”

His arms tighten around you, and soon after the two of you drift off to a peaceful sleep.

*****

“So I have to ask you, Mando. What are your intentions with my granddaughter?” Richard asks Din a few days later when the two of them are alone in Hangar 3-5. The women have taken the child into the town of Mos Eisley to pick up more food, and the men opted to stay behind.

“I'm not sure I understand.” Din says honestly, confused a little by his Earth phrasing.

“I know that she loves you a great deal, Mandalorian. I have never seen her like this before. She's happy with you. Happier than I think she's ever been.” Richard's voice grows incredibly serious, the old man regarding Din with piercing eyes. “I would like to know if you intend for things to remain that way.”

Din is taken aback by this sudden line of questioning, but he tries his best to answer honestly, “I cannot control her happiness. No one can or should control the will of another. But I do intend to be by her side for a long as she will have me. I will provide her with anything that is within my ability to do so. She means more to me than I believe I could describe.”

Richard mulls over this response, seeming pleased with it but not entirely. “What of marriage?”

Kriffing Hell, why is this at the forefront of everyone's minds as of late? “I believe it is too early for that,” Din offers, weary of where this is going.

“But have you considered it?”

Almost every day. “It is something I have contemplated, yes.”

“Well, what's holding you back?”

“As I said, I believe it to be too soon.”

Richard scoffs, “Oh nonsense. The two of you are more in love than I think I've ever seen before. People on Earth get married for far less.”

Din doesn't know how to respond to that at first, feeling both awkward at this sudden grilling and slightly defensive. “Mandalorians do not wed for far less,” he says with a pointed tone. “The bond of riduurok is sacred. Not meant to be taken lightly. She and I must arrive at that conclusion as partners if that is indeed the path our lives are to take. I love your granddaughter. She is a remarkable woman. I may not be ready to ask her that question now, but I would be honored if she were to accept my proposal when the time comes.”

Richard looks him up and down for a long moment before nodding once and holding out his hand. Din takes it as an offer of handshake so he reaches a gloved hand out to accept.

With a grin crawling out from his beard, the old man declares, “That was a test, and you passed.”

“Thank you, I think?” Din says, still half confused.

“You see, I wanted to make sure that she's traveling around with someone who respects her. Thank you for being good to her, and good for her. I've known that girl since the day she was born. She's had a lot of pain in her life and she doesn't need more if it can be helped.”

Din thinks over his next impulse for a moment, seeing an opportunity to ask Richard something that he hasn't felt comfortable bringing up to you. “Since we are already talking about this, I do have a few questions for you about the marriage customs of Earth.”

*****

“You are so good with him,” Peli says as the three of you are making your way back to Hangar 3-5, a droid rolling beside her carrying the food and supplies gathered at the market.

Currently, the kid in question is in your arms and you've been pretending he's a little starship as you mock flying him around in the air. Ever since Din did that with him back on Nevarro, it's become one of the kid's favorite things in the world. Bringing him in for a landing on your hip, you squint over to the older woman through the harsh rays of the binary suns. “I appreciate that,” you say softly, a sadness to your tone that doesn't go unnoticed.

“Have you tried to convince Mando to just keep him? Raise him as your own? The two of you could settle down somewhere and have a nice life with this little boy.” Peli sounds so genuine right now, which throws you off a little. Normally the woman is all quips, now she's speaking so freely of your heart's true desire.

“I'm not going to try and convince Mando of anything. He's aware of my feelings on the subject. I would become this child's mother right now if I had the option. But we agreed to see this through to the end, whatever that end that may be.” At your hip, the kid makes a noise that sounds sad, long ears casting downward. It's obvious that he understands everything that the adults are saying, and your heart sinks. “I'm sorry to talk about you like you're not here, buddy. This is just so complicated. I wish I could make it easier to understand.”

“That's right, tell your mama you want to stay with her and Mando, little fella.” Peli says with a wink down at the kid. “If they're going to leave the choice up to you, then you're going to have to chose one way or the other. What would make you happy, little one?”

The kid's ears perk back up, mouth opening as a little look of realization comes over his face. He says, “patu,” and reaches out for Peli. You hand him over, and she begins playing starship with him the way you had a minute ago.

“And believe me I am not just advocating for this so I can have a sweet little great-grandson like you, but it would definitely be a huge win for me.” She says, swooping him up and down with mouth noises to simulate torpedoes.

“Do you have any children?” You ask tentatively, aware that a subject like this can be touchy.

Peli stops walking all together, a sad look crossing her features. She keeps looking down at Green Bean, never once looking back up at you while she speaks. “I did. A son. He was a X-Wing pilot for the rebellion. I did all the upgrades and tune ups on that thing myself, but it didn't help much. He was lost in the war.”

“I'm sorry Peli. Truly,” your chest tightens, empathy for her loss overcoming you.

“I wasn't sure I'd ever feel alive again after he died. It got a little easier to live each cycle, but I never felt alive. I moved here and opened my hangar to try a fresh start. Then your grandfather stumbled into the cantina asking if anyone needed the work of a good engineer, and life found its way back into my bones after all. Still hurts every damn day, though.” She throws a mournful smile your way, handing the kid back to you. “So take my advice. If you love him, do everything in your power to keep him. And if that doesn't work, just make sure he knows how much you love him while you still have time together.”

“I will heed your advice as much as I can,” you say lamely, unsure of how to feel after such a heavy revelation about your new friend. You instead change focus to the fact that she had referred to herself as a possible great-grandmother to the kid, insinuating the seriousness of her relationship with your grandfather. “So I take it you and my grandfather are happy together?”

Peli's sad facial expression then morphs to one of joy, “I thank The Force every day for bringing us together.”

That answer is enough for you, nodding to the woman. “I am glad he finally found that with someone. My grandmother was not a very good wife to him.”

“She sounds like a real bitch if you ask me,” she laughs, sounding more like the woman you've gotten to know over the last couple of days. The kind of woman you wish had been your grandmother. You're happy to have her in the family now, even if it is unofficial.

You can't help but laugh as well, taking the child back from her. “You don't know the half of it, Peli. You don't know the half of it.”

Then as your own laugh dies down, you can hear the laughter of your two favorite men in this universe up ahead at Hangar 3-5. As your party makes way into the circular docking bay, you see the two of them tinkering with something over at one of the many work benches. Sparks are flying up around them, illuminating their figures with little cascades of dancing light. The golden colors bounce off of Din's armor and your grandfather's safety goggles, and when Din says something indistinguishable Richard claps a hand on his shoulder with another bout of uproarious laughter.

The sight of it fills your heart with so much love, but the emotion is so much more complicated than that. Seeing your family, all of it, together like this is something you never thought you'd get a chance to see. Family was so far removed from your life back on Earth. Here it's beginning to flourish in the way you'd always wished for. As Peli rushes over to greet Richard with a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of his ass (that part you could have seriously done without), Din looks over to you with a little wave and quickly covers up whatever he'd been working on with a sheet. Looking down at the child in your arms, you can't help but mull over Peli Motto's words of wisdom and hope that whatever comes next will ultimately work out for the best.

“I love you, Green Bean. I really would be your mama if you decide that's what you want, but it's your choice to make. I promise that I would never try to sway you. I'll love you no matter what path you choose. Always.”

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

@jokesonthem | @somewereinthegalaxi | @missbabyjay | @leithatnight | @theyoutubedork | @luc-k-y | @orcasoul | @erissco

[xxplastic-cubexx]

graph

bonus:

[jubileedeeznuts-posting]

the people’s princess

[mattodore]

guy whose “extended one-night stand” regularly deploys polish to call a little mouse

[wundrousarts]

I discovered these paintings by James McNeill Whistler recently, Nocturne in Black and Gold: Falling Rocket (top) and Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Firewheel (bottom). I’m sharing them because they make me think of Nevermoor, as so many things do.

With paintings, a nocturne refers to the depiction of night. This is derived from the musical term, where a nocturne refers to a musical piece that is “inspired by, or evocative of, the night.” These both just come from the fact that “nocturne” essentially means “of the night”.

On a basic level, this just reminds me of Nevermoor by the aesthetics. The dreamy nighttime setting strikes me the most, but also the sparks of yellow fire that make me think of Wunder. Think of how many important scenes happen at night- Morrigan on Eventide, the Museum of Stolen Moments, and the Hollowpox in Courage Square. But the concept has me thinking, obviously, about the Wundrous Art of Nocturne. The only songs we know are Morrigan and Squall’s, who both chose nursery rhymes as their Nocture. Their choices make me think of lullabies, sung at night… and there’s lots to think about with that.

[dawnthefluffyduck]

New game interest unlocked

(crow in bottom right belongs to @patchwork-crow-writes)