#was looking at this and realised shes wearing a progress pin!!

[should-david-be-there]

damnit who let him out of his cage

[inuyashaluver]

boyfriend - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which your girlfriend is just the definition of boyfriend

warnings: swearing, a little suggestive

a/n: i was writing my requests and got the overwhelming urge to write this because leah is just the definition of boyfriend, i don’t make the rules, i also saw the picture of her this morning and died so here you go lmao

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

your girlfriend, leah, was the literal definition of boyfriend. and yeah, maybe that didn’t make sense, but it did to you.

leah williamson was incredibly protective, supportive and disciplined to the public eye, but to you, she was just your leah.

your leah found comfort in burying her face in the crook of your neck to avoid the rest of the world.

your leah loved to hold your hand or any part of your body at every given moment so everyone knew you were hers and she was yours.

your leah was incredibly stubborn, especially when it came to you. your leah worshipped the ground you walked on.

—

you and leah grew up together in the arsenal youth teams, quickly gravitating towards each other when you both realised how passionate you were about football, exactly like the other person.

when you both got selected for the england teams, you two grew extremely close, finding comfort in just being around each other. you both brought out the best in each other and everyone could see it, both on and off the pitch.

you and leah didn’t have many issues surrounding your years of pining, the two of you would shamelessly flirt from the time you were both 19 and changing that dynamic of being best friends to something more.

“baby, do not go on this date” leah pleads as you held up a forth outfit up to your body, “what do you think?” you turn to face her, a scowl evident on her 19 year old face as she sat on the edge of your bed.

“you look gorgeous, that’s not the point, (y/n)” she spits out, “i don’t want you to go,” leah crosses her arms over her chest and glares at you chuckling in the mirror.

“i want to go, lee baby” you tease, making the girl huff in frustration when you brought out yet another top against you.

“fine, wear the second outfit, see if i care,” she grumbles, picking at her cuticles while you smile at her through the mirror.

you were just pulling her leg, there wasn’t really a date, you just loved to tease leah but you also wanted your relationship to progress, to finally call her yours.

“babe” you call out, moving to stand in between her spread legs, she looks up at you curiously, her glare still a little evident as you smiled down at her.

“what?” she sighs, your hands make your ways to her shoulders, massaging them gently and feeling her relax under your touch.

“there’s no date, you git” you chuckle, leah tenses again, “sorry?” you really couldn’t help but laugh at her face of relief but also mischief as she looked up at you.

“i’m fucking with you, there’s no date” you laugh, leah grabs the sides of your hips and chucks you onto your bed, moving to straddle your hips as she tickled your sides.

“you’re such a little shit!” she laughs, smiling brightly at the bright laughs coming out of your mouth.

“why would you tell me there was a date?” she breathes out, lacing your fingers together as she pinned them by the sides of your head.

“wanted to see how you’d react” you say breathlessly, your chest heaving while an affectionate smile adorns your features.

“you seemed a little jealous, williamson?” you say teasingly, leah shakes her head, pinning you by your hips to the bed with her own, “fuck off, i was not” she defends, giving your hands a squeeze as you laugh up at her.

your heart was beating out of your chest, so was leah’s, but in a good way. a weirdly familiar way.

“you so were” you smirk, “i don’t want you to go” you mock her accent, she rolls her eyes fondly, lifting your hand up and threatening to bite your fingers.

you yelp when her teeth actually does graze your pointer finger, making her chuckle against your skin.

her eyes flicker between your own before falling to your lips, subconsciously wetting hers with her tongue as she looked back up at your eyes.

“looking a little flushed there, gorgeous, you alright?” she teases, you shake your head at her, “i’m fine, but you look a little flushed there, babe, anything you want to tell me?” you tease right back.

she giggles at your words, kissing the corner of your mouth, your breath hitched at how close she was to your lips, feeling her smirk against your skin as she trailed kisses along your cheeks.

she pulls back, dangerously close to your face as she chuckles, both of your pupils were blown out, cheeky grins evident on both of your faces.

leah puts you out of your misery and gives you that kiss you’d both been dreaming of, it was as perfect as a first kiss could go.

a little inexperienced at first but quickly learning from each other as it continued. you hummed against leah’s lips and she can’t help but grin into the kiss.

the kiss lasted for a couple of seconds before she let go of you, pulling you to sit up cross legged in front of her while she offered you a sheepish smile.

“be my girlfriend?” she breathes out, you nod instantly, making your way into her lap and kissing her until the air was knocked out from your lungs.

when you both pulled away, you tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear and leah’s heart fluttered. at the gesture but also the fact you were doing it as her girlfriend. “took you long enough” you grin, she pinches your hip and smirks when you squirm in her lap.

“how about i wear outfit number two and we go out on our own date” you smile cheekily, she presses a quick, tender kiss to your lips in response,

“you’ve got yourself a deal” she whispers against your lips, her hands gently squeezing your hips as you ended up in another kiss.

—

in present times, you and leah moved in together, both of you were extremely successful in your football careers.

leah was the captain of the england senior team and you couldn’t be more proud, showing her how much you loved that armband the first time she wore it.

you and leah had so much love for each other it was sickeningly sweet. both of you were head over heels, affection an understatement for the two of you.

it was obvious in the way you acted around her, dropping anything and everything if she needed something. telling her verbally how much you loved her no matter where you were. giving her heart eyes every two seconds that had her stomach swarming with butterflies.

and in leah’s case, she’s been called a simp way more than she’d like to admit but she didn’t mind. it was true after all.

—

“baby, you’ll get sick like that” leah scolds as you walk out of the change room onto the pitch where she was waiting for you for a pre match lap, your puffer unzipped in just your training kit.

“i’m fine, love” you smile, walking up to her and promptly puckering your lips up at her, she shakes her head fondly, pressing a couple of kisses to your lips while you sighed happily.

she pulls away from you, tugging you closer by the sides of your puffer and zipping it up for you. you smile at her appreciatively, she pinches your cheek gently before grabbing your hand and interlacing it with hers as you both walked around, posing for photos together with cheesy grins if needed.

your cheeks were a little red, not only from leah but the cold as well. leah moves you to stand in front of her again, her arms wrapping around you and prompting you to do the same as she pulled you closer.

she kisses your cheeks repeatedly, feeling them warm up under her lips as she spreads her love on both. “still cold?” she says softly, you nod with a cheeky grin, “very” she narrows her eyes at you amusingly but continues spreading kisses over your entire face, relishing in the soft giggles you were rewarding her with.

suddenly, she gasps, reaching into her pockets with an excited smile. “i forgot!” she exclaims, pulling out two heat packs that were warming up in her pockets, she only did it for you.

she places both of them against your cheeks and you smile happily, letting leah press little kisses to your lips again as she held the packs gently on your face, making sure not to burn you. she would whisper in conversation with you in between the kisses, your stomach lurching at her softness.

“ugh, you two make me sick” beth dry wretches, victoria and alessia laugh while watching you both pull away, “fuck off, beth” leah groans, tugging you impossibly closer as you tucked your head under her chin.

“i’ll remind you she’s my girlfriend, bethany” you tease, leah kisses your temple softly, “you think i don’t know that? you’re attached at the hip” she teases, “leave them, bethy, they’re cute” alessia coos, you send her a little wink of appreciation.

“they’re cute until you catch them fucking,” beth exclaims, you and leah both roll your eyes in unison, “you came to our home, unannounced, uninvited, with the spare key” leah grits out, holding onto you protectively. your hands rub up and down her back in an attempt to calm her down but leah was your defender.

“i told you i was coming over!” beth accuses, “you did fucking not!” leah yells, alessia and victoria laugh at the the thought of you and leah being caught. especially knowing how protective leah was of you. let’s just say a lot of yelling happened that day.

the bickering went back and forth for a bit as you and leah kept cuddling up together.

“you could have the same if you just go up to viv” leah shrugs, beth rolls her eyes at that, “i don’t need to be attached to my girlfriend to show our love” beth defends, “the kisses are nice, beth” you smile, looking up at leah with a smile.

beth chuckles and seems to give in, you and leah giggle as you watch beth run over and latch herself to viv, watching her struggle for a bit before giving up and pulling her into an embrace similar to yours and leah’s.

“we should be couple’s therapists,” you rest your chin on her chest, looking up at her with a soft smile. she kisses you softly again, “we can be whatever you want to be” she says cheekily, making you chuckle when her kisses make their way to your neck, jokingly biting you a couple of times to make you laugh.

—

whenever you and leah were in a large crowd, her true boyfriend nature came out that you just ate up. you were both at the pride of britain awards, her hand firmly planted on the small of your back as you walked around, posing for cameras on the red carpet.

when you two got pulled for interviews, leah tucked you into her side as you answered questions, she would focus on you intently, nodding along with your words and smiling proudly as you talked.

when you’d catch her gaze, her bright smile would make you falter slightly and you’d have to recover while her hand rubbed gently up and down your back.

you both answer generic interview until you approach a very special one. “it’s one nil” the interviewer says, leah and your eyes visibly widen, leah pressing her hand into your back as you both approached.

“are you joking?” leah smiles, “no it is!” the interviewer exclaims, “arsenal?” leah questions excitedly, “did you hear that?” leah grins at you, “yeah, baby i did” you chuckle affectionately, your head falling to her shoulder for a minute while she chats excitedly with the interviewer.

“this girl bleeds arsenal” you smile up at her, she nods without a second thought, showing off her earring with a proud smile.

“so, leah, if you had to pick between (y/n) and arsenal, who would you pick?” the interviewer says jokingly, though leah takes it seriously,

“now, hold on, i’m gonna go with my girl in arsenal, without a doubt” she says smugly, seemingly proud of her answer.

you laugh brightly, kissing her cheek fondly as she grins, “she was joking” you laugh, leah looks down at you cheekily, “don’t care” she taunts, her hand moving to rest on your hip to answer the rest of the interview.

you both got invited to an after party, making your rounds together with bright smiles, seeing people you haven’t seen for ages.

everytime you would talk to leah, she would bend her head to your level to make sure you were speaking directly into her ear, not wanting to miss out on anything you say.

and so, when you mentioned to leah you wanted to go home, you both left promptly with leah leading you out.

—

another instance of your girlfriend just radiating boyfriend energy was when you both needed to go on a bus for the lionesses on camp.

leah was talking to keira and georgia who she hadn’t seen in a while so you went on the bus first.

a few of the younger girls send you a wave so you go over with a bright smile. sitting next to maya as you entertained the young ones as they teased you about your love life.

it was until your girlfriend got on the bus with a little scowl at realising you left without her. “who do you think you are?” leah grumbles, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the seat you were in to another one closer to the back.

you hear the laughs of the girls as leah drags you from your seat.

“leah!” you reprimand with a laugh, “who?” she whips her head towards you, about to shove you into the window seat.

“love,” you sigh, she smiles cheekily, “that’s better” she pushes you towards the window seat, draping your legs over hers as you both chatted.

leah snapped a photo of you and smiled at the result, adding it to her folder dedicated to you. “you’re so cute” leah coos, kissing you quickly and dropping her grumpy attitude. “you’re cuter” you grin, pressing another kiss to her lips before you snuggle up to her.

“i’m running out of storage” leah frowns, going to her camera roll and gasping at how many photos you have.

you lean over and gasp as well, grabbing her hand with the phone in it and looking at the screen, “baby, oh my god, what’ve you got in there” you laugh,

“i don’t know, let’s see” she makes you sit closer while you both went through her camera roll, laughing at some of the funnier pictures and shoving her phone down at the more explicit ones.

“i need to revisit this picture later” she winks at you when one of you and leah during that first day of captaincy. “leah cathrine” you warn, she smirks, “sorry” she coughs.

your heart quickened when you realised how many photos she had of you, making up almost all of her camera roll.

“lovey, you can delete some photos of me, half of them are duplicates” you chuckle, leah looks at you offendedly, “excuse me? they are all different” she scoffs, flicking between two nearly identical photos while pointing out little differences.

“babe, that’s the same picture” you laugh brightly, leah stifles her own laugh, “it is not! god, just break up with me then, you awful woman, can’t even have a picture of my wife in my phone without you on my ass” she grins,

“wife? i don’t remember you proposing?” you tease, “in due time, my girl” she smiles, kissing you breathlessly until you were completely flushed in the face.

“here, i’ll help you delete some photos,” you hold your hand out for her phone and she holds it instead, “you delete a single one and i’ll really break up with you” she mocks, you gasp offendedly

“i’m wounded” you pout, she makes quick work of fixing it with a kiss, “kissed it better” she grins, squeezing your thigh gently as your head fell to her shoulder.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - just pretend it’s you, ily beffy

liked by alessia and 44,232 others

leahwilliamsonn: she’s baby girl

view all comments

yourname: it was brilliant, it was powerful, it was leah williamson!!!!

↳ leahwilliamsonn: stop it

↳ yourname: never, it’s literally my job

↳ leahwilliamsonn: your job is football

↳ yourname: my job is annoying you for the rest of my life

↳ leahwilliamsonn: can’t wait xx

bethmead_: sick

↳ yourname: stop hating, bethany

↳ leahwilliamsonn: yeah, bethany

↳ viviannemiedema: yeah, bethany

↳ bethmead_: the betrayal

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: friday, my day, am i right?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You turn your legs over the bench, feet dangling over the floor as you look at the king, dumbfounded and dozy. He sits in the chair by the table, toying with a grab between his fingers as he watches you. Your heart hammers behind your ears as your breath licks like flames in your lungs. You daren’t ask it aloud but what is he doing there? 

“I only meant to look in upon you,” King Geralt says as if he can hear your thoughts. “I fathomed the night was long tending to my wife and I would make sure you are well-rested.” 

“Your highness,” you stand and smooth the front of your shift, realising you wear nothing more. No dress, no apron. You feel vulnerable to his golden eyes as they follow your hands. The fabric pulls taut on your chest before you can right yourself. “I... Apologies, I am unkempt.” 

You search around and go to take your cap from where you hung it. You cover your shorn locks and tie it tight above your nape. The king’s eyes narrow at you. 

“What is the purpose of keeping your hair short?” He wonders as he drops the grape back to the plate. 

You look at him, shuddering, “I do not... it is only as I’ve been bid, your highness. In Debray, all the maids do so.” 

“You are not in Debray now,” he muses. 

You’re quiet. You’re not sure how to answer that. You gulp and grab the clean dress from the pile and throw it over your head. It hangs loose, not like Jazlene’s carefully cut and laced gowns. You reach for your apron and the king clears his throat. You stop and look at him. 

“Your highness?” You blink, still dazed by his unexpected appearance. 

“I did go to see the lady of Debray,” he intones, “she was in a poor state. She would not permit me in her chambers for her condition.” 

“Oh my, your highness, I am sorry to hear. Shall I go look in--” 

“She has maids a plenty,” he insists, “I hoped...” he leans forward and reaches to his belt. You notice the top of his slate grey tunic is untied and shows the trim of his chest hair, “to share a pastime with her. I hoped perhaps we might see past our differences at last and start our progress towards the kingdom. Alas, despite my warnings, she overindulged and has left herself incapacitated.” 

You stare at him, clutching the apron. He flicks his fingers dismissively as his other hand brings forth a pouch, “leave that. Come, sit.” 

You can only obey. You put the apron down and cross the chamber. As you near the table, he pushes the tray of dishes out of the way. You lower yourself onto a stool as he opens the mouth of the pouch. He pours out the rattling contents. Carved diced in varying shapes, symbols painted on each side, and man longer pieces that look like bone. 

“It is a game,” he explains as the contents roll out, “I’d like to teach you.” 

You look down as he sorts out the many pieces into sets. He is lithe in his arrangement. When he is down, he presses his hands flat to frame the assortment. 

“You don’t mind?” He wonders, “if you are tired still...” 

“Your highness, I am awake,” you rub your eyes and drop your hands to your lap. “A game? How do you play it?” 

You lean forward and he seems pleased by your intent. He curls his fingers and takes a breath. 

“It is like bartering at a market, or the like,” he begins, “you see how the pieces differ,” he points to the longer ones, “there are tick marks here,” he shows you how one has an ex, another a line this way and the next that way, and a circle in another. “We each have our dice,” he divides those up and pushes a set towards you, “it is a matter of trade and cost.” 

“Hmm,” you push your lip out, concentrating. 

He continues to explain the balancing and leveraging of each roll. How once you have collected all the pieces with a particular mark, you may wield a greater demand. You tilt your head thoughtfully, your own fingers drawing lines in the air as you make sense of his instruction. You think you understand but remain uncertain. 

“We may begin simple,” he intones. 

So suddenly are you swept up in the intricacy of the game, that your shock at his appearance dissipates. You can only think of the pieces as he rolls a die. Then the next. You follow his lead and when at last the first trade comes, you hear his offer but have no response. 

“You have a question?” He prompts. 

“I am thinking, your highness,” you squint as your forehead lines. 

“I can tell,” he says brightly. 

You peer up at him and smooth your expression. His cheek twitches as he leans back. You counter his offer and he clucks. 

“Mm, I see,” he rests his chin on his knuckles. 

He hands over his pieces and you bite the inside of your lip. You gather them to your side of the table and frown. You toy with the dice and wait. 

“Your turn,” he urges, “unless you are not having fun.” 

“It is an interesting game but I don’t want to be let to win,” you mutter. 

“I am not letting you win. It is the first turn and it is a long game,” he chides. 

“Mm, yes,” you pick through the dice, “your highness.” 

He exhales and leans on the armrest, “take your time. I am no hurry to be away.” 

You peer up at him and find his gaze set on you. You return your attention to the dice and toss them. He’s a king, should he have better things to do? 

⚔️

“It appears you have bested me,” King Geralt sighs and puts his dice down, pressing his hand flat over them, “you have the mind of a councilour.” 

“Your highness,” you bring your hands back to wring in your lap.  

“Truly, you’ve taken well to it,” he remarks, “it has been some time since I had harrying competition.” 

You offer a slight curve of your lips and look away. The window is dulled as the sunlight descends. You blanch and slip forward on the chair. 

“Your highness,” you stand, “it is late. I should--” 

“You may remain,” he assures you as he shows his palm kindly, “no hurry, little maid.” 

“But... shouldn’t you--” you keep yourself from asking after his duty. That is not for you to mind, “the queen will need dinner.” 

“As I said before, this place is ripe with servants,” he says coolly, “you should sit and bask in the time you have off your feet.” 

You face him and slowly sit. He drags his fingers along the wooden armrest as his expression tightens. He watches you as his square jaw clenches, “unless you would rather be away from me?” 

You twist around to look at the door, then to him. 

“I will go wherever you command, your highness.” 

“Yes, yes,” his hand balls to a fist, “that is not what I...” he sighs with exasperation, “I want to know what you desire. What do you want? What do you need?” 

There’s a stirring in your chest as he leans slightly forward, his eyes alight. You peer into the golden pools and your lips part. He is a king and yet speaks as if he would serve you. 

“I...” you wisp and clamp your lips tight, measuring your words, “I want to serve you and the queen, your highness. I want to serve the realm.” 

He huffs again and grimaces, “for yourself. Not the queen, not me, not the people.” 

“Hmmm,” you look down and shrug. You shake your head. You can’t think of anything. “I have a new dress and a hot bath and good food. I can think of nothing. What of you, your highness? What do you want?” You lift your chin slowly, “just for you?” 

Your question seems to startle him. He winces and for a moment, seems breathless. He stands suddenly and takes a step forward. He’s close and you think he might lunge at you. You shy away, expecting the same wrath you inspire in the queen. He falters and backs away. 

“I want...” he grits and turns his back to you. 

He walks to the window and looks out onto the lawns. He hangs his head and grips the window’s edge. He lets out a gravelly sigh. 

“I want you...” he utters, “...to come walk with me in the gardens. I would like to do so before we must depart.” 

You rise again, “yes, your highness, I will put my shoes on then.” 

He puffs out into the deepening dusk. You can feel his frustration roiling from his figure. You grab the stockings and the shoes and return to the chair. You roll the stocking onto your foot and pull it up your leg, rumpling up one side of the skirt as you do. As you hike up the next, the king faces you, surprising you before you can drop the fabric back down to your toes. You sheepishly bend to put your shoes on, embarrassed. 

“Thank you, little maid,” he approaches and offers his hand, “for keeping a miserable king company.” 

You look at his hand. It’s big and calloused and lined like a map. The invitation seems overly friendly. You accept it, not so bold as to turn him away. 

“Your highness,” You murmur as he squeezes your hand then lets his arm fall straight, tugging you away from the table. 

Silently, he lets his grip brush from your hand and instead hooks his arm through yours. It is an overly familiar gesture but you allow it. What more can a maid do? As you near the door, he stops and untangles from you completely, stepping away as if struck by the oddity of his actions. He reaches for the door handle and inhales. 

He opens the door and steps into the corridor, you follow him, just a pace back. He looks over his shoulder at you then turns ahead. You scurry to keep up with his long strides. He stops at the end of the hallway and you nearly collide with his elbow. 

“I am not miserable because of you,” he angles his head towards you as he keeps his voice low, “if you worried...” he shakes his head at himself, “come, little maid.” 

You do as he says and trail him through the corridors. It is late and while soldiers remain on watch, most of the lords and ladies have tucked away for their evening meals. The king continues his unstoppable advance with you at his heels. Down a flight of stairs and across the great hall. 

Outside, several soldiers bow their heads at his passing and another nears. He dismisses them without a word. You carry on, sensing how his mood darkens with the sky. You’re uncertain of his demeanour, so suddenly shifting from affable to affronted. You didn’t say what he wanted and now he is unhappy. He can be rather like his wife. 

He stalks onward to the archway that marks the green gardens of the capital castle. He passes between the leafy pillars and stops to look this way then that, then opts to walk along the middle row. You flit between the hedges behind him as the sky ripples with the looming night and a cool breeze stirs around your skirts. 

He is silent as he walks, almost as if he’s forgotten you. You wonder if you fall out of step, if you are lost behind him, would he even notice? Finally, he slows before a pond dug into the center of the gardens, amid lilies and daisies and blue bells. The moon shines down and reflects off the tepid pool. 

He treads around the edge of the pond as you stand by the bushes. He circles around to a wooden bench and sits. His shoulders slouch and he leans his head back. The silver light limns his strong features. When he opens his eyes, they glow as they did in your dream. 

“I have come this far, I have conquered as I vowed to, I have vanquished the old king,” he speaks to the sky, “I have done all I sought to and yet I am wanting.” 

You dip your head, sad for him. You might assume a king would be happy for all his gold and power. That a crown would bring delight as much as glory. All you see is a man in mourning. For all he’s won, he’s lost just as much. Loyal men and many months. 

“I have a wife who is petulant, I have an ally who is cowardice, and I have nothing left here to claim,” he continues, “should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.” 

He hangs his head and leans forward, gripping the edge of the bench. He sits in silence as he watches the water. A frog hops onto a large stone protruding from the shallows and steals your attention. You watch it leap again and again until it meets the other side. 

“Little maid...” the sultry purr crawls over you and you glance over to find the king observing you, “sit with me.” 

You shiver and cautiously make your way around the pond. You near him and sit at the end of the bench opposite him. You fixate on the moonlit water. He leans to grab your wrist and hauls you closer. You sidle down until you are almost against him. He slips his hand around yours, covering it in his grasp. He pulls it onto his thigh and rests it there. 

He clings to you just like that. You feel a pluck in your chest for him. He has a wife who should share in his troubles but she is too buried in the anguish she made for herself. Yet, she is not there, and you are; a paltry substitute for what he truly needs. 

Silence pervades the night but for the chirping of insects and the sweet singing of birds. The king’s grasp on you tightens, then lessens, and tightens again. He eases his hold entirely and pets your hand. 

“Will you play another game with me?” His timbre is silty as he looks over at you. 

“A game, your highness?” You babble. 

He hums and nods, “a child’s game,” he explains, “it is simple.” He sits straight and pushes back his hair, “you will run and I will catch you.” 

Your heart lurches. Your lashes flutter. You played the game before, when you were young, with the queen even. But that was years ago and you were smaller and faster. You look at the king. 

“Your highness,” you utter. 

“It’s my command,” he says, “run.” 

[jimxnslight]

Chapter 2: Nothing Personal

Summary: Elitist Academy is exactly what it sounds like: an academy that focuses on teaching students from elite classes of the magic community. When Y/N is thrown into the academy to learn alongside 8 men, she realises she’ll have to learn to work with them, whether she likes it or not.

Pairing: Reader x OT7 (Choose Your Own)

Genre: Magic School au, mystery, angst

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: domestic abuse, additional warnings might be added as story progresses

“When was Elitist Academy created, and for what reason?”

A few students gasped as the sound of the button going off reverberated around the room, a moment of complete shock replacing the once tense atmosphere. It was like the silence after a storm, the room so quiet that you were sure a pin dropping would have been heard easily.

Slowly, your gaze dropped to your hand. Namjoon’s much larger palm was pressed against your own, which itself was pressed roughly against the bright red button. You smiled. 

Poor Namjoon… he really did put up a good fight. 

But this victory was yours. 

“Elitist Academy was built in 1740, two years after the discovery of the Tree of Life. It was built to protect the tree, as well as to teach the children of the elite to be respectful, humble, and kind members of the magic society,” you concluded. 

You may not have been as cocky as Namjoon, but you were sure of your answer. It would be your win today.

The Professor seemed pleased as she smiled and turned towards the class. 

“That is-”

“Incomplete!” Namjoon exclaimed, cutting the teacher off in his excitement. You watched him laugh smugly, clearly believing that your answer had been incorrect. 

“Excuse me?”

But Namjoon was undeterred as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Park Bogum also built this academy for his sons, so that they could learn magic in a formal and academic setting.”

You scoffed.

“That’s just a personal goal, it doesn’t count as one of the formal reasons for his decision.”

“Of course it counts. It was one of the goals and you didn’t state it. Therefore, you got the question wrong,” he spoke matter-of-factly. 

You could only blink incredulously, “you can’t be serious…”

Was he seriously going to be so petty? Namjoon was many things, but a sore loser was one thing you thought was beneath even him. Why was it so hard for men to just admit when they are clearly in the wrong? Their ego was so unimaginably large, especially the ego of the blockhead standing before you. 

“You lost,” you finally deadpanned, “just accept it.”

“How can you deem yourself the winner when you failed to correctly answer the question?” He stated again, this time a little annoyed, but now your patience was wearing just as thin.

“I did answer the question correctly! Personal goals don’t count in the official creation of the academy.”

Professor Kari stepped forward, “alright, why don’t we try to be a little civilised-”

“We are being civilised,” Namjoon said, turning towards Ms. Kari for a moment before turning back towards you. You already knew the look in his eyes, already knew to brace yourself for his next words.

“It’s the lack of intelligence that’s the issue here.”

“Intelligence?” You replied without skipping a beat, “no one with intelligence would willingly have hair that resembles a porcupine.”

You watched in satisfaction as his cocky face fell, an offended expression taking its place, “Wha- You’re going to attack my hair when you’ve got a mouth like that? I’d expect a little more class considering you’re literally the daughter of-”

“Enough.”

Professor Kari’s voice cut through your argument, a firmness to it that had even the other students sitting up a bit straighter. Her expression no longer held a warm and welcoming smile.

“The answer that was provided was enough to be counted as correct. But since you feel that it is not, I will grant both of you the extra credit,” she sighed, “and remind me to never do any competitive activities in this class again…”

The bell chimed throughout the classroom as she mumbled those last words to herself, while the students waited for the ringing to cease uncertainly, unsure if this was a “the bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do” class or not. Once the classroom quieted again, Professor Kari faced the students. 

“That will be all for today, class dismissed.”

You sent Namjoon a glare before walking off, pissed off at his immaturity. All he had to do was throw a small tantrum and the extra credits were served to him on a silver platter. It was infuriating.

Namjoon, on the other hand, simply matched your glare as he watched you practically storm out of the room.

So she has a few more brain cells than I expected, he thought.

That doesn’t mean she’s anywhere near my level.

-

-

-

You entered the main hall fuming, grateful that the lecture had come to an end and you could finally stop looking at his stupid face. Namjoon had always been a first class imbecile growing up, his cocky attitude mixed with an enormous ego tended to make it easy for him. But boy did he have his extraordinary moments.

You scanned the main hall, eager to get any thoughts of him out of your mind. It was huge, with maroon and gold banners lining the walls and a shiny creme-coloured marble floor. The walls encompassed different shades of rich mahogany with wonderfully carved designs and windows that showcased the lush green grass of the courtyard. But what really attracted attention was the centrepiece, the Tree of Life, which stood proudly underneath the stained glass, dome-shaped ceiling. Its branches spanned almost the entirety of the ceiling above you, and held vibrantly pink petals that seemed to glow under the natural light that entered through the stained glass above. 

It was beautiful.

“First years, please gather in the dining hall for a mandatory assembly in 10 minutes, thank you,” a voice suddenly announced through the intercom. 

The students, which had paused their conversations during the announcement, went back to talking and laughing with each other. The ones you assumed were first years, on the other hand, began searching the halls, clearly confused as to where the dining hall could be.

“Excuse me?” A voice behind you called.

You turned around to find two guys, one enthusiastically waving you over while the other’s gaze studied the Tree of Life nonchalantly. Reluctantly, you walked over to them.

“Hi, I’m Hoseok,” the one that had been waving to you spoke. 

His face, which consisted of soft cheeks but a sharp nose, held a bright smile that you almost felt was too bright. The only thing that dampened it a bit was his brown hair, which had messily been parted at the side. You suddenly recognised him as one of the students in the class you had just attended earlier. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where the dining hall is, would you?” He continued, “this school is just one big maze to me, I swear.”

“Just go through those double doors over there and it’ll be the first door on your left,” you explained, pointing towards the giant pair of double doors on your right. There was a pause after your words, as if he was waiting for you to say something more.

When he realised you weren’t going to continue, he smiled again, “I see, thank you so much you’re a lifesaver.”

You turned away, ready to make your own way to the dining hall, but Hoseok stopped you with his hand.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

What did this guy want?

“Y/N,” you said reluctantly, hoping he’d get the hint and leave you alone. 

Unfortunately, he did not.

“Y/N… that’s a pretty name,” he continued, ignoring your flat tone, “we were just in the same History of Magic 101 class. You seemed to know the subject pretty well if the competition was anything to go by.”

Did he really think flattery would get him anywhere with you? 

“Oh! I almost forgot,” he suddenly exclaimed, looking apologetic, “this is my friend, Taehyung. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

He motioned towards the guy behind him, who had been scanning the room carelessly. At the mention of his name, his gaze finally fell on you. It felt… strange. His hair was messy and almost silver in colour while his skin seemed almost as white as snow. But it was his eyes that uncharacteristically drew you in for a moment. Despite being sharp and unwelcoming, they were a piercing blue colour that seemed to draw goosebumps from your arms. The more you stared at them, the more you felt… chilly. As if there were a thin sheet of ice covering your skin. 

For a moment, you believed it was because you felt intimidated by him. But then your gaze dropped to your hands and your eyes widened at the faint layer of frost coating your skin. 

“What the-” You muttered incredulously. 

Hoseok, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow, “Taehyung…”

Taehyung turned his head and the chills suddenly vanished, replaced instead with the feeling of melted ice trickling down your arms. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s a little intimidated by strangers,” Hoseok said, a bright smile still very much apparent on his face, “but once you get to know him, he’s a great friend.”

“If you get to know him,” Taehyung corrected flatly, his piercing gaze back on you for a moment. 

You scoffed internally. He must think so high and mighty of himself with that attitude, yet the only thing it made him was a jerk. 

“Well, it was really nice meeting you, Y/N,” Hoseok chuckled, as if Taehyung had told a funny joke, “I hope we can be friends.”

He held out his hand towards you, clearly waiting for a handshake. You couldn’t tell what his intentions were, whether he was looking to start some kind of friendship or something more. But either way it only took you a second to make up your mind. 

Instead, you shrugged your bookbag onto your shoulder…

 and then wordlessly walked away.

Surprised, Hoseok watched you disappear behind the giant double doors without so much as a glance backwards.

“Was it… something I said?” He asked.

“Not everyone is interested in being friends,” Taehyung said, his tone a lot more thawed than earlier. 

“Let’s get going, the assembly will start soon.”

-

-

-

Thankfully the assembly had gone by pretty quickly, saving you from having to listen to a long and boring speech from the academy’s principal. He had mostly just gone over all the basics, like obvious rules and regulations. Despite the academy being for the spoiled children of the elite, the rules seemed pretty strict in your opinion. Now whether the punishments for breaking those rules would actually be applied or not remained to be seen. 

After the assembly, you wandered through the residences to look for your dorm room. If you were reading your documents right, it should be on the top floor in room 308. So you walked through the halls of the top floor, taking in the large off-white planters filled with ghost white flowers and the luxurious mini chandeliers that lined the hallway. Similar to the main hall, shades of mahogany coated the walls while the marble floor was covered in a plush, maroon carpet. 

You finally came to a stop in front of your room, taking in the dark brown wooden door and gold handle. With the exhausting day you had endured, you wasted no time in turning the knob.

Your room, to no one’s surprise, was enormous. 

You stood in what seemed like the living room, with high ceilings that held a huge chandelier and a carpet coating most of the wooden floor. A bookshelf spanning an entire wall stood to one side, filled to the brim with various books, while another wall was entirely made up of glass to showcase a view of the city. In the middle of the room, a sofa atop a plush carpet faced the glass wall while a TV stood between them. You could make out two small hallways on either side of the room, no doubt leading to the kitchen and the bedroom. The size of the living room may not have surprised you, but the grandeur of it definitely did.

Was this really all for you? 

You walked into one of the hallways that led to two doors, curiously peering inside one of them. Unlike the living room, it was a simple bedroom with a generic wooden floor, desk, and bed. The academy probably expected you to magic the room to your liking so that it was more personal. 

You walked out of your bedroom and turned to the other door, curious as to what it could be. There was already a bathroom and closet attached to your bedroom, so maybe it was just another closet? You turned the handle to find out. 

“Oh!” 

You startled at the sight of a man who seemed to have been making his way to the door. His hair was dirty blonde and neatly parted, while his lips were pillowy and plush. His eyes were a sparkling blue, not as bright and icy as Taehyung’s had been, but still intense in their own way. Your gaze dropped from his equally surprised face to his uniform, coming to the realisation that he was a student. 

Who on Earth was this guy…?

You looked over his shoulder to see a bedroom identical to yours, with the same simple desk, bed and floor. Why was there another bedroom in this dorm if you were supposed to live here alone?

“You scared me,” the man chuckled, giving you an apologetic look, “you must be my roommate, Han Y/N? I’m Park Jimin, it’s nice to meet you.”

The word “roommate” had your gaze snapping back to him. 

“Roommate?” You repeated incredulously, “what do you mean roommate? I thought the dorms were individual?”

Jimin shook his head, “no, we share the dorm rooms in pairs. Something about creating profound friendships and whatnot?”

Honestly speaking, you didn’t really mind having a roommate. Living in this enormous dorm by yourself seemed lonely anyway. The problem was, why was he your roommate?

“Okay, but how can we be roommates? You’re a guy and I’m a girl…?”

“What difference does that make?” He asked as his head tilted slightly,“in the world of magic, no gender is stronger than the other. We are equal in the face of power, are we not?”

As correct as he was, being compared to someone like him in any way had you irritated. You were nothing like the man standing before you, who was likely hiding his many evils behind a pretty smile and kind words. You wondered what kind of evil you would have to endure this year from him, because ultimately you really were stuck with him for the rest of the year. 

Yet even so, you weren’t going to let him hurt you. He could try all he wanted once he finally showed his true face, but you’ll be ready to deal with him the same way you’ve always dealt with the others. You’d never let someone like him walk all over you. 

Never.

“Whatever,” you finally said, tired and annoyed by the new turn of events and especially your helplessness within it all, “just stay out of my way, I have no interest in people like you.”

Jimin watched you lock yourself in your room with a surprised expression on his face, unsure of why you’d looked so angry. 

“People like you…?” He muttered. 

What did she mean by that?

-

-

-

You threw yourself onto your bed with a frustrated sigh, annoyed by today’s events-or rather today’s people. You hated that guy that got bullied this morning. You hated Namjoon. You hated Hoseok and Taehyung. You hated Jimin. 

But really…

You just missed your mom. 

You knew you sounded like a child saying it, but it was true. A rotten feeling had been eating at your heart ever since you left your home and arrived at this school. A part of you felt like you had left her behind, and being alone in that house… with him…?

She must have been miserable at this moment, all alone. You felt like a horrible daughter to do that to her, but what other choice did you have? Ultimately, you were helpless in front of-

“Y/N?!” Jimin���s voice suddenly exploded from what seemed like the living room. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at his tone, which sounded demanding and urgent. So he finally decided to reveal his true colours? Yelling for you as if you were some kind of servant that was made to tend to his needs. If he was one of those men that will make you do all the chores in this dorm,

you were going to beat him to death with a frying pan. 

You pushed yourself off your bed angrily, storming out of your room and into the living room. If a piece of your mind was what he wanted, then a piece of your mind he would get.

“Okay listen up, Park Jimin,” you said angrily, “I thought I told you t-”

You came to an abrupt stop at the doorway of the living room, eyes widening at the scene in front of you. 

On the ground was Jimin, with his eyes closed and motionless. But the rest of the room was empty and entirely untouched. Why was he passed out on the floor? 

Did he have a heart attack or something…?

“Oh my god,” you panicked, running towards him. You had no clue how to handle a medical emergency like that. Sure you may not have liked him, but that didn’t mean you wanted him dead. 

You started to shake him, trying to get him to wake up, “Jimin-?”

A hard object suddenly slammed into the back of your head, causing stars to burst in your line of sight as you fell to the floor, finding yourself in the spot next to Jimin. The pain was unbearable, as if your entire skull was imploding in on itself. You had to blink a few times to get your bearings and keep yourself awake. 

The sound of footsteps made you turn around, but you could only take in a pair of gold and black school-issued shoes. Your headache and blurry vision prevented you from looking up any further. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but the person snapped his wand forward, slamming your lips shut immediately. 

“Sorry, but we won’t be having any of that,” they said. 

Damnit.

How were you going to get out of this if you couldn’t speak?

Your head suddenly began to throb even more painfully, probably from the hit it had taken earlier. You could feel black spots begin to invade your vision as you started to blackout. 

The person’s shoes thudded against the floor once again, getting closer and closer to your helpless form. From your blurry vision, you could only make out long blonde hair. 

“Sorry kid,” the person said, but his voice felt far away. You felt your eyes close and your mind shut down, but not before one last sentence. 

“It’s nothing personal.”

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[victoriansvilevictorians]

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"But you can't wear the red scarf, ma'am!" But the black scarf, Sarah admits, is still in to soak, having become unbearably frowsty, and the white one, despite Sarah's best attempts, is streaked with dull yellow stains. Why anyone thought of wearing white silk next to their neck is a mystery to her. "You could wear a shawl?" Sarah suggests tentatively, but her mistress doesn't reply. She detests shawls, they remind her of market women.

Sarah is not elevated to the status of a lady's maid, and washing the black scarf had taken its place alongside tasks like cleaning out the fires. Mrs Ampleforth had noted, even as a child, that while her mother professed to be exhausted after a tea party, Sarah and her workmates were banging about the kitchen before it was light, and could be heard still clearing up long after she had gone to bed. It had left her slightly in awe of servants, and the feeling had never quite worn off.

Anyway, she explained to her employee, though the sun is bright there is a chill gusty wind, it is still only February, Pedro needs his walk, and who is she going to meet on the Common at this time in the morning? She opens the front door, then steps smartly back inside. Fumbling under her coat, she releases the strings of her crinoline, steps out of it, and hangs it over the newel post at the foot of the stairs. "Madam!" says Sarah in horror. "You'd best pop that straight upstairs, in case anyone calls" she replies calmly, and steps out into the tail end of the storm, her skirts clutched firmly in her hand.

If she hadn't got out of the house, she says to herself, she would have screamed and, having screamed, started smashing the china. The sandy paths, though still damp, hold no puddles, and progress is far easier (and her legs warmer) without the crinoline swaying and bucking in the wind. The scarf cracks and flaps like a flag, pulling out every time she tucks it in, and she ends up clutching it in her other hand. It's a good job there are no gates to open, she thinks, as she doesn't have a hand free. The broad brimmed hat wasn't the best idea, but it is so firmly pinned to her tight plaits that its efforts to escape are futile.

She was wrong, however, about meeting no-one. She passes several working men, and an old lady collecting firewood blown down overnight, who count, for social purposes as No-one, but then she realises the figure chasing his round hat into a clump of juniper is the vicar. In Westheath, the church is out at the end of a lane, and this must be his short cut to the village.

"A red scarf, Mrs Ampleforth?" he says, instead of the customary how-d'ye-do. As he has started the conversation without the usual grace notes, she will follow suit. "Red is God's colour too, Vicar. I am not aware of the Bible discriminating amongst shades." This is clearly more than he bargained for, and he bows and walks on without anything more. She resists the urge to turn her head and see if he is looking back at her.

Nonetheless, the sermon the next Sunday, taking as its text "Render unto Caesar", seems rather pointed to Mrs Ampleforth, seated in the third row in her clean black scarf. Several working men and an old lady collecting firewood have been quite sufficient to pass the news round the village that Mrs Ampleforth had been seen wearing scarlet, while still in second mourning, although fortunately the collective lack of sartorial acuity had barely noticed that her gown had seemed rather bedraggled, and not identified the actual lack of crinoline.

The vicar expands, at length, on the topic of fitting in with our fellows, conforming with what is expected of us, and generally not outraging public decency. As Mrs Ampleforth is close to the front, everyone else has the luxury of staring at the back of her head, while she has only elderly Major Binks to hide behind, and he is asleep as usual. She holds her gaze with rigid stoicism on the altar cross and refuses to blink.

The rest of the service passes in its normal dreariness, and if the vicar, standing to greet his parishioners in the porch before they step out into the rain awaits Mrs Ampleforth with chagrin, he gives no sign of it. Perhaps he is ready with forgiving compassion for her to step forward, eyes downcast. Not a bit of it. "An interesting sermon, Vicar" she observes sharply "one wonders what Our Lord would make of the suggestion that we should take worldly opinion as our moral guide?" She has had half an hour to sharpen and perfect her barb, and is pleased with her firm delivery.

If the vicar has flinched, if she has hit home, she does not see, for she has stepped out into the drizzle with her nose in the air and her gaze straight ahead. On Monday morning, however, when she walks down to the post office with Pedro at her side, she is wearing the scarlet silk scarf like a flag of war.

Reactions are so varied that she is soon too amused to feel any awkwardness. The better sort of villagers simply pretend they have not seen her. Those below her in the social scale blush, or try to hide a sly smile. The children, of course, are unaware of the depths of her outrage, although some of the older ones gasp open mouthed, vaguely conscious they are witnessing a phenomenon. Does she really hear a low buzz of voices as she ducks to go through the low door of the post office, or is she imagining it?

In the darkened room there is only the postmaster, yet even he leans forward and speaks in low, conspiratorial tones. "Aren't you concerned about what Mr Ampleforth might say, looking down?" His tone is amused, the way he raises his eyes to heaven theatrical rather than pious. "Scarlet was his favourite colour, and it was he who gave me the scarf." she says tight-lipped. It is her prepared speech, but the post-master breaks into a broad grin. "Good for you, ma'am", and she finds herself smiling shyly in return.

The postmaster is a notorious free-thinker, and rumoured socialist: but he is also the village's news-service, and she knows that the fact that the disgraceful scarlet-wearing is a tribute to her tenderness for the late Mr Ampleforth rather than an insult to his memory will be disseminated very quickly. But as she and Pedro make their way back, she is restless and fidgety. She may wear a scarlet scarf every day for a month, but it hardly signifies anything other that a desire to tweak the vicar's nose.

Other women, she vaguely appreciates, experience a dissatisfaction with the ways things are arranged. Not such quibbling and, she trusts now purely temporary, inconveniences such as those affecting property, or education, or the vote: these, she is confident, will sooner or later be swept away by Progress, in this modern age. The Sarahs of this world, she is embarrassingly aware, have good reason to be as dissatisfied with the Mrs Ampleforths as with the law. Does the postmaster's rumoured socialism free the Sarahs from tyranny, or only their fathers and husbands, she wonders. She must ask him next week.

Her sister-in-law Jessica has Turned To Rome, which she feels must only make things worse, not better. As if having a husband wasn't bad enough! she catches herself thinking, which is strange, because she never thought it while Henry was alive.... Her mother recommends Good Works, and her brother says she should marry again, and is rather offended at the response he gets. "You need children" he goes on, undefeated. "No I don't!" she snaps, surprising herself.

Turning to the catalogues of progressive publishers, she embarks on a course of reading, but each new book sways her one way until the next comes along to sway her another. The solution to poverty isn't penwipers, and there is more wrong with women than Rational Dress can solve (though it is very tempting): the postmaster, tentatively consulted, concurs and supplies her with a bundle of pamphlets. She agrees with everything they propose, but finds their suggested methods of achieving it naive in the extreme.

Westheath may be charmingly rural, but the train from the little station beyond the windmill whisks her into the centre of London within half an hour. Sensibly shod and soberly dressed, red scarf apart, she tries every institution and library. She attends lectures with titles like "What is religion?" or "An Examination Of The Proposed Methods For Reforming The Plebiscite" and finds, regardless of the advertisement, regardless of the serious, nodding heads in the auditorium, that the point has been sorely missed somewhere along the way.

The old vicar, his grey hairs no doubt dragged down in sorrow, if not to the grave at least to Bournemouth, retires, and his place is taken by a wiry, nervous man who has earned Westheath by service in the East End. She attends church, which she had not quite given up doing, to hear what he has to say. His first sermon explores an obscure point of theology in Saint Augustine. After the service, at the church porch, she shakes hands. "Did you preach like that in the East End?" she asks with wide-eyed innocence. "Good Lord, no. It was all very Evangelical. Why, do you think it went over their heads?" She cannot resist a smile. "Well, it certainly went over mine!" and leaves him there, blushing slightly.

She is of course, by now, no longer young, and the beauty that turned Mr Ampleforth's head is not there to cause awkwardness between her and the Reverend Hughes. Nevertheless, villages being villages, their conversations are conducted at the church porch, or in front of the post office, and are brief. "You should try the Greeks" he ventures one week, having divined from the ether a need. "Which ones?" she asks, thinking vaguely of heavily-bearded church fathers. "I'll make you a list." he promises, boldly. If Mrs Ampleforth has put on weight, and grown grey: if her teeth are no longer so numerous as they were, she is still an imposing woman. "I don't read Greek..." she adds cautiously. "I never for a moment supposed you did." And they laugh nervously at his temerity.

She orders the books on the list from a publisher specialising in cheap editions for the working man. They are refreshingly small, after some of the books she has waded through. They are also surprisingly hard. If people were at this stage more than two thousand years ago, even before Christianity, how is it the world is still such a muddle? "You must try Marcus Aurelius next" says the Reverend Hughes. "I found him a great solace during my worst times." Somewhat alarmed at this encomium, she orders him too.

Somewhat later, she orders a deluxe edition, bound in green morocco with gold tooling. The Reverend Hughes has moved on to Anglo Saxon poetry, and though she is warmly appreciative of the copy of The Wanderer, beautifully calligraphied in his own handwriting, which falls from her Christmas card, she tells him she is more the Ancient Roman than the Dane. The difference of taste does not sour their friendship.

As the years pass, Mrs Ampleforth gets heavier, and greyer, and more of her teeth fall prey to the dentist, while the Reverend Hughes gets leaner, and wirier, (a difference which may be due to her distinct fondness for cake, and his for long solitary walks) and continues to deliver his baffling sermons. The Reverend Hughes flirts briefly with Kierkegaard, but Mrs Ampleforth, despite her other reading, remains faithful to Marcus Aurelius.

As she had predicted during an argument with her sister, all those injustices of property, and education, and politics which had exercised them so wither progressively with the passing of the years, leaving her nieces and, in time, great-nieces aware only of others, as yet unresolved. People forget there was ever a Mr Ampleforth, regarding her title as an honorific, like that bestowed on cooks. She gains, and keeps into extreme old age, a reputation for not suffering fools gladly, and being a good place to turn in a crisis. She watches her contemporaries decline into complacency or fretfulness - all except the Reverend Hughes, who expires in the fullness of years while wrestling with the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus.

Mrs Ampleforth lives on, missing him less than she had expected. The older she gets, the fuller her days seem to be. Her maid, Sarah's grand-daughter ("Don't think of it as 'service' " says Granny, "think of it as quite a cushy job with a nice boss. You don't have to stay forever, just till she finds someone else." Which was twenty years ago...) reads the newspaper to her every evening, as the print has got so small these days, a task which is especially bonding during the Great War, when Mrs Ampleforth loses a favourite great-nephew and Sarah's granddaughter loses her sweetheart. She sinks slowly and gently, much comforted by Marcus Aurelius, and eventually passes during the General Strike, her main feeling one of irritation at not knowing how it will end.

She encounters the Reverend Hughes again almost immediately. He is wearing a goatskin, and his wiry limbs are very sunbrowned. She, for her part, seems to be dressed in something soft and loose and pale - bliss after a lifetime of corsets - and her arms, when she glances down at them, are bare and unwrinkled. Looking further, she sees, peeking out from under the creamy wool, feet that have never been forced into tight patent leather boots. Her own dress is expected enough, but his is a puzzle.

"Is this heaven?" she asks tentatively, gazing into a crystalline distance resembling, quite remarkably, that in John Martin's painting at the Tate. "I rather think" says the Reverend Hughes, leaning picturesquely on a staff of rough wood "it must be the Elysian Fields". But just as she no longer cares what happened in the general strike, she meets this observation with quiet calm. "And is everybody here? Or is there ... another place?" The Reverend Hughes observes that this is rather unlikely, as he has met a number of people who would undoubtedly be in it, if there were.

"Really? Anyone interesting?" asks Mrs Ampleforth with excitement, thinking of Ivan the Terrible or Caligula. "Not really..." says the vicar, brushing away an affectionate butterfly "only my Latin tutor and the like. I haven't yet encountered anyone I didn't already know." As she ponders this intriguing peculiarity, a speck in the distant meadow resolves itself into the shape of a bounding, hairy animal with a long pink tongue. "It's Pedro!" she cries, pressing her hands together. "Oh, how awfully, awfully glorious!" Behind the dog labours a figure in an embarrassingly short tunic, carrying a basket. It is the postmaster.

"I say, Emily!" he hails, approaching. Who? My goodness, that will take some getting used to! She hasn't been Emily to anyone since her sister-in-law died. Which is a thought: she wonders what Jessica Ampleforth makes of the present arrangement? The postmaster is breathing a little hard from climbing the hill. "I say!" he repeats "What ho, Fred? Would either of you like a fig? They're awfully good this year Emily. Did you get the vote yet?" The figs are large, a lustrous purple, and wonderfully sweet. "Oh yes, ages ago. Straight after the War." He looks blank. "Which one?" She takes another fig and says "Never mind, eh?" Pedro runs round them in circles, chasing the butterflies.

[emilydaisymasters]

Animatic Workings

This is just some more detailing on my now completed animatic, minus a few potential tweaks. Since there are many scenes, I'll just include some that I feel have points worth discussing.

Scene 5

Scene 5 uses the same character design as the previous scene, but includes a part on academics, that being Em being praised for her life cycle drawing, something she is very excited about. These are moments I class as important within this animatic, as they grow steadily more frequent.

Scene 7

Scene 6 is the first time we see an actual grade on any of the homework or schoolwork, and Em is so pleased with it that even without anybody being present, she pins it up onto the fridge. I think of this as being a turning point, the beginning of a shift in focus, and the point in where her colours will start to dull. This scene uses perhaps my least favourite character design for Em, so I unceremoniously have her facing away from the camera in all scenes that it is present.

Scene 9

This scene uses quite a lot of perspective also, and since it begins with dad having the camera pointed to schoolwork in his lap, I think I will have to design the background with a longer bed in mind. This isn't a new premise for this film, with scene 2 in particular having a very big and open background design, but considering I have designed the bed sheet as patterned, I have my work cut out for me. Additionally, this would be the scene in where Em switches glasses, hence the bear from scene 2 wearing her old glasses in the back.

Scene 10

Scene 10 seems simple at first until you realise that the room completely rotates at one point. Bluntly putting it, I have no idea as to how I am going to achieve this effect within a 2D space. I know the walls will probably all have to be separate, but that's as far as I have gotten with it. This will take some experimenting with.

Scene 12

This scene uses the background I originally submitted for my first rendition of the project, though I think I will tweak it to fit in more with the style progression. I didn't want to have to scrap more of my assets than I was comfortable with, so I decided to re use.

Scene 13

Scene 13 will be a tricky one for me, as there is a huge crowd present in the foreground and I haven't decided yet if I am going to animate them or not. Besides that also, the camera zooms in on Em, who looks tired and is completely grey at this point before the film pauses on her face. It isn't entirely clear how tired she is in the animatic, but she is meant to look exhausted.

Scene 14

Scene 14 is of course the conclusion, and marks the first time since the beginning that we get a shot that isn't in the home movie. Em watches the film with a gritty look on her face and glances around the room at the products of beating herself down to get the best grades. The rewind sequence should be easy enough to complete, though achieving the timing for the pause might be a bit tricky. By the end she has gone back to basics as it were and draws the smiley face from the first shot, the only thing other than the TV that will be in colour.

All in all I am much happier with this animatic than I was with my last one, and I'm actually excited to begin further work on the backgrounds. I will post the animatic in full in the next post.

[lemongingerart]

Chapter 3 - Taris (I)

Fic summary: The second arc of my Armitage Hux x OC fanfic, “chocolate cookies and tarine tea”, in which both need to deal with the mess they got into (and with each other, eh eh eh). Involves cookies that won't be eaten and tea that will get spilled. Same goes for certain feelings... they are going to be hungry ant thirsty 😏

You can find the link to AO3 and other chapters on Tumblr in the pinned message on my dash, both for the first and second arc 😊

Rating: Explicit. This is going to be very NSFW. So, Minors, do NOT read or interact. 18+. Family, friends and colleagues, please don’t read this. :’-)

Tags & warnings: TRoS fix-it (kind of), Hux!lives, Hux doesn’t like Kylo, Not a Redemption Arc, maybe a little bit, shameless fem!OC insert (there are cliches but entertaining ones imo), slow emotional burn, medium sexual burn, Enemies to Enemies With Benefits to Lovers, Hux is still a villain don't forget, Virgin Characters, masturbation against the door, pinv, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Awkward Sexual Situations, Past Child Abuse, dubious first kiss, Dom/sub Undertones, Mental Breakdown, Unprotected Sex, wet Hux, that deserves a tag/warning on its own, Minor Character Death

I will add tags as we proceed in the story, please let me know if I forgot one!

Taglist: @mylifeisactuallyamess, @morby and anyone who’d like to join 🥰

A/N:    

I'm sorry it took way too long to update! Life suddenly was so busy and art and writer's block hit me at the same time. It’s been tough to convince myself that I’m allowed to enjoy this little escapade, or any kind of free time. I'm slowly crawling out of my tomb though.

For some reason, the drawing that’s added in this chapter holds a special place in my heart. I can’t explain why, other than I needed it to be finished. And it took me more than a year. Oh stars… a year and 4 months to get over myself again. I’m sorry… I still hope someone will be here to enjoy this fic some more, and I swear now it won’t take this long to update! I actually have the next 10 chapters ready apart from some reviewing and I won’t be stopped by some stupid drawing this time ;-)

Have a bit of plot progress!

The ship jumped out of hyperspace and the giant orb called Taris presented itself with all its beauty. Miko was again in awe of the gorgeous sight, but after a minute or two, she slowly became aware that the only other person in the cockpit was not looking outwards… but directing his attention to her instead. It was subtle, the way his focus was not fixed straight ahead while his nose still pointed forward. But it was as if she could feel his gaze burning right through her jacket. She wondered if he really had gotten used to the vastness of the universe, the wonders of the galaxy. Why would she possibly be more interesting to stare at, compared to this marvellous grand planet floating in between thousands of mesmerising flickering lights? 

Suddenly she felt her cheeks flush, realising the stare could maybe mean something, if she thought too much about it. And then she remembered how his cheeks were flushed as well, back in the hangar when he instructed her on how to aim and shoot. 

She tried to dismiss the intrusive thought, too scared to wonder where that might lead. Luckily the call from the spaceport, hailing them over, provided a perfect distraction. Miko responded to their instructions, like the duo had agreed upon before.

The landing went smoothly, and both of them proceeded with their plan without much talk.

Miko slowly walked from the ramp, taking her time to adapt to the harsh sunlight and the odd sweet scents filling her nose. The sun was out high, bathing Taris in a warm glow. 

"Before you go," she heard from her back, "take this. Just in case." 

Hux, smart enough to hide his uniform under one of her blankets, stiffly stepped towards her, his brows furrowed in a harsh line. The blanket was oddly draped over him, as if he didn’t know how to wear it properly, and he looked uncomfortable needing to hide. 

He subtly placed a credit chip in her gloved hands. "Only when there's anything you really need. Don't be stupid with it." He sternly said, but his eyes were telling a different story.  She could’ve sworn he was worried. He thinks I'm going to screw up or maybe sell him out, she tried to tell herself, trying not to think too much about how his eyes had lingered on her back in the cockpit. 

She wasn't going to let him down now, though. Time to prove she was better than that. 

She could handle this.

She made a firm nod to assure him, opened the satchel she was wearing on her right side and secured the chip in a back pocket. Then, with fake confidence, she turned around, strode from the ramp and left the hangar bay.

The streets of Taris were brighter and more lively than she anticipated. Surely, the place was still a mess. There were ruins everywhere,  remnants of an old thriving civilization and a cruel war. Some of the damage was rather recent, she observed, wondering if the war between the Resistance and the First Order had left marks here as well. 

In contrast to the historical leftovers, the city was bustling, full of life. Miko revelled in the chaotic mix of merchants trying to sell their goods, people from different species talking amicably in the middle of the street, live music playing in the background.  Whatever Taris was in the past, a megacity or an abandoned battlefield, it grew into something different.  If she was here on another type of trip, she'd like to stay a bit longer, get to know the world and its people.

But sadly, she had a job to do.

Miko followed the coördinates on her datapad, which eventually led her to a slightly smaller alley, where the light was filtered out by the remnants of a ship’s hull, towering over the streets. 

She put away her pad and stepped forward, feeling prying eyes on her as she stood out from the local crowd. Her hand unconsciously went to her hip, double checking if the blaster was still there. She wasn’t planning on using it, but hopefully the gesture could dissuade any potential assaultant.

PC, who was sitting at his usual spot on her shoulder, made a clicking sound to state his worry. His recent update would map their surroundings and record the scene if she was in trouble, and he could still electrocute someone, worst case, so she was glad to have her little companion with her.

The girl and the droid almost reached the designated meeting point, leading them into an even quieter street. A few meters further, they stopped right in front of some kind of small store. Miko wasn’t sure what the sign said, because it was written in a local dialect, only loosely based on Basic. 

She pressed her earpiece and commed Hux. ‘I’m going in,’ she stated, but didn’t wait for an answer. The odd look she got from a passerby made her realise she shouldn’t show she was wearing a small communication device; it wasn't a good plan to spread that knowledge around here. Who knows, it could jeopardise the outcome of her “mission”, or what else she should name this escapade.

…or worse, she could be putting her life in danger, and for what. 

Hesitantly, Miko entered the building. PC scanned the area carefully, being on high alert.

The first thing that hit her, was how the shop smelled heavily on spices and all sorts of herbs. She cautiously took in the environment. Although the road to the store was rather shady - both literally and figuratively speaking - this place was cosy and warm. A wide variety of bottles, flasks, boxes and containers to keep precious herbs fresh, were stacked throughout the whole floor, open bags on top of them. 

Not long after her entrance, a person appeared, who Miko identified as a Besalisk, and by the looks of it, male. She wasn’t entirely sure though, since she had never met one before. 

The Besalisk looked at her through his yellow eyes and started speaking gently.

"Welcome, how can I help?" 

"Eeuuh… I’m looking for …a mister Nunb?" Miko hesitantly replied.  

The shopkeeper halted, his expression changed rapidly, and he took in her appearance. He glanced sideways at the droid.

"Who sent you?" He asked with a much less cheery voice. At the back, through a half open door, she heard stumbling and hushed noises. 

Miko gulped. Why did she end up in this situation anyway? Definitely not for the ginger general's pretty eyes. Although they've been on her mind a lot lately.

"I- Tracy Padona did, I have a precious package to deliver to the Resistance…" she warily answered. The Besalisk continued staring at her, an awkward silence filling the room.

"Just a second, please wait here," he suddenly responded and disappeared to the back. 

Miko was left alone in the store and getting increasingly nervous. Was everything going as planned or was there more to the shopkeeper's reaction? What if something happened to her now? Would she be able to signal Hux? And would he even come to her aide? 

She paced around, trying to get rid of the goosebumps. Feeling her distress, PC climbed into the satchel she was wearing at her side.

To distract herself, she tried to focus on the little electronic price tags on the open bags. Some of them contained medicinal herbs she heard of through Kayla, one of her friends who studied medicines. Others were completely foreign to her. Most of them smelled friendly, a few made her want to vomit. There was tea too, all sorts of tea. She was in awe about all the different flavors they offered, the dried leaves looking so natural and of high quality, when suddenly she was startled by a gurgling sound. 

Miko jumped and turned around, snapped back into reality, and remembered why she was there in the first place. A blush involuntarily appeared on her cheeks when she realised how distracted she just had been and how Hux would've scolded her for her lack of professionalism. Not that she cared about his salty opinions anyway. 

"You can go to the back, young lady." The shopkeeper told her with an amused tone, as he pointed towards a door behind him.

After fumbling with her belt until she gripped the hilt of the blaster, Miko hesitantly stepped inside and slowly followed the path to a light shining from the end of a hallway. The sideways glance from the shopkeeper wasn’t missed by her. 

Kriff , she wasn’t made for this. She was way too skittish now to hold any conversation at all. Let alone make this deal.

When she reached the end, she pushed the only automatic door handle to her right, and the durasteel door flew open. For a few seconds, she kept her breath, and moved her trembling legs through the door, moving slowly in an effort to at least look like she knew what she was doing.

"I hear you have precious cargo for the resistance?" She heard a low but warm and rich voice say. She turned to her side, to see a sullustan sitting at a dimly lighted desk. Two other beings were in the room, their attention fixed solely on her. She could see they were armed, but they didn’t look hostile, yet.

She let out the air she was holding in and righted her chin. Hux had told her before, that her demeanour could have great influence on the outcome of this negotiation. Or whatever this was. She just needed to obtain the coördinates to the Resistance's headquarters and, if possible, more specifications on how to get there safely. If she radiated confidence, she could pull this off, he had made her believe. She just wanted to approach this resistance cell with kindness and then hoping for the best, but he warned her that this kind of talk wasn't won only with kindness. She had seen - by his expression alone - that he definitely didn't prefer her proposed tactic. But at least he did give her the benefit of the doubt. Now it was her time to prove him right and not disappoint the both of them.

"I do,” she said a little bit too loud, attempting to add an undeterred flair to her response. She shifted her weight to one leg. "Very precious. From what I understand, even crucial for the outcome of the war." She added.

The sullustan made an odd noise, which she guessed was meant to throw her off. He waved at her to emphasise his disbelief. 

"You may or may not know about the current position of the resistance towards the entire galaxy. To say that your cargo can change the outcome, is quite presumptuous I must say." He replied with a huff. "But, please humour me. I am all ears to what you have to offer." He added and leaned back.

Miko tried to keep all expressions from her face and took a step forward towards the desk. She firmly placed her palms on it, hoping it was giving her message more weight, as the ex-general had advised her. Gladly, the sweat dripping from her neck to her back was not visible to her counterparty.

"I have a highly placed officer in my custody," she said with a secretive tone. 

He didn't seem impressed, not that she expected him to be, but she had hoped that at least she could have sparked some interest in him. The effect wasn't what she aimed for yet, but she and Hux had anticipated this.

Time to add some more interesting information to her offer. 

"A general, even. One that knows the recent strategies and fleet numbers. Where the army and navy was stationed only a few days ago. Who's in charge where, and how they think." 

The being on the left side of the desk brought his hands together. 

Miko continued as planned: "Time is crucial here, the longer it takes for me to bring him to the resistance, the less relevant the information will be. With that message about the emperor ravaging the galaxy, I'd think we really need to hurry."

"And why do we need to believe you, little girl?" The sullustan let out, after leaning back into his desk chair. His facial expression was… sceptical, to say the least. 

Miko was internally seething at the badly chosen pet name. But she had to be careful now, she had to prove she was a professional, that her information was legit and her cargo was absolutely worth delivering to the resistance's inner circle. Not get into a fight about bad wordings, even if the itch to do so was rapidly growing. 

After taking a breath, she reminded herself that this was to be expected; she didn't look like someone who could do this line of work. But if she acted accordingly, and subdued the reflex to come up with some smart response, maybe they might fall for it.

"My captive has given me the names of 2 resistance members he helped escape. If I can speak freely here, you will either know the names or be able to verify the event with them through headquarters. " 

The sullustan nodded positively towards her, although she had the feeling he still wasn’t buying her little story.

"General Poe Dameron and a defected trooper, previously known as FN-2187 but as H- the general has stated, is now known as Finn," she replied.

"Girl, those are two names that are up for grabs if you follow the war close enough," the sullustan huffed as he leaned back again.

“Make a call to one of them, they will confirm that they were helped by a First Order general very recently.” Miko countered almost instinctively, taking his dismissive answer as a challenge to convince him at all costs. 

“You know that’s a pretty vague request you have there. Who knows who might’ve given you that intell. Still doesn’t prove that the general is actually in your possession.” he responded, having no intention to make a call. “You don’t even seem to know his name,” he added. The playful glint in his eyes was slowly dissipating, she knew her time was running out. 

Miko gulped. She wasn’t going to give Hux's name up so quickly, because who knows what kind of chain reaction that could start. The ex-general warned her for that; his presumed death could still be a huge advantage. If there is anyone eavesdropping, others with less good intentions might come and hunt down the both of them. 

On top of that, Hux explicitly mentioned his name could be highly inflammable material here. These people might try to get their hands on him for personal reasons as well.  Miko didn’t exactly know if he was being delusional or if he genuinely expected everyone to go feral on his name alone, but she wouldn't be surprised if it actually would happen. His slightly arrogant air had provoked her already quite some times, and she believed she was actually still on his good side.

She grabbed her satchel with force, then suddenly had to halt her movements when the two guards in the room swiftly pulled their blasters at her. She felt sweat trickle down her spine. Woops, didn’t think that one through , she realised. 

“I- I have proof in my bag. Can I take it out?” she hesitantly requested. One of the guards approached her and opened the lid for her. Miko prayed PC had hidden himself well enough, so the guard won't be startled by the odd looking droid. 

The guard peered inside and nodded to her. She slowly took out the uniform, hoping it would convince them. The uniform of a general, not something you could easily score on the black market, but still anonymous. Together with the intel about this Dameron and Finn, she hoped it’d be sufficient. 

The sullustan moved and spoke: “Although this technically proves nothing, I will try to reach for general Dameron or Finn. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to contact either of them, since the whole board of command has been quite occupied these recent hours, but I’ll give it a try. Your determination and the fact that Tracy has already confirmed your identity and good intentions speak in your advantage, but I’m not just giving anyone passage to headquarters.” 

Miko felt her eyes light up. "If you can reach one of them, say it’s the general that Finn shot in the leg. That should count for something too," she added. 

The sullustan nodded hesitantly, probably wondering how much weirder this day was going to get.

Miko let out a relieved breath. She did what she could and up till now, everything went according to plan. Now she had to place her faith in this Dameron or Finn and hope that this contact person in front of her could reach one of them soon. 

The sullustan coughed. 

“Ahum, please leave us.” he declared. 

Miko only then realised she was just staring at him and waiting for him to make the call, while they probably wanted to discuss her request in private. 

“O-Okay, I’ll be out, s-sorry!” she silently mumbled, stumbling towards the hallway. Frack, this was poor acting , she realised with a deep-red blush on her cheeks.

Miko went back to the shop, opting to wait there for the outcome of the meeting. Although she was still full of nerves, she did notice the herbs again, and wondered if Hux would like some of these. They definitely appealed to her, the food and drinks they had in the shuttle were duller than dull and she was getting tired of them already. She had enough of the bland military rations and recycled water. 

Since there was some time to kill anyway, she decided she might as well buy some of these and take them with her.

She grabbed one of her pouches, then realised what Hux had given her, right before she took off. He told her not to be stupid with it, but buying groceries isn't stupid, right? And he shouldn't complain, after what he's putting her through. 

A lopsided smile appeared on her face as she opened the satchel and grabbed the credit chip. She inspected it, the aurebesh reading a completely different name than the ex-general's. This was probably one of his untraceable accounts, like the one he mentioned on Utapau Four, she reasoned. Good, this way there was no financial trail that could lead back to the both of them .

“The call has ended, you can join us again,” Miko heard from the hallway, not sure who had spoken. She was just finishing up her order and talking amicably to the shopkeeper. At least the smalltalk had distracted her from the waiting and the stress that came with it. 

Accompanied by one of the guards, she stepped back inside the office, the bag with herbs not going unnoticed by the sullustan. 

“I- I like a good tea…” she shyly explained, as if she had to justify her purchase towards him. He put up a smirk, obviously amused by her clarification. Kriff , she really couldn't keep up the poker face and again had fallen out of her role so quickly. And what bothered her even more, was the way she could feel her face heating up, for the third time now. 

“Seems like General Dameron knew who and what you were talking about. To my surprise, he seemed pretty eager to meet your prisoner,” the sullustan said. "I didn't expect him to be so ready to believe your story. The fact that you knew Finn had shot him in the leg, even made him smirk."

Miko felt the pressure fall from her chest. She didn't know what actually happened and why this Finn had shot Hux in the leg - she did remember the bandage - but she thanked the maker Hux thought about sharing this as possible leverage.

The sullustan placed a data cylinder in front of her. “These are the coördinates to Ajan Kloss as well as an identification cypher, to make sure the base knows who you are so they don't blow you out of the sky when you're in orbit” 

Miko stepped forward and vigorously took the cylinder. She nodded curtly. 

“Good luck with your travels, little girl. May the force be with you.” he concluded. 

Miko took a little bow to thank him, not trusting her voice. Then she turned around and tried to walk back to the shop’s entrance with a calm and confident pace, but internally she just wanted to run back to the shuttle as quickly as possible.

Just as she was about to leave the door, she heard that the sullustan received another call, the message immediately broadcasting. A transmitting function that is seldom used, since it can only rely messages in one direction and there's no way of knowing who's receiving it, which was probably why it caught her attention.

“If anyone hears this, we urge you to come to Exegol, the fate of…”. 

She couldn’t make more of the message, because one of the guards quickly closed the door behind her.

What was that about , she wondered, then shrugged and continued exiting the building, content that all went according to plan. When the coast was clear, she opened the satchel and let PC crawl back onto her shoulder.

On her way back to the shuttle, Miko was pondering over the strange message she overheard. The caller sounded so desperate… was that something she had to worry about? Or were all communications in the Resistance like this? She wondered if she should ask Hux what he thought about it. But she wasn’t really sure which information she should or shouldn’t share with him. Although he had betrayed the First Order, he hadn’t abandoned it completely. Who knows which side he might choose in the end. It's not like she was a huge supporter of the Resistance, but they did have more of her sympathy than the Worst Order did and she didn’t want to be responsible for giving the ex-general information that would lead to their demise.

She stopped in her tracks. On her right, another merchant street looked so… welcoming. She spotted stalls with pastries, fine linen, tools and belts and everything she loved. The small stands were built around the gleaming remains of ship hulls and durasteel parts of long abandoned buildings, but the sun shone on them, making the whole street glow and inviting her over.

A small detour wouldn’t hurt too much, right? We need some essentials anyway, she mused while looking smugly at PC.

Both of them didn’t spot the two figures who changed their course, right at that moment she entered the street. 

[akaashisbabygirl]

the tutor

if you know the original source of this picture! please dm me or let me know in my inbox so i can tag them

Summary: akaashi keiji isn’t just a normal tutor. in fact, he has strong, sexual feelings for the girl he has to tutor. but what he doesn’t know is that late at night, she thinks about him too while her fingers stuff her cunt

A/n: i did it. i actually did it. i took a short 300 word story about akaashi being a tutor and turned it into a fic. i hope that you all enjoy this. i tried to keep the same style while writing but i’m not sure if i nailed it :/ nevertheless, i hope that you enjoy and have a great 2021 

Words: 2667

Pairings: tutor!akaashi x female!reader

Warnings: nsfw - male and female masturbation, oral (giving and receiving), vaginal penetration, sex toy use, fingering, riding, multiple positions, overstimulation, praise, akaashi calling reader angel

Just seeing you sitting there, your legs shut together, your tongue flicking out of your spread lips as you concentrated on the equation made Akaashi wonder what would happen if the two of you were in the bedroom alone together.

He watched your lips, wondering how you would look with your shiny pink lips wrapped around his cock. He wondered what you would look like, with your legs shaking, cum dripping down your thighs, hickeys decorating your skin as he pins you down onto the bed, his cock thrusting into your tight walls.

He wondered what pretty noises you would make as he ruins you, tears your tight hole open, leaving you a dripping mess filled with his cum. Thinking about the way your freshly done makeup would run down your face, the way you would close your legs to hide your body from his eyes.

Akaashi sat there, daydreaming in the open. He didn’t even realise that you had stopped working on the equation.

“All done? he asked.

Akaashi knew that you were a virgin, and he wanted to ruin you. He wanted to be the only guy you would go crawling to when you were needy, and that at moments late at night when you touched yourself, you would only think about him, and be reminded that you can’t even pleasure yourself the way Akaashi can. How Akaashi’s fingers could reach deeper in your cunt than your own, small ones.

“Yes! Give me something harder,” you wore a cheerful smile on your face as you asked for a harder equation.

Akaashi chuckled as he pretended to be thinking of an equation to give you. But secretly, he thought about how he wanted to throw everything on the table aside and give you a reward for doing so well.

“Alright, how about this one?” Akaashi asked, handing you back the piece of paper, seeing how your eyes widened at the question.

“I don’t know that…” you said softly, almost as if you sounded like you were trying to admit defeat to the male.

Akaashi could only chuckle, his hand slowly moving to rest on your soft thigh as he looked over your shoulder, watching how you took on the equation.

Your thigh was soft. So soft. He wondered what your thighs would feel like, wrapped around his neck as he went down on you, his soft tongue sliding over your dripping folds. Or the way your legs would wrap his waist, his cock pushing through your walls and tearing you apart as you squirm underneath him.

“Is this right?”

Once again, your soft, adorable voice cut through the lewd thoughts spreading throughout his mind. With his face resting with a smile, he turned to you. A chuckle escaped his lips as he read over the equation.

“Oh darling, that’s not correct. Here… let me help you.”

Akaashi loved being in your company. He loved the feeling of you being close to him, again, which only made him wonder what it would be like if he were inside of you, the two of you becoming one. He secretly craved so much from the small university girl that he tutored, so much that he would rather die than express his thoughts.

However, what Akaashi was oblivious of was what happened whenever he went home. After leaving, you would rush yourself to your bedroom, small fingers moving to your clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive bud, moans and whimpers of his name falling from your lips. Truth was, you craved Akaashi more than he craved you, if that was remotely anywhere near possible.

You imagined him in between your legs, his soft black locks brushing against your soft skin, his large hands keeping your thighs spread as your back arches from all the sudden pleasure. You craved the sight of your cum coating Akaashi’s beautiful face, the way he would lick his lips before pushing you into a position on the bed, beginning to fuck you with a slow, deep pace which would have you screaming out for him.

But you knew that would never happen.

He was just the boy who was assigned to tutor you, not to come and take you in every way possible.

Akaashi was the same way, sitting on his bed, his cock in his hand, jacking off to the thought of you spread out for him. He wanted to feel what it was like to have your soft hands roaming around his body, your soft lips wrapped around his cock, eyes directly watching his every movement as you take more of him into your mouth. Akaashi climaxed, his hair thrown back against the bed as he panted.

He wanted to be with you. He desired you, he wanted to feel you against him. The love that he felt was going unnoticed, the love that strongly sat there for you to run into his arms, pressing your lips against him as the two of you look at each other with such love.

The next tutor session was nothing new – not that it had changed at all. Overtime, the two of you had begun to get closer and closer. You were fine with Akaashi resting his large hand on your thigh, and you noticed how he would slowly move his hand higher. You even tried bucking your hips at him, wearing shorter clothing just to find a way to get him to touch you more.

Akaashi wanted to punish you for wearing short clothing, but he thought that somewhere there was the same feelings he felt for you rushing through your mind.

Every other session felt like the same day on repeat. The same hours of questions and work, only to pleasure yourself when Akaashi would go home.

You opened the door for Akaashi, believing it were to be just another normal day of the two of you working on equations together. Akaashi stood there, a large hoodie in the freezing cold. You began to shiver somewhere throughout the session, causing Akaashi to panic, pulling his hoodie from his body, revealing some of his muscles in the process, which only made you drool more at the sight of his toned body.

You inhaled the scent of his cologne on the hoodie, the way the jumper was too big for your small body, the way it sat halfway down your thighs. Akaashi loved the sight of you wearing his hoodie, even making a comment about how you should wear his hoodie more often. He knew that if he wanted this relationship to progress in anyway, he needed to start being more vocal, other than just sitting there and waiting for you to make the first move. He was smart enough to know that was never going to happen.

“You should wear it more often,” he whispered into your ear as you washed your hands in the bathroom.

Your eyes darted to the mirror, watching how he had to move himself, leaning down so he was able to whisper into your ear. The way his hand sat on the bathroom sink, his other hand, his pointer finger tucking your hair behind your ear. You felt his hot breath on your skin, squeezing your thighs shut to try and relive the ache that sat there.

Yet, once again, you waited for Akaashi to leave before you did anything.

You threw your head back as the vibrator sat on your clit on its highest setting. Akaashi’s hoodie you wore, bunched up at your waist. Your legs shook from the intense pleasure, back arching as cries of his name fell from your lips. You wanted it to be him, not some stupid toy. You could only imagine, pretending your fingers weren’t your own, that it was Akaashi holding the toy on your clit, looking down at you as you squirmed on the bed.

Akaashi was no better, because every night, he thought the same.

The next time was different. You gave Akaashi back his hoodie, but he told you to keep it, only causing you to blush. He knew that the two of you could never be a real couple, so he tried what he could do to make it seem as if the two of you were one.

Days progressed.

Akaashi sat anxiously in his seat, watching how you walked into the room, dressed in his large blue hoodie. Akaashi knew that he wanted you, and he could only think that you wanted him too. He watched as you moved over to him, sitting yourself down in his lap, legs on either side of him as you push your breasts to his chest, head resting in the crook of your neck as your arms wrap around him. Akaashi’s first instinct was to wrap his arms around your waist, holding you close. He could feel your panties against his thin shorts, wondering what you were wearing underneath the large hoodie.

“What’s the matter, angel?” the nickname made your panties wet.

You grinded your hips on his lap. Akaashi took in a sharp breath, not wanting to become hard for nothing.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that,” he mumbled against your skin.

You knew what you were doing. In fact, it had been what you had been planning for ages now. You wanted Akaashi to be the one to take your virginity, you were sure of it.

“Take me… Akaashi. I want you to take me,” you let your lips graze the skin of his neck, sucking lightly on his beautiful skin.

You felt him become hard underneath you, your panties growing damper as you moved your hips. Akaashi wasn’t having it, pulling you from him and watching how you dropped down onto your knees in front of him.

Shaking his head, he mumbled a soft, “Not here.”

You nodded, softly holding his hand and taking him upstairs to the same place you had sinful thoughts about him and did sinful things while moaning out his name. He watched as you pushed him down onto the bed, climbing over him. You rested yourself in between Akaashi’s thighs, spreading them to your liking. Shaky fingers moved to his belt, pulling it off and throwing it to the ground, tugging his pants, as well as his boxers down his legs. Akaashi took in a deep breath as the sight he dreamed of appeared before his turquoise coloured eyes.

He watched as you took the tip of his semi hard cock into your mouth, moving his hands to your hair, wrapping it around his hand, tugging slightly, forcing you to take more of him into your mouth. You gagged slightly, but continued to suck him off, letting your tongue run along his most sensitive spots.

“Fuck, y-you don’t know how long I’ve b-been waiting for this,” he groaned out, watching how you maintained eye contact with him while having his cock shoved down your throat.  

Akaashi let go of your hair, tucking it slightly behind your ear. He grabbed onto the bedsheets for support, moans falling from his lips that he wasn’t afraid to show. He bucked his hips up into your mouth, causing you to gag around him once more.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he muttered, stroking your hair slowly, “Taking me in your mouth like the good girl that you are.”

At one moment, Akaashi’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he climaxed into your mouth. He watched as you pulled yourself off his cock, watching as you swallowed his cum, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to show that you had.

Akaashi flipped you over, praising you, calling you a good girl as he shoved the hoodie up, letting it bunch at your waist. He noticed the red lace panties which sat underneath, his eyes widening when he noticed the damp spot in the middle, right where your dripping cunt was. He pulled his hoodie from your body, removing his shirt so he was fully naked. His eyes widened, seeing the matching red lace bra that you wore.

Akaashi’s fingers were skilled, easily removing your panties and bra. His lips moved to suck around your hardened nipple. His lips sucked dark, purple marks down your soft skin. Your body was softer than he thought it was. He loved the way you felt, the way your innocent demeanour changed when the two of you were alone.

His lips attached to your clit, a cry of his name leaving his lips as he began to suck lightly on your most sensitive spot. His fingers toyed with your entrance, collecting your wetness on his long digits. He needed to prep you for when he was to fuck you.

Lust and the way your tight velvety walls clenched around Akaashi’s digits filled his mind, the way your hands gripped onto the sheets, your hips would move and how angelic you sounded when you cried out his name. He wanted more. He needed more.

“Kaashi’ I’m gonna fucking cum… O-Oh, you’re gonna m-make me fucking cum.”

That’s what he did. He made you climax all over his digits, his tongue now dipping down to your entrance to taste you.

The two of you were stripped of your clothing, looking at each other with lust filled eyes. Akaashi pulled you closer to him, attaching his lips to yours, sharing a soft, passionate kiss.

“Where are your condoms?” he mumbled in between kisses.

“Top drawer on the left.”

Akaashi climbed off the bed, opening the drawer. He observed the small bullet vibrator he found, bringing it out along with one of the condoms. He slipped the condom onto his length, hovering over you.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

Yes, there was a slight pain when he thrusted into you, but it felt too good. Pain was washed away with the pleasure of being filled, the pleasure of having Akaashi’s lips on your neck as you moaned underneath him.

“F-Faster,” you moaned out slightly, wanting to be pounded into by the boy.

Akaashi wouldn’t take no as an answer, not when he’s here fucking the girl he’s always wanted to. Slowly, he increased the speed, grabbing hold of your vibrator and pressing it against your clit. You cried out, cursing at the way the boy found your favourite toy and decided to use it against you.

His hands reached out for the headboard, grabbing onto it as he quickened his pace. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, tongue slightly sticking out of your mouth as drool dripped down your chin.

A sharp cry left your lips as you climaxed again, this time, around his cock. You felt Akaashi pull out of you, throwing the toy onto the bed.

“Ride me.”

His voice was harsh, commanding you, not giving you any options.

You straddled his waist once again, feeling his cock enter you from now a completely different angle. Your hands rested around his neck, as his sat on your waist and guided you up and down his cock.

Your head was thrown back as Akaashi moved his to suck lightly on your nipples. Intense pleasure soared through your body as you were driven to your third climax of the night. Your body felt weak, unable to move on its own.

Instead, Akaashi pulled out of you once more, shoving your back down on the bedsheets, moving your legs to sit on his shoulders as he entered you once again. His hand intertwined with yours as he mumbled against your skin,

“Cum with me.”

And that’s what happened. The two of you climaxed at the same time, just like how the characters did in every smut you had read. He pulled out, watching how your cum dripped from your abused hole. He smirked, moving his fingers to your hole, stuffing your cum back into your body.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, angel.”

You could now say, that every tutoring session, you two studied each other’s bodies.

© all content belongs to akaashisbabygirl 2020, do not repost or change

[gettiregretti]

Copy the first few lines of your last ten fics, note any fun observations, then tag a few more friends.

I tag @mistr3ssquickly @hixystix @sempaiko @thatonegreyghost @sassyimperium

I don’t have ten lol, unless you want me to dip into FMA (pointless here). They aren’t all the openings but they are all what I would probably use for summaries on ao3. So chapter 1 a few paragraphs in.

Death Match / Zeb and Kallus meet in the gladiator pits as ISB agent and imprisoned fighter

When Crull started to close the heavy cell door on him, Kallus was already running. He scooped up a training staff, felt the bite of leather against old wood, and took aim.

The door was closing rapidly, and his chances of escape shrank along with it. Carefully, Kallus focused his mind. When he let the staff fly, it sliced true through the damp air of the training room and right between the door and its locking system. For a single breath, it wedged there and the space was held open.

A breath wasn’t enough. But it had to be enough. So he ran.

(This one is probably problematic in a ton of ways but I’m trying to straddle the line between indulgent fandom trope and bad taste)

Rebel Cell / in custody an empire doctor changes Kallus’ body so that it betrays him the way he betrayed them (ABO)

Alexsandr Kallus has only been part of the rebellion for a week, but he has already become a ghost story. Kanan only ever notices him slipping in and out of his scheduled interviews (interrogations; and they all know it) with an energy that’s getting progressively more gaunt. There is a kind of carefulness about him, like he’s stiff. Like it hurts to move.

(Sometimes you just make your fav lubricate from the butt. Fight me)

Love is in Your Blood / A new fighter joins the Resistance, and he’s from a species no one has ever seen before. Kallus is caught up in him too fast to be natural, but maybe that’s just Zeb’s jealousy talking.

“Kallus sure is getting friendly with the fishy new guy.” Sabine drops heavily onto some crates beside him. Zeb doesn’t bother to hide what he’s looking at. “Didn’t think he knew how to make friends, since he’s always trailing you.”

“Rinti,” Zeb growls, response clipped.

“Huh?”

“He’s called Rinti. And he came with Hondo.”

Sabine’s eyebrows do some complicated movement designed to optimally convey teenage scepticism. It’s devastating, and Zeb has never loved her more.

(Just ready to make them both suffer as much as possible. Touch starved Kallus doesn’t know if this is love or a ruse because he doesn’t really know what love is ABLOOBLOOBLOO)

(Spoiler it’s not love)

Once More Unto the Breach / I watched Winter Soldier and decided it needed to be Kalluzeb’d

“There now. Agent, are you with us?”

Agent. She means him? From context, apparently so. Thoughts are so hard to tie together.

He turns his head with some difficulty, neck jellied like an overcooked vegetable. The masked person by his side wears white and has a sickly green face mask over mouth and nose. A human, medical expertise probable. A woman, he thinks.

“Yes,” he replies. His throat hurts. The screaming has left its mark.

“Stable, Doctor,” another of them pipes up from the left. The person pinning his leg remains silent, but his grip is secure. Agent… -Agent. Agent realises he can’t feel the heat of the grip - only the pressure.

“Good. A minor delay, but training will resume in ten minutes. This time you must keep your emotions under control, understood?” The doctor is looking at him. Agent gazes back.

“I suppose I must.”

(What it says on the tin. Not a straight-up rewrite at all, more about the empire testing old tech they don’t understand on traitors too effective to waste)

Untitled / Kallus and Zeb fall in together. But Kallus is sure someone on base is stalking him, and everyone wants to know how Zeb could ever forgive the man who eradicated his entire world.

Zeb snarled. “Everyone keeps tellin’ me that, like I’m stupid, but I didn’t see anyone else at this table back on Lasan! It was me, and it was him. And no one else has any business digging through that to make some moral fucking point.” He slammed his tray on the table hard enough that the bread rolled out of its compartment. He ignored it, appetite gone, and turned his back on the stunned faces of the group. “Don’t look for me until take-off,” he ordered, rising from his seat and stalking from the mess.

(Born from me listening to a lot of true crime podcasts -until they made my anxiety spike and I had to stop- and wondering if Zeb is just too tired to overcome the past he and Kallus have. if he decides he’s just going to grab happiness in both fists before it’s gone)

[fanficshiddles]

Unexpected Guest, One Shot

Thank you for the prompt I hope you like it! I am always honoured that you trust me to write your beloved OC! toshisurtsdottir submitted: Toshi lives far away in the forest somewhere in Scotland. After Loki is defeated in Avengers, he uses his last bit of energy to teleport away and hide from Heimdal. He ends up unconscious in front of Toshis hut.

-

Toshi was minding her own business in her garden at home. She lived deep the forest, in the highlands. Where she finally had peace, away from everyone who could cause her harm.

She was tending to one of her rose bushes, watering them, they were in full bloom and she loved them.

But suddenly, a large being from above came shooting out from a portal in the sky and landed right on top of her rose bush.

She was stunned for a moment, then she took in what exactly had fallen. It was a man. He was wearing armour, a lot of leather and some metal. She frowned as she took him in, then she realised who exactly it was. She had seen enough paintings of the Gods during her childhood to know when she was looking at one.

It was Loki. Prince Loki, of Asgard.

At first, she was confused. Then she was furious. How dare he land not only in her garden, but on her roses!

He wasn’t awake, she wasn’t sure if he was dead or just passed out. So she tipped her watering can up and poured water over him. But that didn’t work, he didn’t move.

‘Maybe he is dead.’ She muttered to herself and crouched down to check his pulse. There was a pulse, so he must’ve just hit his head hard, she thought.

Thinking it wouldn’t be good to leave a God outside her home, she dragged him inside. She could’ve lifted him, she had the strength, but she didn’t want to. Why not let his clothes get dusty and dirty? Since he had ruined her roses.

She left him on the floor by her sofa and went back outside to try and salvage what she could of her rose bush. And to keep an eye outside to make sure no one was looking for him, she didn’t want him to draw attention to where she was living.

When she went back inside a little while later, Loki groaned as he sat up, looking confused as he looked around him. Then he locked eyes with Toshi and he eyed her suspiciously.

‘Where am I?’

‘You’re in my house. In Scotland. Midgard.’ Toshi drawled, folding her arms over her chest as she stared at him.

Loki narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Still on Midgard… Why are you here, you are not of this realm?’

‘I could ask you the same thing.’ Toshi said.

Loki went to move and he hissed. ‘Ow.’ He reached to the back of his neck and pulled out a small thorn. ‘What the…’

‘You landed in my rose bush.’ Toshi hissed.

Loki sat up more and wiped his face, realising he was wet. ‘Why am I wet?’

‘I will say it again. You landed in my rose bush.’ Toshi snarled.

Loki narrowed his eyes at her and slowly raised up to his feet. He made a slight movement with his head and had himself dry with his magic.

‘Why are you here?’ He asked and stalked over to her, then he started circling her, taking in her appearance.

‘More to the point, why are you here?’ Toshi asked and she leapt away from him, to get away from his scrutinising. She noticed him looking at her scars, especially.

‘I am… in need of a safe haven for a little while.’ Loki admitted.

Toshi raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Well, you can’t stay here. I don’t want any trouble and I certainly don’t want anyone to come looking for you here.’

Loki glared at her. ‘Do you know who you are talking to? I am Loki, God of As’

‘Yeah, yeah. I know. God of Asgard. Prince Loki. Yadda yadda.’ She mocked him with her hands and headed towards the door.

‘Where are you from?’ Loki queried, intrigued.

Toshi sighed and turned back to face him. ‘If you must know, I am from Muspelheim.’

Loki’s eyes widened in realisation and slight awe. ‘You’re a fire giant?’

Toshi sighed and nodded.

‘Wait… You’re Toshi? Surtr’s daughter? The one who ran away?’ He said, slightly excited that he was meeting her. He’d heard all about her.

‘How do you know of me?’ She asked cautiously.

Loki sat down on the edge of her sofa, ignoring the look on her face at the fact he was making himself at home. But his tone was softer. ‘When you ran away, I remember your father and your sister, Mirtria, coming to one of the celebrations on Asgard. I overheard Frigga speaking to your father and he was saying that you had ran away.’

Toshi nodded slowly and sat down on the sofa opposite him. ‘Let me guess, he put on a fake sad face and acted like I meant so much to him?’

‘No, actually.’ Loki paused a moment. ‘Quite the opposite. Frigga swiftly left to talk to someone else, she is not one for listening to a parent talk badly of their child. For some reason, I always wanted to meet you after hearing of you. I had a feeling that something wasn’t quite right, your sister was… uhm, a delight.’ He scoffed and pulled a face, making Toshi laugh a little. ‘I think Odin and your father was trying to get us together, I managed to pawn her off to Thor. Though even he, with his tiny brain, realised to stay away from her.’

‘Are you saying all this just so I let you hide out here?’ Toshi asked.

‘No, I’m not. I know what it’s like to be an outcast, to be born a runt. Small for a giant.’ Loki said honestly. ‘But being able to stay for a while would be a plus.’ He grinned charmingly.

-

Toshi had not wanted to let Loki stay, but she ended up unable to say no...

She found herself having to share a bed with the God of mischief. Since he refused to sleep on the sofa, claiming it was no use for a God. Toshi was not going to give up her bed for him, so they ended up sharing.

It kind of helped that they had a few drinks that evening. And it kind of helped that they had shared more of their lives with one another, finding they had quite a lot in common and sympathising with each other. The main one being overshadowed by their sibling.

What also kind of helped was the fact that they started kissing and feeling each other up on the sofa. Which then quickly progressed to the bedroom.

They both fought for dominance, Toshi tried to get on top of Loki but he growled at her and bit her neck, making her yield as he pinned her down underneath him with his strength and wrapped a hand around her throat, keeping her in place.

‘Good girl.’ He purred when she finally gave in and stopped fighting to be on top, making her entire body shudder in delight at his praise.

Loki wanted to take his time to devour her, but his lust raged on and he was unable to contain himself. He used his skilful silver tongue for a while, to make sure she was wet enough. First tracing some of her scars that were on her body, before delving into her cunt and making her dance on the tip of his tongue. When he had her screaming his name in pleasure, he finally crawled up over the top of her and thrust into her, filling her with his cock.

Her sharp nails dug into his back, leaving deep marks. Loki bit her neck and shoulder in return, marking her as his on the outside as well as the inside, as his thrusts became more erratic and harder.

It was frenzied and rushed, but the both of them came almost together in the end. Loki finished first, emptying into her just before she started clenching hard around him. Her eyes rolled back in her head in pure ecstasy.

They were both sweating and panting when their bodies stilled, Loki remained within her as he let the weight of his body rest on top of her. Knowing she could take it. She loved feeling the comfort of him on top of her, oddly it was really soothing and made her feel safe.

‘For what it’s worth.’ Loki said as he nuzzled her cheek, making her smile. ‘I think you are far better off away from Muspelheim.’ He hummed.

Toshi smiled and squeezed her arms around him tightly, not wanting to let him go. ‘For what it’s worth... I forgive you for crushing my rose bush.’ She whispered, making Loki chuckle.

[kazandthecrows]

All I’m Asking For Is A Day of Peace and Quiet

a/n: Hello everyone! I’ve been working on this for a while for @grishaversebigbang ! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it :) I’ve had the pleasure of working with some insanely talented artists on this project and I hope that you love the final product! 

Beware spoilers for all the Grishaverse books! The first chapter is up and I’ll keep updating it over the next couple of days! 

Corporalki (my badass beta reader): @purns-art

Materialki (the coolest artists I know): @aureatepaper (art link)   @alittleartistic (art link)  @crownofnight (art link)    @nataliert (art link)

Summary: 

Nikolai just wants to find the perfect way to actually propose to Zoya, but literally everything gets in his way. When the long lost ring he’d been planning to propose with shows up in Ketterdam, he finds himself going on an adventure with Kaz and his crows.

Here’s the link to read it on Ao3: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33702874/chapters/83764771

Or read chapter one below: 

Chapter One 

“I don’t need to go on a vacation, Nikolai.” A stressed Zoya Nazyelensky exclaimed. Nikolai didn’t believe one word of that sentence. They were currently walking through the halls of the Grand Palace because the only way Nikolai could get a word in with her is if he met her in between going to one of her several meetings with diplomats, rulers of other nations, or anyone who needed to request time with the new Queen of Ravka.

Zoya wasn’t one to outwardly show her stress, but Nikolai knew that something was up. She looked immaculate. Her hair was perfectly done, she was dressed the part of a young Queen, her dark blue dress made her look as if she was wearing the night sky itself, and she carried herself with confidence and never let anyone see her falter. But Nikolai could often see what others couldn’t. The forced smiles, the way her shoulders fell a little whenever they were behind closed doors. The responsibility was weighing on her in the same ways that it weighed on him, and on this occasion, he was grateful for his experience as a royal so that he could help her through it as best he could.

“Yes, you really do.” He pushed. He had caught her in a rare moment of peace. She had just left a meeting with a number of Zemeni diplomats, and she was on her way to another meeting with some ambassadors from the Wandering Isle. He matched her pace easily, walking alongside her in hopes it would make her slow down a little.

“I can count the number of times I’ve spent time with you in the last two weeks on one hand, and 90 percent of those times you fell asleep.” Zoya stopped in her tracks, catching Nikolai off guard.

“That’s not true.” She said, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Think about it, Zoya.” He pressed. “You’re tired, stressed, and I can see the early stages of burnout starting to take over.”

“I’m fine, besides, I don’t have the time to take a break.”

“If you can’t take a few days off, how about an afternoon?” He asked. Zoya stayed silent, but if Nikolai could just have a few hours of her time, that would be enough. She sighed, nodding in acceptance.

“I’ll see what I can do about clearing tomorrow afternoon.” Nikolai could have exploded with joy. Progress, he thought.

“Perfect, meet me in the gardens tomorrow, then.” He moved towards her gently and pressed a feather-light kiss to her cheeks. When he pulled away, he swore he could see his former general blush.

“I’m looking forward to it.” She said quietly. Nikolai smiled fondly at her as they went their separate ways.

“Good luck with your meeting, my love, I hear the Kaelish ambassadors can be quite charismatic!”

----------

The garden of the Grand Palace had quickly become one of Nikolai’s favorite places. It was large enough that you could hide from anyone you were avoiding and quiet enough that it felt as if you weren’t in the palace anymore. It was an area of sanctuary, and Nikolai knew that Zoya would find it easier to relax here.

He’d set everything up perfectly. He had laid pillows and a picnic blanket down with snacks and tea in an alcove almost completely hidden by azalea bushes. He and Zoya had already come out here before, and he knew that it was unlikely they would be bothered here.

The sound of footsteps alerted him to her presence. His face lit up at the sight of her. Zoya’s hair was down from all the pins and ribbons she was wearing previously, and she had replaced her dress with a much more comfortable-looking white shirt and a pair of light brown trousers. Her small smile grew into a grin as she spotted him lying casually on the blanket.

“Goodness Nikolai, did you do this all yourself?”

“I had some help.” He said sheepishly.

“Well, I’m impressed.” He laughed as she lowered herself down onto the blanket. It had been an extremely busy few months, and he honestly couldn’t remember a time where they’d ever done this. All their time spent alone together felt so fleeting.

“Please tell me that nobody knows we’re here.”

“Just Genya, but only so she can keep everybody out.” Zoya said cheekily.

“Perfect.” Nikolai chuckled, moving closer to plant a gentle kiss on her lips. Zoya’s eyes drifted shut, savoring the moment.

“I really do think that we should take a few days off and go somewhere.” Nikolai said earnestly. They both deserved a few days with each other, that’s all he was asking for.

“Nikolai, I already told you, I don’t know if I have time.”

“You know, I find that one of the best things about ruling a country is being able to do as you please.” He poked fun at her, but he knew her reasoning.

“Where would we go?” She asked seriously. Nikolai was pleasantly surprised, this was the first time she’d actually expressed interest in going anywhere.

“There’s a cottage about halfway between Keramzin and Balakriev, it’s technically ours so we could go there whenever you wanted. It’s in the middle of nowhere, no one would bother us, and we could even pay a quick visit to Alina and Mal if you’d like.”

Curiosity filled Zoya’s features. It had been a while since they’d seen their friends. It would feel like a break if they went to visit them.

“We’d have plenty of time to ourselves, and then we can also see some friends. It’s a perfect mix of hiding from our responsibilities and socialising.”

“That would be really nice.” She said, but Nikolai could sense she wanted to say more.

“But?”

“But, it just doesn’t feel right to leave.”

“Sleep on it, Zoya.” He urged, “it won’t be for long, and you have a support system here who can help keep things running while we’re gone.”

She was silent for a moment, and Nikolai was hopeful that he had gotten through to her.

“Alright, let’s do it.” She said stubbornly. Nikolai felt like jumping for pure joy. Finally, he thought, he’d finally managed to do what others had thought impossible. He’d managed to convince Zoya Nazyalensky to go on holiday.

----------

Nikolai paced across his room, picking up different items and placing them into the assigned bags as Genya helped him organise. The two had almost everything ready. They crossed each other several times in comfortable silence, until Nikolai stopped and looked up.

“Genya.”

Genya continued to gather items, but turned her attention towards him slightly, to let him know that she was listening.

“Yes?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know of a sapphire ring that my mother used to own?”

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him, questions filling her eyes. That didn’t exactly give him much hope, considering he was the one with questions to ask her.

“She had a lot of jewelry, Nikolai.” Genya said pointedly. Her time spent working for the Queen had meant she knew the ins and outs of everything she did, and everything she wore.

“Yes, but it was a very sizable sapphire ring.”

“What would you need with a sapphire ring?” She asked. Nikolai looked at her for a few moments, saying nothing. It was enough for her to realise why he was being so insistent.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, dropping the folded shirt that she was holding.

“Yes, oh.” Nikolai said, falling dramatically into the chair at his desk, one arm draped across his forehead.

Genya grinned. “I bet you regret giving Alina the Lantsov emerald now.” Nikolai scowled at her, only encouraging her laughter.

“Alina deserved the emerald, and she had a better use for it than I ever did.” He sighed.

“I didn’t realise that things had been moving so quickly between you two.”

“The last few months have certainly helped us grow closer.” After Zoya had become Queen, Nikolai had done everything he could to make sure that she wasn’t struggling, and they had spent even more time than normal together. Truthfully, Nikolai missed it, but everything that had happened, from the Darkling’s return to Nikolai being able to control his demon and his General turning into a literal dragon. He knew he wanted her to be his Queen, but now that things had settled down he had never been more sure of anything; he wanted to propose to her.

“I’m so happy for you Nikolai, you both deserve the world.”

“She’s my world, and she’s far too good for me.” He spoke softly.

“You and I both you’re perfect for each other, and also, there were many Lantsov heirlooms, there are some that were bound to have gone missing.” Genya said.

Nikolai vaguely remembered talk of a sapphire ring he was hoping to find, but he’d only ever seen it once in a box on his mothers' vanity. Thinking back on it, it reminded him exactly of Zoya. The ring was a beautiful, vibrant dark blue, and it would suit her perfectly. The only problem was that he hadn’t seen it since he was a child, and anything could have happened to it.

“Whichever ring you’re talking about, I don’t think I’d seen it on her.” Genya said, giving him a sympathetic smile.

Nikolai racked his brain, trying to come up with places where it could have been. He began pacing again.

“It would have been the perfect item for someone to steal and sell on the black market, wouldn’t it?” He said.

“Sure, but it could be anywhere.”

Nikolai smiled, his plans slowly coming together.

“If there’s anyone that could locate a lost ring, it’s Kaz Brekker.” Genya sighed, her head falling into her hands.

“Zoya is going to be so happy once she finds out that you needed Kaz Brekker’s help to get her engagement ring.”

“I’ll send word to the Wraith, perhaps Captain Ghafa will be of help.”

Perhaps if Nikolai and Zoya were away long enough, he hoped she would fail to notice that he’d been looking for her engagement ring across Ravka and Ketterdam.

“I’m glad that you’re going on this trip, but have fun convincing Zoya to take a break.”

“Don’t worry, she’s going to love it.”

----------

“This is a terrible idea.” Zoya stated, watching Nikolai step into the small cottage. He looked back at her only to see an unimpressed scowl on her face.

“I happen to think that a little break away from all the duties and responsibilities of a Queen might be exactly what you need.” He said, grinning. Zoya wanted to smack that grin off of his face.

“I shouldn’t have said yes to this, you caught me in a moment of weakness.” She had been half asleep when he’d brought up the idea, and she’d only agreed to it because at the time nothing had sounded more appealing than some peace and quiet. But she was the Queen of Ravka, and there was too much to do.

“Zoya, please relax.” He smiled, resting his hands on her shoulders softly. “Genya has everything sorted and it’s only for a few days. She wouldn’t let anything bad happen while we’re gone.” He hoped that would be enough to assure her that everything would be alright and that after all they’d been through she deserved a few days of rest, but Zoya Nazyelensky and rest were two things that did not seem to go together.

Nikolai had brought them to a small cottage just outside of Os Alta. The last few months had taken a toll on them both. Zoya had been adjusting well to life as Queen of Ravka, but a break from them was long overdue. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, Zoya was scowling, and all was right in the world.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we return and Genya is the new Queen of Ravka.” Zoya exclaimed, making Nikolai chuckle, his face suddenly turning serious.

“Yes, we should be afraid.” He said, and moved to put the bags they had brought into the living area. Nikolai thought it would be a good distraction for Genya to take over for a few days, they all needed some time to distract themselves. Zoya had barely had time to herself since becoming Queen, and more importantly, Nikolai had barely any time alone with Zoya. They never had enough time to relax with one another, so their trip was long overdue.

“Funnily enough, Genya actually helped me plan this.” He said, “So, the bedroom is to the left, the kitchen is through there, and the room you’re currently standing in is in the living room, although I can imagine you already came to that conclusion.” Zoya stared at him pointedly, still unconvinced.

“How can you be so relaxed about this?” She said as Nikolai sauntered towards her, and smiled softly. His fingers brushed her cheek softly as he glanced at her.

“Zoya,” he said in a hushed tone, “ you deserve to rest.” He cupped her cheek as she leaned into his touch.

“I’m well aware that resting is against every fiber of your being, but please try, for me?” The look Nikolai gave her made her want to melt into his arms and never leave them, so she nodded silently and sighed.

Although Zoya would never admit it, she was grateful to Nikolai for getting her away from the palace and taking a break for a little while. It had only been a day since they’d arrived, and they’d done nothing but eat, sleep, and lay in each other's arms and talk about the smallest things, from stories of both their childhoods, to Zoya’s upbringing in the little palace.

Zoya felt as though she could stay like this forever, covered in blankets, Nikolai’s arms wrapped around her. They had spent the whole morning like this, drifting in and out of sleep. Zoya glanced up at Nikolai to see his eyes were barely open, but he was looking at her. She smiled at him gently.

“You know, we might actually have to get out of bed eventually.” She said, bringing herself closer to him. Nikolai’s arms tightened around her, his thumb brushing her shoulder softly.

“Who says?” He mumbled, a content sigh leaving his lips.

“I say.” Zoya laughed. “The weather is beautiful outside, we should go and enjoy it while we can.”

Nikolai’s eyes widened at her request. “Well, it’s nice to see that your mood has improved since we arrived.”

“I have to admit, this is much better than having to rule a country.” Zoya said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Nikolai’s cheek. “But we should do something, or see something.” She insisted. Nikolai’s frowned, deep in thought. A thought came to Zoya’s mind, one that had even surprised her.

“We aren’t that far from Keramzin. How about we pay some old friends a visit?”

“You want to see Alina and Mal?” He said.

“At least this time it’ll finally be under better and brighter circumstances.”

The last time Zoya had been to visit Alina and Mal, she had brought the Darkling into their lives once again. Their appearance at her coronation was a welcome one, and while Alina and Zoya had their differences, the Darkling and the destruction of the Fold had changed them both.

“Alright, let’s go and see Alina and Mal.” Nikolai sighed, but only held onto Zoya tighter.

“Nikolai!”

“Just give me five more minutes.”

----------

The journey to Alina and Mal’s orphanage was short, and the fresh air and sunlight was welcome to Zoya, who was beginning to realise just how much she needed some time to do absolutely nothing but ride her horse and spend time with Nikolai. As they approached the orphanage, Zoya could make out a figure stepping out into the entrance. The figure stopped and waved a very Alina wave and shouted something inside. Momentarily, another figure trudged out the door. Mal.

Zoya could barely get off her horse before being enveloped into a tight hug. Alina was always more of a hugger than she was, but nevertheless, she found herself returning the embrace with the same fondness.

“Zoya, it’s so good to see you!” Alina said, her smile as bright as the sunlight she used to summon.

“It’s good to see you too, Alina.” Zoya returned the smile with her own, albeit a more reserved one. They turned to see Mal greeting Nikolai with a friendly grin and a handshake. Alina beamed at them and moved to take Zoya’s hands.

“I’m so glad that you decided to come and visit, it’s not often we get royalty for company.” Alina said, eliciting a laugh from Nikolai and Mal.

“I’m glad you still want me around, considering what happened the last time I visited.” Zoya said timidly, her mind wandering back to the Darkling.

“Firstly, it wasn’t your fault, and secondly, you’re always welcome here.” Alina said, her hands still grasping Zoya’s.

“Now, come inside, I even made tea for this.”

----------

Zoya and Nikolai had spent the entire afternoon catching up with Mal and Alina. It felt surreal, considering all that they had been through together over the past few years. They talked as if they were old friends who hadn’t destroyed the Fold, turned into a demon, lost all of their powers, or gained brand new ones.

Towards the end of the afternoon, when all the chatter had winded down and they’d caught up on each other's lives. Alina pulled Nikolai aside, asking for a few moments alone with him. Nikolai followed her out of the room and into the courtyard they entered a few hours prior. Once they were far enough away, Alina turned to him with an excited glint in her eyes.

“When are you going to do it?” She asked.

“Do what?”

“Propose! It’s about time, Nikolai.”

“Well, ideally I’d like to have a ring to propose with, and so far that’s not looking good.” Alina gave him a sympathetic look.

“You could propose holding a twig and she’d still say yes. It’s your fault you picked a long-lost ring.”

Nikolai and Alina and corresponded through letters in recent months, keeping each other updated on the happenings of Keramzin and the Grand Palace. He’d told her about the ring in case she’d be able to find any information, but they hadn’t had any luck.

“I’m well aware. Genya said she’d send word as soon as she hears something, and I still haven’t heard from my contacts, so if there’s nothing by the end of the month I’ll have to improvise.”

“You must really love her if you’re going to all these lengths to propose to her.”

“She deserves something fit for the Queen of Ravka.”

“Either way, she’ll be happy to marry you.”

----------

The next morning, the couple did not expect to find Tolya standing at the door, with a cloaked figure next to him. The figure lifted their hood, and the face of the Wraith became clear.

A very confused Zoya turned to Nikolai, wondering what the hell was going on.

“Captain Ghafa, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Nikolai asked. It had taken a considerable amount of effort to get in touch with her. As it turned out, the Wraith truly lived up to her name. She seemed to appear in the most random places. Nikolai had to request the help of allies in the Wandering Isle, Fjerda, and Novyi Zem to find her. Once he could contact her, he explained the situation and asked her to get into contact with anyone who might have had information on the whereabouts of the ring.

“I received your letters.”

“I must admit, I’m very surprised you’re here, you’re notoriously difficult to get a hold of.”

“I have a lead on the item you asked me to look for.”

Excitement coursed through Nikolai. Has she found it? Was this all coming together?

“And?” He asked eagerly, ignoring Zoya’s perplexed gaze.

“It’s in Ketterdam.”

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

School House Blues

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Identifying Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Warnings: N/A

Request from Anon:  Hey so I saw your post that said requests for certain characters were open and I was wondering if I could ask for a din djarin x plus size reader with this prompt please? : (19th c) I’m the town’s school teacher and you’re the gruff wanderer/traveller/cowboy/outlaw/etc. That’s come to town. You help me fix the school house and wrangle the little demons I teach. I was thinking the kid could be one of her students! Thank you so much in advance ♥️♥️

Summary: When the bounty hunter strolls into your little mining town you don’t think much of it, but with a little boy in his wake and your school house in disrepair, he becomes more than just a passing visit, but a welcome constant.

Notes: You know me too well, Western AU/historic AU Din is so good as a concept and ughhhhhh this was so wonderful to have requested and I hope desperately that it’s good!

Reader isn’t really specified as plus size just because it didn’t really come up in the story? Although she is described as being quite soft and sweet in appearance. 

Archiveofourown

He comes into town with one hand clenched around his horse’s reins, guiding the bay and white creature with a bounty hogtied swearing and cursing over its rump, and the other hand holding a little boy of no older than six at his hip. It’s quite the sight, one that momentarily distracts you from your grief at the fact you’re teaching your children out of a saloon now since your schoolhouse was burnt to the ground. 

He’s imposing or he would be if the little boy wasn’t smiling up at him with big brown eyes. It’s hard to be imposing when you’re clearly the world of a small child and it makes you smile from the porch of the saloon. You’d been organising the boxes of donations the townsfolk had put together, since all your books, slates, chalk, paper, pencils, and the like had burnt in the fire, when he strolls past. He glances over at you and tips his head, hat dipping over his chestnut eyes and it flusters you for a second when you finally see his face. 

He’s handsome, incredibly so, too handsome to be in your small mining town you think. Deep brown eyes, a prominent nose and plump lips set in a perpetual pout. His jaw is sharp and his beard and moustache are trimmed neatly, despite the bruising on his face and the layer of dirt from the road he’s truly beautiful, a thought that flusters you further. The small boy sat comfortably at his hip and playing with the fabric of his suspenders is adorable, soft round cheeks and large brown eyes, but he doesn’t look much like the man and you’re curious what the story is there. 

The boy is old enough to be in school with you, to sit and learn his letters and to read while the older kids move on to learning about science, history, mathematics and poetry. There are a couple of children his age in your class, Timmy and Mary-Beth, both just getting the hang of gripping a pencil correctly. You wonder if he won’t be joining your class soon or if he and his guardian will be out of town before you can even consider preparing for a new student. 

You watch the man hitch the horse outside the Sheriff’s office, the one that’s not got a sheriff at the moment. You hope he’s not looking for quick pay, the lawman that resided in the Sheriff’s office at the moment was just there until they could find a new sheriff. He’d have to telegram out to get the bounty money. Your last sheriff had up and left after being shot at by a couple of drunk miners, he’d decided that was enough and quite the same day. The town had been a little more unruly since and it was beginning to make you and some of the other townsfolk uneasy without someone to keep the peace. The temporary lawman had been lazy and uninvolved thus far. It was after the sheriff quit that your schoolhouse burnt down and you weren’t sure it was coincidence. 

You watch the man place the boy on his feet and say something quietly to him before brushing his hair fondly. He grabs the bounty off of the horse, and slings the man over his shoulder. It’s impressive that he doesn’t struggle up the steps to the office even with a fully grown man thrown over his shoulder, the little boy follows after him as he goes inside. 

You return to your organisation. There aren’t that many books, not like you used to have. But, while you wait for some of your teaching associates across the country to send you items, they will do. There’s enough paper and some slates for all your students to practice their writing and get their work written down which is a relief and even a globe that the general store owner, Mr Hewitt, had found in a back cupboard for you to have. 

You’re trying to lift one of the boxes of books when he comes back out again, the little boy still trailing behind him, but this time something shiny is pinned to the man’s blue shirt. You don’t think too much about it as you struggle to lift the box, your heavy skirts not helping you move much, hindering your progress and causing you to trip each step forward you take. 

You hear his boots on the wooden stairs before you see him, he towers over you, as he takes his hat off, more polite than most men in town. You get a better look at the shiny thing pinned to his shirt and realise it’s a sheriff’s badge. The same one the old sheriff used to wear, you look from it to him and then down when you hear a little giggle. The little boy is still following after him, a sweet smile turned on you this time as he leans around the man’s legs to watch you.

“Miss, I can take that.” He gestures to the box in your hand, it’s not a question, and it’s straight and to the point. But, you’re grateful for the offer and hand it off to him without complaint. He’s stronger than you, that’s clear to see, his arms thick from years of hard work.

“Thank you…” You wait for him to tell you his name, trailing off as you lead him into the saloon that has been set out for the school day. There is a black board at the front, tables and chairs littered around the room, the liquor shelves have been emptied for books to replace them. 

The fact that Mr Karga had offered the saloon for the school was a miracle and while many in town grumbled about their favourite place of vice no longer admitting them during the day time, most were supportive of the decision to help the kids continue their school. Nevarro wasn’t a large town and mining was its main source of income, but the children deserved a chance to do more than just become miners and the school helped them do that. You helped them get into colleges on scholarships, to find jobs as clerks and apprentices in other parts of the country. 

“Din Djarin.” It’s a nice name, rolls of his tongue like honey. He doesn’t smile, not really, not properly, but there’s a little crinkle at the corners of his eyes that soften his face and make him seem warmer somehow. 

“And this little one?” You smile at the little boy as he begins to bravely step out from behind his guardian to greet you with a smile. He is a quiet boy, not the usual talkative sort you find with a six year old, but who knows what he’s been through even at this young age. 

“Grogu, he’s my…” He furrows his brow, clearly thinking hard on the right word. That alone tells you he is not his son by blood, a small fact that makes him even more interesting. Not many bounty hunters would take in a small child. “Son.” he finally says. Deciding it is the best term. Grogu isn’t his by blood, Din knows this, but the little boy he’d found all alone surrounded by death, was slowly becoming like a son to him. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood. 

“Will he be joining my class? I run the school, currently we’re based here...in the saloon. Not my ideal place to teach but needs must.” You gesture around you to the makeshift classroom. You don’t like that the place still stinks of liquor or that at night it goes back to being a saloon where people drink, gamble, and fight. But, you don’t have a better place right now and the children need somewhere to learn. You can teach in any building, even if you dislike this one. 

You fit the image of a school teacher he thinks. You look like a respectable young woman, dressed appropriately, all neat and proper. Your hair pulled up and pinned away like it’s supposed to be. Everything about you is proper. Part of him wants to see you become ruffled, stop being so demure. It’s a thought that makes him frown at himself, the thoughts inappropriate especially towards a lady like yourself.

“Yes. We’ll be staying for awhile. What happened to the school house, Miss…?” He took on the job as sheriff the moment the lawman offered it, the pay was good, gave him his own accommodation and it meant he could settle down for a bit, give the kid an actual childhood. Bounty hunting was something he was good at but it wasn’t exactly safe to do with a six year old in tow. At least this job used his skills catching lawbreakers and put them to use in a place the kid could grow up. It helps that the teacher of the town is pretty too, he thinks. 

You give him your name before answering his question, “Well, after the last sheriff quit, the schoolhouse burnt down and along with all the things we had in it. Luckily it was at night and none of us were in the building. Burnt right down to the ground, nothing left…” You say it with a heavy sigh, thinking of that sweet little schoolhouse. The white painted wood, the familiar rows of desks with names carved in them, your favourite collection of university level texts at the back for the older and more advanced kids to explore. You had been teaching in that schoolhouse for the last five years and in a way it had become a second home for you, if you weren’t at your own little home, then you were in the schoolhouse marking work or planning lessons for the coming days. 

“Anyone know what caused it?” 

“No. We didn’t exactly have the mind to investigate and if it wasn’t an accident it was probably just some drunk who didn’t know any better. But, we make do and Grogu,” You crouch down next to the small child, moving your skirts to do so comfortably, “will fit right in, I think, don’t you?” The little boy smiles at you and giggles, before hiding behind his father’s leg again. 

“Have any plans been made to rebuild the schoolhouse?” Sheriff Djarin it seems is very straight and to the point, his tone isn’t unkind or aggressive, but his words are clipped, short, brusque as if he’s not quite used to being more flowery or saying much. You supposed a bounty hunter didn’t typically need to say much, but you hope he’ll become more comfortable with talking, at least to you, as time goes on. 

“No...i’ve been trying to put some pressure on the mayor to get it done but...he just doesn’t seem to care all that much now there’s a temporary solution.” You say as you begin unpacking the box that he brought inside, exercise books are brought out and sorted into piles, ready for the children to write their names on the covers and start afresh. 

He frowns, brow furrowing deep, lips turned down at the thought of the schoolhouse just never being rebuilt. It’s clear to him that saloon isn’t the place for a school and it’s even clearer that you are distressed with your new working arrangement, that you miss having a building that is entirely your own and entirely dedicated to teaching young minds. 

“I’ll sort something out. Is class starting soon?”

“Yes, not...not long now.” You double check the clock realising the kids will begin arriving in less than an hour and you feel wholly unprepared for the first day of school since the schoolhouse burnt down. 

You watch him crouch in front of Grogu, hand ruffling his hair fondly, “You’re going to stay here today, get some learnin’ in ya. I’ve got things to do, but I'll be back later, promise.” You’re surprised and warmed when he puts out his pinky finger for the kid to grab, a little promise that seems to you like something more. You wonder if the boy was scared of being left again, if this was Din’s way of reassuring his new son that he wasn’t going to leave him. The little boy wraps his whole hand around Din’s pinkie not quite understanding how the promises work yet.

“Have a good day of teaching, Miss Y/N.” He nods his head at you, grabbing his hat as he walks out the saloon with a purpose. The hat is placed on his head the moment he’s out of the doors and it’s that little element of politeness that surprises you. He carries himself like a gentleman but looks like any other rough and tumble man wandering the west. But it’s his treatment of Grogu that confirms the sort of man that he is. 

I’ll sort something out. You smiled to yourself realising that perhaps the new sheriff would be the best thing to happen to this town in a while. Someone who actually got things done for once. 

“Do you want to find your seat? Maybe do some drawing before class starts, Grogu?” You ask the little boy smiling at him as he nervously shifts from foot to foot, looking back out the doors as if hoping his father would walk back in. It’s clear he hasn’t had to do this before, be separated from him and left with a stranger, but you put on your softest smile and gentlest voice and wait patiently for him to nod his head before offering him your hand. 

He takes your hand and you help him get settled into his seat, you decide to put him near the front so you can help him easily and get him settled near you. He only knows you after all, and you think being around all the kids and far away from familiarity might be too much. You give him some paper, scrap bits that you don’t need anymore and a pencil leaving him to draw while you get ready for class.

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

The school day goes...well, it’s hectic and your hair is frizzy and falling out of the updo you styled it in that morning by the end. The children are unsettled in this new environment, the older kids, those nearing adulthood frustrated by the younger kids who can’t seem to focus or be quiet. Your brain feels too large for your skull and you sigh out a goodbye to your students as they leave out the saloon doors, one or two shoving through the swinging shutters much faster than needed. 

Grogu is the quietest of your students, sweet and attentive, he doesn’t speak a word, but follows your instructions well. He is behind on his writing letters and reading, that much you know from working with him, but he’s a quick learner and applies himself with a determination you rarely see. He doesn’t always play well with others. At lunch time you’d noticed him stealing food from the other children. It continued despite giving him your own lunch knowing his father hadn’t had time to prepare him something after coming straight into town and getting to work. He doesn’t share well either, but seemed to understand when you sat him down and talked to him about it. You suppose that being away from other children and only travelling with your father figure who would share his food with you without a thought, it must be confusing. The manners that he now has to observe, the rules of society that he’s never had to worry about until now. He looks suitably admonished despite the gentle way you chose to talk about it with him, that alone makes you think he’ll likely stop stealing the children’s cookies and be more willing to share. 

“David, careful!” You call out when one of your older students nearly gets trampled underneath the sheriff’s horses’ hooves as he runs across the thoroughfare without looking. 

“Sorry, miss!” David calls back over his shoulder, still storming ahead your warning lost on him. 

You sigh heavily and rub at your temples, stress enveloping you. A tug, swift and sharp on your skirt has you looking down. Grogu has a hand fisted in the fabric, pulling to get your attention. Once he has it, his arms open, hands up towards you, opening and closing, a universal gesture to be lifted. 

It surprises you, he is...quiet and reserved. You expected time to be needed before he was comfortable with you in any respect, especially after having to tell the boy off. Instead, he lets you lift him to your hip, hands reaching for strands of your hair and twisting them, surprisingly gently between his chubby little fingers. 

You watch your students run in different directions through town, their books and lunch pails in tow. Some stop on the open green, playing games together before their parents demand them back home for dinner. The warm little body in your arms is a soothing presence and the boy almost looks like he wants to say something, but just makes a soft cooing sound instead.

“Not much of a talker are you, little one?” He almost shrugs his little shoulders before looking up at the sound of heavy footsteps and clinking spurs. The sheriff leads his horse up to you, eyes following David with a shake of his head. Clearly, just as bemused as you at his lack of common sense.

Grogu smiles and giggles happily at the sight of his father, arms reaching out for him. You pass him over to Din, trying to ignore how close you get to the man to do it. He radiates warmth and smells woodsy mixed with some sort of soap he must use. This close you can see little birthmarks dotted across his neck. 

You step back once the boy is settled in his arms and smile, soft but tired. “Sheriff, how was your first day on the job?” 

He gives you a humoured smirk, one you’re not expecting, it takes you aback slightly. He looks...charming, approachable. Little dimples at his cheeks that soften his features in a way that makes you want to step closer. With a huff, not quite a laugh, he says, “Eventful.”

“That makes two of us, sheriff.” He notices the tired creases beneath your eyes, the once unrumpled appearance now dishevelled, hair coming out of its updo and blouse and skirt wrinkled and creased. You look like you’d had a rough day and he hopes Grogu wasn’t part of the cause. He still hadn’t figured out how to discipline the kid, he always turned those big brown eyes on him and he just couldn’t tell him no. 

“Din. Call me Din.” 

“Then you should call me Y/N.” There’s a moment of silence. You stare at him, at the way his hat casts shadows over his face, at the gentle hold he has on Grogu, the open top buttons of his work shirt and the dig of suspenders into his shoulders. He stares back at you. The gentle softness of your cheek, the marks that make your skin your skin and not someone else's. 

“We’re going to start building the schoolhouse as soon as the wood shipment gets here, I sent a telegram off today to get some good lumber in.” It surprises you in the most delightful way. When you said the mayor had been dragging his heels you meant it, but you hadn’t expected this new face to come in and make a start on what the mayor had been reluctant to do. 

“We’re?”

“I’ve convinced some of the men around town to pitch in and I know a thing or two about building.” In truth he’d intimidated more than persuaded. Most of the men were lazy, and had more concern for their own vices than for helping out. But, a mixture of convincing them they’d get their saloon back and reminding them that he was now the town’s sheriff seemed to get a few of the stronger and more skilled townsfolk to agree to help. 

“You’re the sheriff. You shouldn’t be building the schoolhouse, Din. You’ve got more important things to do.” You feel bad that he’s doing this, being quite so involved, when he’s starting a new job, one that takes up most of his time. Being a sheriff is a full time job, almost 24 hours a day 7 days a week. He has people to keep in line, criminals to catch, laws to enforce, and building a schoolhouse wasn’t on his list of priorities. It’s sweet and makes your heart ache oddly, but you feel guilty for adding another thing to his plate. 

“This is important, Miss...Y/N. The kid can’t learn in a saloon forever and you can’t work here forever neither.” He can see how desperately you want your schoolhouse back and something in him wants to provide that for you, to care for you. He tells himself it’s also for the kid, that his son deserves a proper schoolhouse to learn in. That all foundlings, all little children deserved a place to learn, like he had growing up in the covert.

“At least...at least let me and the children bring food and water down once you get started. I...you’ve not even been here a whole day and you’re already doing more than anyone else ever has...Thank you, Din.”

“It’s my pleasure, meg ba'jurir” You do not understand what he calls you, but you recognise that cadence, the rhythm of the language. Can almost see the symbolic nature of the alphabet. It surprises you that he knows what you’re sure is Mando’a, having only heard one other person in your life ever speak it. Mandalorian family groups were uncommon, but where they were they seemed to keep people in order, to value community. It made sense that he would take on the job of sheriff, adopt a child not of his own blood, if that were the case. 

You bite your tongue and don’t ask, you don’t know him and it is too personal to ask about his upbringing, culture or heritage. Perhaps, after you know him better you can ask, but you can almost hear your headmistress at school reminding you about manners and decorum even in a little mining town. 

“He didn’t...he didn’t cause any trouble today did he? He’s not used to being around others or...we’ve been on the road for a long time now.” He looks down at the little boy sitting at his hip, who’s playing with the metal star on his shirt. He knew that Grogu could be difficult, sweet, adorable, hard to say no to, but undisciplined and not used to the rules that people usually abided by. 

“I...I did have to have a word with him today…” You can already tell Din’s disappointed. He clearly loves the boy, but part of loving a child is wanting better for them and getting in trouble isn’t part of that. 

Din sighs heavily before catching the boy’s eye, “Ad’ika…”The boy clearly knows what’s going on and hides his face in his father’s shirt, suitably embarrassed about his behaviour. You think that’s enough to probably deter him from stealing from other kids in the future. You also think you might bake him some treats and use them as an incentive to work hard. You suspect bribery would work well with Grogu. 

“He paid attention beautifully and he’s already doing so well with learning his letters, but he’s...he’s quite…” You try to think of the best way to say that the boy just can’t resist taking other children’s food. 

“You don’t have to spare my feelings, Y/N. You can tell me.” You look Din in the eyes, deep brown meeting your own and sigh out before speaking.

“He likes to steal the other children’s food. I gave him my lunch and he still tried to steal Charlie’s cookies and Mary Beth’s macarons. I know he’s probably used to food being a thing he can just have since you’ve been travelling as a family unit…”

“Osik... I forgot to give him lunch. I am a terrible father…” Din looks at his feet, free hand rubbing over the scruff on his jaw. You feel the instant need to reassure him. 

“You’re not a terrible father. You just came into town this morning, immediately took on a job, and instantly went to work. You’re not a terrible father.” You hesitate, but reach forward anyway, a hand on his arm giving a quick reassuring squeeze. 

“Vor entye, Y/N. Thank you. Have you eaten?” 

“Oh…” You hadn’t really thought about it, that you’d given your food to Grogu to stop him going hungry and that you’d spent all day teaching with little more than the porridge you’d made yourself that morning to keep you going.

“Don’t even think about lying to the sheriff.” You did in fact consider lying to him, but the look he gave you reminded you of an overbearing mother hen who wouldn’t let you get away with it. Combined with the fact he was indeed the new sheriff, you felt it best to stick to the truth for now. 

“No...I haven’t.” You admit, feeling suitably admonished by him and a little guilty for even considering lying about. 

Din adjusts Grogu on his hip and nods his head behind him towards the street, “Come, I’ll buy you dinner at the café.”

“You don’t have to, Din. I can make dinner at home.” You think back to the soup you were going to make that night, and even though you haven’t the energy in truth to make dinner, you can’t ask him to buy you it. It is too much and unnecessary. Any good teacher would have made sure their students were fed. 

“You kept my ad fed in place of yourself. I’m buying you dinner.” His voice left no room for argument and so you found yourself following after him across the street towards Reeva’s Café. 

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

Din’s presence in town becomes apparent very quickly. He does not allow the men to wander drunk through the streets, start fights, or harass women. He does not suffer law breakers or those who cause the peace to break. He is swift, effective, and there isn’t a member of town who doesn’t respect his authority even if some don’t particularly like having to listen to him. 

For you it is a refreshing change. You don’t worry about the children wandering around town in the evenings or about walking out of your home at night. You don’t worry about your meager belongings being stolen or a fight breaking out in the saloon on an evening and ruining the few bits you have for the school. 

He is quiet and polite, not much of a talker, but everything he does shows a man of honour and good morals. He is sweet with the children as well. 

It had become common place for him, while waiting for the lumber to begin the schoolhouse, to come into the saloon while you were teaching. He said it was because the day time left little for him to do as sheriff, but you think he just enjoys helping with the children. They make him smile. A real smile. 

Sometimes he just sits with his son on his lap and helps him with his letters, other times he wanders between tables helping those who need it or using his presence to quiet the children after an exciting lunch break. Reminding them to respect you, their teacher, and listen.

Your favourite, and the childrens’ favourite times were when he’d sit down and tell them stories of his travels. For a man who didn’t speak much, Din Djarin was a natural born storyteller. 

That’s how you found yourself taking a step back, sitting on one of the saloon bar stools off to the side as Din took your place at the front of the class. He had an ability with the little ones that amazed you, none were ever scared of him despite his height, posturing or the guns holstered at his side and slung over his back. He always managed to make them smile and laugh, always got their curiosity going and inspired them equally. He made it a point whenever he talked to your class to share stories of both men and women he’d met who’d done amazing things, you could tell he was trying to get the girls in your class to see they could be more than housewives or washerwomen and you appreciated it. 

“So there I am standing toe to toe with the biggest grizzly you’ve ever seen…” He gestures with his hands, standing at the front, arms out front to show just how large this grizzly bear was. His voice took on a different, more dramatic quality then normal. Grogu clapped his hands from his seat on your lap, the little boy having grown increasingly comfortable around you.

“Now this grizzly has to be 8ft standin’, and he’s the angriest bear you’ve ever seen and i’m sure that’s the end of me. I’m about to become a grizzly bear’s dinner, Sheriff Djarin stew!” You laugh along with the kids at the prospect of Din becoming stew for a grizzly bear, you’re never sure how much is fiction or truth in his stories, although part of you wouldn’t be surprised if they were all completely true. He was...he always seemed larger than life despite being so quiet. Like some sort of figure out of a western story.

“When out of nowhere, charging between me and this mean grizzly, comes the largest bull moose I've ever seen…” 

“What’d you do?” Mary Beth pipes up, big blue eyes open wide. 

“Well, I got the he-” He stops himself looking at you, you raise an eyebrow reminding him that cussing around the children would not do well for him, “-out of there as quickly as I could! One thing you should never do is stay around to fight a grizzly, never ends well to go toe to toe with one. That moose was being kind and giving me a chance to get away.” It amuses you that he always manages to twist a moral into the story. This time about kindness and helping those weaker than yourself, along with a healthy dose of not getting into situations with angry grizzly bears of course. 

“Well, I think it’s time I let Miss Y/N, get on with her mathematics lesson.” Groans and grumbling rises up from your students as you place Grogu in his seat and begin making your way to the front. You watch Din frown at them, hands on his belt, leaning into one hip more than the other. He is the perfect picture of a disappointed father. Lips twisting downwards, pulling on his moustache. 

“Hey, now! Miss Y/N always makes your lessons fun so don’t you start giving her trouble or else i’ll have to stop coming in for story time.” It’s a threat that promptly has them settling quietly in their chairs and getting their books and pencils out.

You rest a gentle hand on his arm when you reach him, quietly telling him thank you. It’s heavy with meaning. Thank you for being there for the children. Thank you for providing them with stories. Thank you for always settling them and reminding them to respect me. Thank you for thinking about the schoolhouse. Thank you for settling the town and keeping the peace. 

He just nods at you with the smallest hint of a smile, enough to make you feel the tiniest bit flustered as you watch him walk to the chair where he’d left his hat, holsters, and lasso. 

“Say goodbye to the sheriff, children.” You tell them as all of you watch him make his way to the doors. He stops before them and tips his hat at you all with a smile, but the moment he’s out the doors it drops and in his place is the hard sheriff who won’t stand for trouble. 

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

Once the lumber comes in and the plans have been drawn up and approved by yourself, at Din’s insistence, the work begins. The schoolhouse design had been run past you because Din didn’t want to miss anything that was needed or that would help you teach. He had told you not to worry about size, scale or cost, that the community was pitching in and that the mayor had found a fund tucked away somewhere for the school. The fund miraculously appeared after Din had a long meaningful chat with him.

He wouldn’t tell you that he’d made threats against the mayor about digging up some of his dirty laundry, but he had. The mayor had a lot of skeletons in his closet and also a nice stack of credits he was sitting on in his own personal mayoral vault. The fact that the mayor had been so reluctant to rebuild the schoolhouse when he easily could have almost made Din see red, but he didn’t think it would look good if he beat the man to the curb as sheriff. He was supposed to be upstanding and law abiding, if he wasn’t why would any of the townsfolk be? 

A few days into the project you decided it was time you made good on your promise to come to the site during lunch time with the children to bring water and some food. You and the children collect pails of water and the baked goods you’d made the night before, trudging through the streets. You held Grogu on one hip, the small child the slowest of his classmates, and carried a heavy pail of water in the other, so heavy your shoulder slumped down on that side to accommodate the weight. 

The children were happy to help, after all, many of their fathers and older brothers were working on the school site and it was a chance in the school day to see people they cared about. You were also sure they wanted to ask the sheriff a multitude of questions and beg for a story, but you’d reminded them that they weren’t there to get in the way or interrupt the work, just to offer food and water.

You’d reluctantly admitted to Reeva that you found the sheriff attractive, after the older woman badgered you day in and day out about the time you spent with him. You could admit he was handsome. His eyes were deep brown and spoke more words then he often did. He had both a look that could intimidate and also soften into something warm and safe. The beard and moustache he sported made him look ruggedly handsome and his shoulders were broad and wide. He looked like he’d stepped out of a story book or from an illustrated newspaper short story. Rugged but clean, dangerous but kind. 

You had to admit though that this was your favourite look on him. As you came upon the building site he was busy sawing a plank of pine in two. His shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow exposing his strong forearms and thick wrists. His suspenders had been flung off his shoulders, resting at sides no longer covering the strong back that was tensed as he worked. The top few buttons of his shirt had come undone, almost indecently so to show a pronounced collar bone, strong neck, and dark chest hair and the brown hair on his head had begun to curl from the sweat he was working up. It shouldn’t have been attractive. He should have looked like any other man working up a sweat, you shouldn’t have wanted to wipe his brow and brush your fingers through the curls of his hair. But you did. 

Taking a deep breath to compose yourself you look down at the little boy at your hip, “Should we go say hello to your father?” 

“Papa!” He clapped his hands at you in confirmation. You’d slowly learnt that papa was one of the only words he said, you weren’t sure if he chose not to speak or simply couldn’t. But, given his increasing aptitude with writing his letters, you thought it likely that he simply chose not to speak. 

The call instantly has Din’s head popping up from his work like a startled deer and you watch as his eyes roam across the children until he catches sight of his son at your hip. The smile that lights his face is so bright that it’s almost blinding, there is a longing you feel whenever you see his happiness to see Grogu. Some deep part of you that desires that sort of family bond. He loves his son so deeply, it doesn’t matter to him that their blood isn’t the same and part of you wants desperately to be part of that love and happiness. 

“Children, hand out the food and water, will you? But be careful!” You remind them as they run towards familiar faces, it is still a building site after all, and the last thing you need is a child getting hurt in any way. 

Din finishes sawing the plank before striding over to you, hand pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. You look...radiant. The summer sun shining over you, causing your skin to glow, your hair to shine. Your smile is as soft as your eyes and you're gentle in the way you hold his son to your hip, like he belonged there. Like the two of you belonged together. Din can admit that he enjoys your company more than he probably should, he can even admit that a part of him deeply desires you, wants you to join his family unit, become part of his aliit. You’re tender and kind to all the children you teach, your children as you often call them, and you’re incredibly kind to Grogu who you treat with more understanding than most school teachers ever would. You keep order in your classroom through kindness and mutual respect, not through fear or punishment. The maternal shine to you draws him to you in a way that, had he not been Mandalorian, he might be ashamed of. But, family is everything to him, Grogu is everything to him and if he is to put down roots here, he can’t help but consider putting down roots with you.

It’s a silly thought though, you’ve not known each other long and he isn’t well to do or gentlemanly. You’re far better educated than him, kinder than him, and it is a pipe dream that he doubts will ever come to fruition. It doesn’t help that he struggles at times to even talk to you, let alone make his feelings known. 

“Miss me, Ad’ika?” He calls to the little boy, carefully pulling him from your arms when you offer him. If you allow yourself to, you can almost imagine he’s taking your own child from you, that the two of you have formed some sort of family. But, you are just his son’s teacher and he is just the sheriff of your small town. 

The boy babbles at him, not real words, nonsense, or attempts at words that don’t translate, but you can see that improving. Can almost imagine what settling down here can do for the boy, give him a chance to learn, grow, make friends, and find some stability and safety. 

“He’s been itching to come over all day, they all have. I was struggling to get them to focus on their history lesson.” You had 15 children all desperate to get out of the saloon and visit their fathers for lunch. It had been a...very difficult lesson to say the least and you still felt a little frazzled. 

“History?” The boy tugs at his father’s hair and you watch him wince as he speaks, pulling little chubby hands from brown curls. 

“The fall of the empire and the rise of the republic. Not the most riveting subject for them I'm sure, they much prefer when I tell them about different societies rather than politics.” You want to say like Mandalore and the Mandalorians because you want to draw him in, desperate to have more of his time even when he’s already doing so much for you. You enjoy the odd hour here and there when he takes over your class and becomes the teacher, where you can just sit and listen, learn yourself. 

“Mandalorians believe that our history is our future. We learn it as soon as we can walk.”

“So it is Mando’a you’ve been speaking?” It warms you to see him open up to you like this. He is a private man, quiet, and insular. While he can yell with the best, and demand attention, can intimidate and even persuade, it’s all part of his job. The face he puts on as sheriff. He is quiet about himself, sharing little and not so often. You revel in the trust placed in you wherever he tells you a little something more about himself. 

“You noticed?” Most people don’t even know Mando’a exists, let alone recognise that the words he slips into his speech are such. He finds they slip out more around you, than with others. He’s comfortable with, he is happy to share himself, his culture with you and it...it is a startling discovery about himself. He has been insular and closed off for longer than he would like to admit. 

“I can’t speak it and I..I don’t know it well, but, I recognise the cadence. I grew up in Naboo and there was a Mandalorian there, she used to speak it when I would sit and practice my letters with her.” Atin’a Caivass was a kind woman to you even if she could be hard. She had been one of your teachers, always pushing you harder, to do better. Yet, it had never felt frustrating or like a chore, the Mandalorian had always made it a desire to impress her, but also to prove to yourself that you could. She had always been kind to you and the other children, gentle but firm, like you were one of her own. You saw similarities with how Din treated the children. He was kind and gentle, but never overlooked an opportunity to firmly correct their behaviour or mistakes. A perfect balance. Not too soft and not too harsh. 

“You never learnt?”

“She was very protective of it and I...I was always too afraid to ask.” You confess. You had always been fascinated with it, like any young child when faced with a new language, but you had always believed it something sacred, and had worried that you would offend her if you asked to learn. “Ad’ika? What does it mean?”

He can’t help but laugh at your pronunciation and sounds it out for you, “Ah-Dee-Kah, it means little one.” 

“Ah-dee-kuh?” You are even more beautiful, he thinks when you butcher his language, trying so hard to get it right that your eyebrows scrunch together and your eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Ah-Dee-Kah” The little one squirms in his arms and he places him on the ground, only to watch him plunk himself on his bottom and play with the dirt. He had always had a fascination with dirt and rocks, more so than any of the toys he had actually brought or made him. 

“Ah-Dee-Kah”

“Perfect.” You smile blindingly at his praise and he wonders if he can forgo his job as sheriff and simply teach you Mando’a every minute of every day. “You can always ask. If you want to learn. It’s nice to hear it from another person’s lips, not just mine.”

“I would like that very much...maybe when you’re less busy? You’re rather booked up at the moment, what with being sheriff, storytime for the children, and building a schoolhouse. You’re a busy man, Din Djarin.”

“I like to keep my hands busy.” You look down at your feet before looking back up at him, unsure how to respond to what you were sure was meant as a perfectly innocent comment. Din almost swears, osik, once he realises how that sounds, lifting hand to the back of his neck to rub it. 

The silence that you fall into isn’t uncomfortable necessarily, but feels almost solid, like a physical thing and not just the quiet that comes with two people not talking for a moment. There’s a tension there that is not wholly unpleasant but hard to describe or pin down. 

Seeming to remember the pail of water you’re carrying you place it in front of him, “Water, so you can clean off or if you’re thirsty. There’s some pastries somewhere as well, to keep you all fed...Can’t have you keeling over on us or else we’d never get our schoolhouse.” 

You take a step back and cast your gaze around, making note of where each of your 15 kids are. You’re caught watching Jerome splash water on Annie, about to go and tell him off when you hear splashing much closer to you. 

You thought he couldn’t excite you more than he already had. Thought that Din Djarin couldn’t possibly tempt you more, cause your well-mannered sensibilities to crumble further. You were utterly, terribly, ridiculously wrong. 

There’s something to be said about the man pouring half a pail of water over his head to rub away the sweat and dirt from a hard day working in the summer sun. He flicks his head back, long neck outstretched as water droplets fall like mirror glass over his tanned skin. His hair sticks to his skin, kissing it in a way you realise you desperately want to and his shirt clings to broad shoulders with the familiarity of a lover. 

You spin back around away from him flustered, determined not to look as you march towards Jerome. You decide in that moment that perhaps it’s best not to bring pails of water at lunch time. You might just not survive to see the school built. 

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

For the next two months your routine features lunch time trips with the children to bring water and sometimes food to the men building the schoolhouse, and the odd afternoon story time hour when Din feels confident enough to leave the others to continue working without his guidance. Each day the schoolhouse comes together more and more and each day you fall a little bit more in...in whatever these feelings for the sheriff were. 

You also have the startling realisation that Grogu has wormed his little way into your heart in a way that none of your other students have. You have a soft spot for the little boy, especially as he becomes more vocal, begins to say more little words, including the delightful name ‘Miss Y/N’. 

Din is a temptation in himself, each time he teaches you another word or phrase in Mando’a and his lips wrap around syllables or every time he works hard to build the schoolhouse muscles pulling taut underneath the weight of wood. He tempts you in a way that no one ever has and you can’t quite explain what it is about this man that makes you desire to be in his presence, to kiss him, to hold him, to be close to him both physically and emotionally. You want to know everything about him, to understand him better than you understand yourself. 

In some ways it is a relief when the schoolhouse is finished and in other ways it feels like a loss. Part of your routine, part of the day where you always see Din was no longer needed or necessary.

When you bring the children over at lunch time, it’s to show them the finished building, the one they’ll be in come Monday morning once you have the time to move all the books and other odds and ends into it. They’re all excited as are you, to see it...it strikes you in the heart so badly that you can’t move your feet, can only stare at the building with tears in your eyes. 

It’s beautiful. Not large, but larger than the old one. Freshly painted white, with a school bell hanging out front. It strikes you that this isn’t just a schoolhouse, but it’s your schoolhouse. Din had been adamant about building it for you. 

“Children, why don’t you go inside and take a look? You’ll be here on Monday!” You wave them all off as they run ahead and up the wooden steps, throwing the door open none too gently. “Careful! We only just got it!” You call out and receive a series of sorries back. 

“Shall we go find your buir?” You look down at Grogu, who’s hand is holding the heavy fabric of your skirt. He smiles up at you and nods his head with a quick little ‘papa’ that has your heart warming. 

You hear him before you see him, “Now don’t go breaking the tables when we’ve only just put them together, girls!” Already laying down the law to 3 of your children as you enter the schoolhouse. They had seemingly been swinging on tables in a most ill-mannered fashion that has you putting on your teacher-face and raising an eyebrow at them from behind Din. They promptly stop and return their feet to the floor with an abashed look.

“Sorry, Sheriff. Sorry Miss.” They call to you both before scurrying away in hopes of avoiding punishment, leaving you, Din and Grogu alone in the main room for the building. You let it go. It isn’t an issue, they need to learn to respect things, and not damage them, but that does not have to come at the cost of punishment when a quick look and a reminder does enough. 

Din spins at them calling out to you, faster than he seems to have expected, looking decidedly dizzy for a second before the mask of sheriff falls right back into place. 

“Y/N, how do you like it?” He opens his arms wide and gestures to the main room of the schoolhouse. A large blackboard already nailed to the wall at the back, rows of tables and chairs set up so every child could see you. A desk at the front for your things. It is sweet and fits your needs infinitely better than a saloon ever would. You even note the bookcases along the walls, enough space to place many of your books for the children to have easy access for when they wish to learn something more than you could teach them. 

“It’s...it’s wonderful, Din. It’s beautiful. I...I can’t thank you enough...I...I’m a little lost for words.” You can feel the happy tears starting to pool in your eyes again, the gratitude making you a little bit emotional. “I don’t think I can ever repay you for this.”

“You...you don’t need to repay me, Mesh’la. This...you and the children deserve a school, a place to teach and learn. You don’t have to thank me or repay me for doing what the damn mayor should have done in the first place.”

You nearly don’t do it. Nearly let that fear that wells up inside you and the proper manners, the belief that you were about to be far too forward than was ladylike, stop you. But, you think back to his kindness, his gentle nature, the calm and order he’s brought to town. The son of his that you have a large soft spot for. The handsomeness of his features, the sharpness of his profile. The gentle hand he always places on your back as he helps escort you somewhere. The respect he shows you at every turn and his willingness to share his culture and upbringing with you. You think of all the things that make up the Din Djarin you know and you think of what he has come to mean to you. 

With a silent prayer and an apology to your late headmistress for being more forward than is ladylike, you push yourself forward and into him. Lips soft and chaste lifting to meet his, only briefly. You do not push for more than a second of contact, but it is enough, you hope, to get the thought and intent across. That he is someone you would like to get to know more, that he is someone you could happily be courted by, even marry one day.  

He doesn’t even have time to blink, it happens so fast. One minute you are standing a few steps away from him thanking him, the next your lips are pressed to his in the shortest sweetest kiss he’s ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of. It takes another second for him to realise what’s happened before he’s reaching a hand out to cup the nape of your neck and drag your lips back to his for a significantly more substantial kiss that leaves you a little breathless. 

When you pull away from each other you don’t go far. Din presses his forehead to yours, hawkish nose pressing into your cheek, a soft touch that grounds you with his presence. The hand at your neck, rubs a soothing thumb across your skin. Your own have chosen to grasp at the suspenders over his shoulders, to keep in close proximity. 

“I’d very much like to court you, Miss Y/N.”

“I think i’d like that, sheriff.” 

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

Mando’a Translations

 Meg Ba'jurir - roughest way I could get to someone who educates or a teacher with meg being who and ba’jurir being educate

Osik - Shit

Vor entye - Thank You

Ad - son

Ad’ika - Little one, term of endearment for small children

Buir - Father also Mother basically parent. 

Mesh’la - Beautiful

Aliit - Family (Clan)

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

Taglist for this fic: 

@lex-ham​

[hotchley]

where he's been

I did it!

I wrote the happy ending/second part, in which he makes the deliberate choice to show her and there is healing and there is joy and there is love <3

Everyone say thank you to the anon on tumblr that asked me about this when I did the WIP game, because without them we wouldn't have gotten here...

But we did! I finished a multi-chapter thing!

Trigger Warnings: scars, intrusive thoughts, trauma, references to the events of the Foyet and Doyle arcs, mild sexual content, surgery, medical things (Route 66 references mostly)

read on ao3!

previously: part one

Part Two: He Shows

The first time Aaron shows Emily his scars, she smiles.

He shows her deliberately. Because he wants to. Because he loves her, and he loves himself. Because he trusts her. He wants to be vulnerable with her in a way he could only ever be with Haley. He wants to do this, for her, and for himself. He knows they are not beautiful, that she may flinch at the sight of his humanity as everyone seems to do, but he needs her to see them. Properly. In a way that is right.

His body feels more like his with every day that passes now. He will never forget the pain his fathers emotions brought, or how he felt completely paralysed and pinned in place by George Foyet and his knife. His mind may never recover. But he's been making progress, and despite the emergency surgery, his body is recovering and he's proud of it. He's proud of himself.

And he's proud of Emily too. When she was in Paris, and he was too consumed by grief to do much more than look through the files they had on Doyle, he would feel a sense of pride in her, and all she had overcome. In all she had accomplished. In all she had survived, and continued to survive. But most of all, he was proud that she never let Doyle win.

Even when he tried to scar her body forever as a punishment for everything she had done, even though she had been right, she had always been right, she didn't let him win. She wore that scar with the same pride everyone on the team did. Because those scars made them human. They reminded him they weren't untouchable, but they were stronger than anyone gave them credit for.

It took a while for her to get there. There were still days where she would scrub the area till the skin went red, as though enough force would remove it. There were days where she would think of how far plastic surgery had come, and wonder- if she was given the chance- whether she would keep the marks. But there are other days, where she doesn't even hesitate before wearing shorts. Before wearing something with a lower neckline.

It's different for Aaron. Not for any real reason, he's just a different person. The scars that cover his torso, the scars that match the killer of his first love, of the first woman to teach him that when the poets said love hurt, they did not mean like the pain that came with smashed glass or belt marks, they meant a pleasant hurt, were almost impossible for him to accept.

The ones on his back became easier with time. Because they healed, and they faded to silver lines. He can still feel it, and can still tell when someone has touched him there. He no longer flinches, as the touches placed there are warm and gentle. Neutral. And he was a child, who deserved to be safe. A child, who shouldn't have known how to fight.

The ones left by Foyet were harder to come to terms with. He cannot feel there properly. The few times Emily has touched him- over his shirt, only ever over his shirt- he has either winced at a phantom twinge of pain or stared at her blankly because the area was numb.

He used to feel like he should've fought back. Properly. His gun was on the table, he could've grabbed it. He knows he could've because he dreams of that night more times than he doesn't. Being exhausted wasn't an excuse. Elle told him it was, but he remembers how she was- so unforgiving of herself. He wouldn't extend himself the courtesy she hadn't.

Foyet’s scars were just different. He hated having the same marks as a killer. He hated how, every time he walked into his apartment, he would remember. Vividly. The moments from his childhood still haunted him, but some of them were starting to blur together. But the feeling of the knife plunging in- he would always remember each and every single one.

The stitches tore during his thirty-four days off. He had sent everyone away, not wanting them to see just how much he needed them, because he needed to convince himself they still believed in his invincibility. The irony of his situation, especially as Derek held his hand from the bed to the wheelchair, was not lost on him. But then he regained his independence.

Then the damage done almost became irreversible. Collapsing in the conference room had been terrifying for everyone, but waking up had been the hardest thing he'd ever made himself do. During one of his brief moments of consciousness, he realised it was the damage Foyet had done when he scarred him that had led him to the abyss he'd visited once, and only once before.

When he finally gained the courage to look in the mirror, he broke. The scars were never going to heal properly, he'd realised that right before the pain became overwhelming. Foyet's hadn't. No matter how careful he may have been the second time round, the scars were never going to fade. They were still red, just less angry.

Seeing them after the surgery, in the same apartment, with the same mirror, sent him back in time. They were too red. They were too deep, too much and he couldn't look at himself, couldn't go through the pain of realising just how strong one man's hold on him was. Not for a second time.

Emily found him like that. She didn't walk in, knowing he would never recover if she did. But when he emerged thirty minutes later, wearing Haley's college hoodie that had always fit him perfectly, she took his hand. She kissed his forehead, and played with his hair as they watched one of Jack's cartoons. A part of her felt guilty for not saying something, but he felt more grateful for that than she would ever know.

They had sat on the couch until they fell asleep then. They were sitting on the couch when she touched the biggest scar, causing him to wince and run out, leading to her seeing them for the first time.

Because sometimes, the world is cyclical, they're sitting on the couch when he shows her.

This time, Jack is at a sleepover. There had been a gala, and he had looked so happy as he accepted his reward. Shocked beyond belief when Strauss announced her retirement. But so incredibly happy when she named him her successor, especially when he realised there was no reason he had to become a paper-pusher. There was no reason for him to change.

He looks so perfect, cheeks glowing and genuine smile overpowering everything else about him that she can't help but kiss him the moment they get in the car. If they seemed like love-struck teenagers to everyone that drove past then so be it. He looked handsome in his suit, but happiness suited him even more and she wouldn't let anyone dampen it.

So they're sitting on the couch, and his hands are running up and down her arms like he still can't quite believe she wants him. Her dress matches his tie- of course it does, because Aaron pouted and stared at her till she told him the colour- and she looks so beautiful that all he wants to do is watch her. She doesn't even have to do anything, so long as he can admire her.

Just like before, she touches his torso. Before he looks down, she pulls her hand away like he burnt it. A silent apology starts to pass her lips, but he kisses it away before it gets the chance to escape. Tonight, there will be no apologies. There will be no sadness.

Only them and the love they fought so hard for.

"Aaron," she says. "What's going on?"

He cannot tell her, his heart suddenly racing. He knows that he's ready to do this. He knows he wants to. He knows that there will be no shame or judgement if he suddenly stops halfway through. He knows all of that, but the traitorous, self-sabotaging part of his brain wants nothing more than to throw her out.

Before she sees his humanity. Before she gets too close and gets hurt. Before she decides that he is too damaged, and too messy, and too ruined for her to love.

But there is a piece of his brain that is stronger than that. A piece that knows she has seen his humanity every moment since she met him, all those years ago. That knows she has already gotten too close, but with her eyes wide open to all the danger that could come. She loves him. She loves him knowingly and deliberately.

He isn't ruined. He never has been. And yes, he is messy, but everyone is. She knows him. Perhaps better than he does. So she won't leave. Not this time.

He's not said anything for a while, and she's starting to worry. Then he takes her hand, as he has done a thousand times before, and the weight of it grounds her. She trusts him. Whatever he is going to do, he will do because they both want it.

"Close your eyes. Please? I'm not going to touch you, but I can't- if I say it, I'll back out," he whispers.

She realises suddenly, randomly, that the lights are still on. "Okay," she whispers, and complies. Talking feels too loud.

"You can open them now," he says, a few minutes later.

She does. And for a moment, she has no idea what's happening.

And then she sees. Properly. He's taken his shirt off, and his scars are completely visible to her. All of them. She's never loved him more. For trusting her enough to show her who he is. For loving her enough to be so vulnerable without fear. For being so brave that she no longer feels afraid of anything.

"My darling," she says, because Aaron feels too casual. But she has no words.

He takes her hand again, and presses it against his chest. She can feel his heart racing underneath it.

"This belongs to you. Whatever is left of it, however long it may beat for, it all belongs to you. Because I love you. And I trust you. So break it if you must, but carry the pieces with you because they are yours, now and forever."

Emily can't help the tears that start pooling in her eyes. She understands where this is coming from. He thought that this would be the thing that made her hesitate. One day, he will realise that this is the thing that convinced her that it was right. She had known for a while that she was going to spend whatever portion of her life that he wanted her for with him, but now she was so sure that the thought didn't fill her with dread.

There are no words in a language she speaks to tell him how much this means to her. So she settles for the ones that will do. "It won't be the pieces that I carry. It will be the whole thing. For as long as you will allow me to. I love you, Aaron Hotchner. I love you, I love you, I love you." She smiles as she says the words, not once moving away from him.

He smiles, as he always does, before he kisses her. He smiles through the kiss.

It is perfect. It is beautiful. Standing there, with him so vulnerable and her so irreversibly in love, it is hard to believe that the place they are creating their happy ending, is the same space where he was once stabbed in. The place where she set off that chain of events not so long ago.

They go to sleep, in the same bed, wrapped in each others' warmth. It feels perfect. The photo of Haley they keep on the dresser seems to glow even brighter, like she too is so proud of who they have become.

The first time Aaron shows Emily his scars, she smiles.

And Aaron does too. Because now he's shown her. Properly. And he saw her face, full of love and admiration and pride in how far he has come. She's seen them. But it was his decision. And that, more than anything, heals the final piece of his soul that Foyet destroyed.

[highgaarden]

Hey! I absolutely love your fics for the great, you write all the characters so well! Could you do 92 for Peter and Catherine?

p/c + 92. Can I kiss you?

--

It's a bit of a shock, waking up. Stale vodka gurgles unpleasantly in the low of his belly, and he briefly entertains the notion of cutting it open with a dagger and watch bile leak out of him.

He might still be a little bit drunk.

“Fuck me,” he groans, and attempts to roll over so the sunlight doesn’t sear too much of his eyeballs. 

He falls heavily, but his hand manages to catch on his side table, where Catherine’s hangover potion lay looking ever so reposed in a tall glass. 

He grabs it and swallows its contents without much thought.

In moments the vomit in his throat dislodges and his migrain tempers.

She is a witch. He thinks if she were here he could—

“Emperor?”

Orlo enters after only an abrupt knock. He groans. “What is it, you tiny wart?”

Orlo huffs, allowing himself affront for the briefest of seconds before seemingly shaking it off. It swings in his shoulders ever so slightly. “The state dinner—”

Peter throws his pillow at him.

--

They sip vodka quietly, admiring the lawn and its brightly adorned strollers. Peter thinks he might be bothered about something, because he’s sipping vodka.

Some of the Empress’ perfume wafts his way when she fans her neck. She shifts a bit where she sits, moves a cushion to the side, and stretches out more comfortably on the blanket.

“Why are you sipping on your vodka quietly?” she asks after a fashion. 

“It appears I am thinking,” he says.

“You sound surprised?”

“One does not often notice they are thinking.”

“I.” Catherine thins her lips, her expression schooled suddenly. She nods. “Yes. I suppose so. What is it are you thinking about?”

“That it’s bloody hot, and those women on the lawn look so oddly-shapen for the weather.” He pauses, scrutinising their silhouettes. “It’s disconcerting to the eyes.”

“That’ll be their corsets,” Catherine allows, a tune of - was that vindication?

His eyes immediately rake down her neck, to her chest, to her waist.

“Oh.” His eyebrows come together and he tilts his head. “You are not wearing one.”

“No.” Catherine shakes her head slowly as she draws out the vowel. She’s smiling something wicked, just the tiniest upturn of a corner of her mouth. He starts to smile back.

“And why not?”

Catherine glances at the women of her court one last time before turning her attention back to him. She smiles fully now, and he cannot help but admire how it rosies up her cheeks, the same kind of dark pink as her lips.

“It’s disconcerting to the eye,” she says, and raises an eyebrow as if she, too, knows that this is their very first inside joke.

--

The Empress is an accomplished piano-plunker, and the room politely trills. When she stands at the end of her performance piece, he rouses the room to a thunderous applause and leans in for a quick and perfunctory kiss, as they are meant to.

Festivities pull him away; he thinks he see her whispering with Leo at some point, trading gossip with Lady Dymov at another. He stabs the roast pig with Grigor and shoots a frog at Velementov’s arse. The fat general’s face gets steadily redder as the night progresses.

When he finally stumbles into his wife, even she has red patted high on her cheeks, bringing out the colour of her eyes quiet sweetly. 

“Husband!” she hiccups.

He giggles.

The kiss that lands on her lips is a clumsy one: their noses bump together and her lips part slightly at the unexpectedness of it all. It’s a perfunctory kiss, he wants to argue, but he can’t, because the inside of Catherine’s mouth is hot and tastes of mandarin infused vodka.

“Having fun, Empress?” he asks when he pulls back, winded from the dance he’d cajoled Velementov into.

“I - am feeling much cheer,” his wife allows. 

“Great!” He pats her bum before he leaves and she swats at his hand, much like he had once imagined a wife would.

--

Peter once had thought it a chore, to picnic with Catherine every so often, but here he is taking turns insulting Archie with her back and forth, and realising that she’s managed to cheer him from his sour mood.

Fuck the court, so what if he can’t be sure they’re still smiling.

Catherine tells him to let his feelings focus his action, and his eyes travel upwards as are their wont whenever someone tells him to focus, and he - 

focuses, on a strand of Catherine's hair curling away from where it is supposed to be pinned. A diaphanous rebel curl, proudly golden in the sun, and he remarks upon her hair absent-mindedly.

Catherine pauses. 

“Has it always been this way? So golden?”

Catherine purses her lips and studies his face. “Yes,” she allows. 

“You were saying about Archie?” he asks, and soon enough they are on their feet again.

--

If he’s honest he’d expected a bit more fanfare to his declaration, but his discomfort was so great it was only a lukewarm complaint at best.

Catherine expects the kiss this time, and then she doesn’t expect it, and then she does again, so his kiss lands rather awkwardly, and isn’t he fucking used to that by now?

He can argue - it’s  - whatever. It’s not like he wants to prove anything to her. What a real kiss would feel like, for example.

For a second he wonders —and then he says good night. Because there’s nothing else to say.

“Good night,” his wife allows. She’s always just allowing things.

I may love you stretches in the space between them as she turns. I may love you bounces off the walls in echoes that sound like the bottom of her heeled boots. I may love you sounds like a pussy defense of what he actually feels for her.

He feels - mildly - frightened.

--

The court is calm, but Peter remains restless.

A hall full of stuffy wigs proves too cantankerous a scene, and he forces his sight on something he must admit is far more pleasant: Catherine. She’s cutting her tiny chicken into tinier pieces and doing not much else with them.

She has not said much to him since his confession.

He puts a hand over hers, surprising the both of them.

He searches her eyes for something.

He’d like to think he finds something.

And something indeed changes in Catherine’s eyes. For a second he sees - everything. But before he can even start to gather whatever it was that was making his wife look a funny, different way at him, it’s gone.

“All is bliss, right now,” is what she finally allows, looking visibly upset.

--

The day of Catherine’s birthday dawns brightly. All traces of raspberry have been banished from the kitchens. 

Her gift arrives bundled up in silk, ushered through secret hallways, and finally carted into his quarters in a large ornate trunk.

“Hello!” Peter greets with much enthusiasm. “Good trip?”

“It was agréable,” the swanky chap says with his fancy accent, and bows. “An assured honour, Emperor.”

“Think nothing of it.” He waves an arm. He runs through the itinerary with him, and Volti’s eyebrow raises ever so slightly upon hearing him falter upon his practiced speech.

“Perhaps we should furnish your declaration with a little bit more ... imagination,” Volti suggests. 

“She has an odd sense of humour,” Peter muses. “I’m not sure she’ll appreciate that.”

“Everything you say should be true,” Volti shrugs. Even shrugging the French fucker looks ever so refined. “But be careful of giving everything away: that is when one becomes boring.”

Peter wonders if this is what makes Catherine so fascinating to him.

He hears her footsteps coming down the hall, and something must have shown on his face for Volti stops mid-spiel—and thank fuck for that.

“That’ll be the Empress. Like we planned, Volti!”

Volti winks, and struts off to his hiding place.

He puffs out a breath and straightens himself. Catherine will love him today, he is sure of it.

[sunsoothed]

partnership

sorry for not working on the prompts. here's a uhhh. [checks notes] 2.7k words canon-divergence fic for you. fixing episodes 19 and 20! dedicated to the corn salad support group. thank you all! hope you like it. and sorry for any errors!

word count: 2719

read on ao3

enjoy!

-

When Vincenzo watches her go, ready to pull his hair out for the is it for women only question, he senses it. Something behind them, a lurking presence. He taps his foot for a moment, considering, still watching her go.

“Byeonhosa-nim!” He calls. The presence moves, as well.

Chayoung turns.

“Call me when you reach?” It’s meant to be a command, but Vincenzo never really lives up to his tiring image around her. “If- if you’re fine with that, of course.”

Chayoung laughs. “Seriously, byeonhosa-nim, I didn’t expect you to be so worrisome.” She shakes her head. “I’ll call you. Don’t forget to eat!”

Vincenzo nods. Chayoung finally disappears out of sight, to her car, and Vincenzo turns to try and discern whether his worries were unfounded. But there is no lurking presence anywhere, nobody watching them. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and debates lunch.

-

Chayoung had called him when she reached, all teasing and light, easing his worry and mounting his mortification. She hangs up with a cheery don’t wait up! And Vincenzo keeps his smile to himself as he hums at the dead line.

Don’t wait up, she had said.

Vincenzo still thinks about it as the evening progresses. When it grows dark out, he finds himself in need of a distraction, so the TV’s turned to one of the variety shows Hanseo had introduced him to, and he’s plucking his wine glass out of the cabinet, when —

Vincenzo knows bad omens when he sees them. He’s not surprised by the sounds outside his unit. Even less so at the letter.

It’s what inside that sets his insides frozen, still. Chayoung’s earring, covered in blood. Vincenzo bites his lip, caught between disbelief and a consuming fear. Turns back, contemplating, and eventually washes hs hands in a rush, picks up his phone, and runs down.

-

When Chayoung picks up her phone, he’s beyond relieved. “You’re okay?”

Chayoung’s greeting is cut off. “Of course I am. Are you?”

“I got… a gift.”

“Is gratitude something so foreign to you that you need to come running to me?” Chayoung asks drily. “Byeonhosa-nim, you really —”

“I think,” Vincenzo cuts in, probably breaking a speeding law, “I think Jang Hanseok is out.”

“What did you get?” Chayoung asks, and she moves, Vincenzo can hear. She sounds like she’s standing up.

“You earring,” Vincenzo admits. “It was covered in blood.”

“Now that you mention it,” Chayoung murmurs, “There are some suspicious people here.”

“I’m on my way,” He replies. “Just be careful.”

“You’re really making me feel like I can’t fend for myself, byeonhosa-nim.”

Vincenzo blinks. He can’t exactly discern her tone, is she… angry?

“I’m sorry —”

“Don’t,” Chayoung sighs. “Don’t start. I’ll wait for you, okay?”

Through some uneasiness, Vincenzo answers, “Okay.”

-

Yeonhwa will admit, she hadn’t expected Chayoung to show up. Her classmate’s always been rather flaky about these events, she doesn't usually come unless she has bad blood or business (or both) with someone.

So it was definitely a surprise when Hong Chayoung walked through the doors of the banquet hall, suit impressive and gait confident. Yeonhwa wasn’t sure what her intention was, but she had that tenacity in her that she’s always had, so it musn’t be anything out of the ordinary.

“Hwang byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung greets her with a mock-bow. “It’s been a while.”

“Hong byeonhosa-nim,” Yeonhwa mimics, “I haven’t seen you around these parts lately.”

It takes a moment for the screen to shatter, and they both laugh before they take their seats.

“Remember Professor Eun?” Yeonhwa asks, leaning close, already slipping into their old familiarity. “He’s the dean now.”

“Really?” Chayoung asks, genuinely surprised. “Why’d they pick such a bore?”

Yeonhwa shrugs, and they return their attention to the speeches being presented. Her leg begins bouncing under the table, and she’s unsure if Chayoung can sense it or not.

“By the way,” Yeonhwa says, unable to keep to herself even for a moment into the next speaker’s presentation, “Have things been okay with you? I haven’t been keeping up much with the news, but I heard about your father.”

Chayoung smiles at her gratefully. “Thanks for asking. I’ve been… dealing with it.” Dealing with it, Yeonhwa thinks to herself. It doesn’t really seem like it.

She sees something in Chayoung’s eyes, something raw beyond comprehension, some hurt. She places a hand on Chayoung’s arm, aiming to reassure. “I know we don’t keep in touch much, but if you need anything…”

“Thanks, Yeonhwa-yah,” Chayoung says. Odd. She actually feels the sincerity this time. “You’ve always been so kind.”

Has it been so long since she’s just had… a friend?

Chayoung swallows. Yeonhwa notes this, from the corner of her eye, and she realises that this must be why Chayoung’s been so distant.

It’ll be a long night, she supposes. Hopefully she can take Chayoung out for drinks after this.

-

Turns out, Yeonhwa cannot take Chayoung out for drinks after this, because she first gets a phone call that makes her sigh in a fond way, then makes her jittery in a terrible way, and second — Yeonhwa thinks this is the most confusing thing — there’s a man here to see Chayoung.

They were really just minding their own business after the speeches had ended, piling their plates with food and actually having a pleasant conversation when this trenchcoat clad man had burst in, fast on his feet, and Chayoung had stood up.

Yeonhwa blinks, uncomprehending, as she watches the interaction in front of her. The man — Mr Black Trenchcoat — is walking rather swiftly towards Chayoung. There’s some decided determination in his steps and when he reaches her —

Yeonhwa blinks even more. He cups Chayoung’s face. His thumbs brush her cheeks, and it’s so… unlike Chayoung to just stand there and take it.

Or, well, it doesn't exactly look like she’s taking it, she’s… enjoying this. Oh, Yeonhwa registers. Obviously Chayoung knows his man, but she hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend, or a partner or a husband or an anyone. Yeonhwa watches, puzzled, as they look into each other’s eyes and Chayoung finds some reassurance there.

Chayoung puts her hands against the man’s, and she says something to him, and he nods and backs down.

“Yeonhwa-yah.” Chayoung turns to her abruptly. Yeonhwa is shocked out of her confused stupor. She’s picking up her stuff, her phone goes into her pocket and her handbag to Mr Black Trenchcoat. “I need to go. I’ll keep in touch.”

“Chayoung!” Yeonhwa calls, a little louder than intended, “Promise.”

Chayoung blinks at her, halfway out of her chair. “Promise?”

“Promise me you’ll keep in touch,” Yeonhwa elaborates. “You always say you will but you never do. Promise me.”

Chayoung swallows, and Yeonhwa’s sure they’re feeling the same thing now. She bites her lip, then she holds out her hand, fisted, save for her pinky finger. “I promise.”

Yeonhwa smiles. She reciporcates, twining her pinky with Chayoung’s, and sealing the promise.

“I’m here for you, remember?” Yeonhwa implores, before Chayoung can take off.

Chayoung nods, and then Chayoung hugs her, squeezing tight. “Thank you, Yeonhwa. Thank you so much.”

Yeonhwa smiles wider, tightening her arms around Chayoung for a moment before letting her go. “Take care, hm?”

Chayoung nods. “You too.”

And she runs off with Mr Black Trenchcoat who holds her handbag for her and seems to treasure her, because he holds her hand tight. She can tell, by the look on his face, what Chayoung means to him. He’s also well-versed in loving Hong Chayoung, Yeonhwa thinks, and Yeonhwa smiles, for if her first love is happy, then she’s happy.

-

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung says, as she meets Vincenzo outside Geumga Plaza, after parking her car. They had maintained their speed well within the permission of the law.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Vincenzo replies.

Chayoung sighs, walking to him, and then pushing him along as they enter the plaza. “I need to talk to you about something,” She says, “But let’s get to the bottom of whatever you were gifted first.”

Vincenzo gulps. He’s in for a scolding, isn’t he?

Reckless, he prepares himself. Reckless, thoughtless, inconsiderate.

Jipuragi is cold when they enter, no sign Mr Nam around. Vincenzo retrieves the earrings, the envelope, and presents it to Chayoung.

“It can’t be anyone else,” He says. He stands at the table, leaning over Chayoung, who’s sitting at the head. “It has to be him.”

Chayoung hums, finding the earrings she’s wearing now extremely unnerving. She reaches up to undo them. “Do we have any way to confirm it?”

Vincenzo tilts his head. “Jang Hanseo?”

Chayoung sets the earrings down on the table, drums her fingers over it. She doesn’t like this idea — she still hasn’t warmed up to him. “I suppose he’s our best bet.”

Vincenzo nods, retrieves his phone from his pocket, ready to call but he’s not sure what stops him.

“Something’s wrong,” Chayoung says, to a pin-drop silence.

Vincenzo stares at the door, something sinking in his gut.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung says, now desperate. She stands. “Did you see anyone when we came in?”

Vincenzo wants to shake his head, but he can’t take his eyes off the door. “Byeonhosa-nim,” He says, a warning. “Get down.”

That’s when the first bullet comes.

-

It’s cramped in the space between Vincenzo’s sofa and the bay window, but it’s their best bet. Chayoung tucks her knees to her chest, scooting closer to the corner to accommodate Vincenzo.

“No one’s picking up,” Vincenzo whispers. “We can’t go out.”

Chayoung swallows. Her throat is extremely dry. “So we wait it out, then.”

Vincenzo exhales, nodding. “Do you need anything?”

She shakes her head. “Come closer, they’ll see you from side of the sofa.”

So Vincenzo comes closer, and in this narrow space, the tension is undeniable.

“I’m sorry,” He says abruptly. “About earlier today.”

“What about earlier today?”

“For coming to… rescue you.”

“Rescue me,” Chayoung scoffs. “I should’ve seen something like this coming, you know.”

“What…” Vincenzo bites his lip. “What exactly are you referring to, byeonhosa-nim?”

“A showdown. Maybe one of us getting shot or something,” Chayoung lets her head fall back against the wall. “Losing.”

Vincenzo doesn’t want to snatch hope from his partner. Not after all he’s already taken from her. We haven’t lost yet — “We —”

“Also your… overprotection.”

That certainly makes the gears in his head still. “My…”

“I mean, I know it’s practical. I’m not a member of the Mafia, I can’t fight people like you. I’m just a regular lawyer, only fucked up slightly more than the system usually makes us.”

Vincenzo pulls his knees up to his chest as well, then settles his forehead against them and just… looks.

“I hate that I can’t fend for myself.”

“Who said you can’t?” Vincenzo tries, but it sounds empty to his own ears as well.

“Stop it, byeonhosa-nim. You of all people know I that I can’t. You saw me that day, when they came to kill me in my house.”

Vincenzo blinks up at her. “You can still learn.”

Chayoung glances at him, sideways, through her lashes. “You think so?”

He hums. “You can learn some martial arts. Or do it the organic way.”

“The organic way?”

“Let yourself loose out on the street. Offend some people. I’m sure you’ll find a sparring partner eventually.”

Chayoung snorts. “A sparring parter? Is that how you learnt?”

“I’m sure it added to my experience,” Vincenzo considers.

“But seriously,” Chayoung says. “Martial arts?”

He nods. “They don’t only help with strength; balance of mind, self-control, expelling worldly desires…”

“Expelling worldly desires,” Chayoung mocks. “Sounds like your exact opposite.”

Vincenzo has nothing to add. The unbearable silence roots itself more firmly, solidifies itself in their dark surroundings.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung says, a timid moment later. “Once you get your gold out… what will you do?”

Vincenzo finds his eyes looking away from Chayoung for the first time since they’ve settled here. He swallows. “Genuinely?”

“Genuinely.”

“I want to stay here.”

“In Korea?”

“With you.”

Chayoung goes still. “With me?”

Vincenzo finds it in himself to look at her again. “Do you still not know?”

“Of course I know,” She says. “I just… didn’t expect a confession in a situation like this.”

“I’ll be more predictable in the future,” Vincenzo promises. “Can I have another chance?”

Chayoung laughs, now, high, hysterical. “You don’t get another chance at a confession.”

“So that’s how it works,” Vincenzo says, to his knees. “Then I suppose your expectations can’t get worse.”

Chayoung glares at him.

“I love you.”

Chayoung stops glaring at him. “You love me?”

Vincenzo nods. “I do.”

“You…”

“I just want you to know,” He says. “You don’t have to reply.”

So Chayoung doesn’t. She stares ahead, at the arm of the sofa, and says nothing.

Well, Vincenzo thinks. This wasn’t how he had expected this to go.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung says. “You can’t practice law here.”

“I’ll study for the bar exam.”

“You won’t have to, though,” She continues. “You don’t have to work another day in your life.”

“What do you suggest I do, then?”

“You can stay home. Maybe you can learn how to cook. Or clean the place.”

“You’re trying to domesticate me.”

“Is it working?”

Vincenzo tilts his head. “... A little.”

Chayoung laughs. “That won’t be too bad, though, would it? You could be my house-husband.”

“Getting a little ahead of yourself, byeonhosa-nim?”

“We’re engaged,” Chayoung argues. “I’m just discussing our marriage.”

Vincenzo smiles, huffs out a laugh. “I adore you.”

Chayoung glances at him, shy. She looks at her knees for a moment, then speaks softly. “Me too.”

There’s a lull in conversation. The air is solid. Chayoung gulps, and she shifts closer.

“Tell me if you’re not okay with this, hm?”

Vincenzo looks at her leaning in and closes his eyes. She’s steeled herself, coming closer with purpose. Vincenzo waits for the softness to come, for something to go off within him, because if being with Chayoung sets him alight, kissing Chayoung —

Doesn’t happen.

Vincenzo’s apartment’s door is kicked down in a flourish, and there are footsteps everywhere, and Chayoung is holding her hands above her head now.

Vincenzo turns to face the music. It’s about time, he supposes. He isn’t supposed to have good things in life, anyway. He’s a murderer.

He exhales, cracks his neck, and turns, ready to stand and fight at any moment. But it’s Mr Nam, who holds a torchlight to his face, blinking owlishly.

“So you’re here,” He says, then looks at Chayoung. “Did I interrupt something?”

-

“You… took them down by yourselves?” Chayoung asks for the third time, in disbelief.

Around the large, make-shift table at Toto’s, the tenants nods and chorus a we did for the third time.

Chayoung looks at Vincenzo. “They took them down by themselves.”

Vincenzo nods, and for the third time, says, “They did, tesoro.”

Chayoung processes it. “So… there’s nothing left to do now?”

“We need to clean up,” Heesoo-unnie says. “Those bastards are all still laying dead on the floor.”

“Right,” Chayoung says, nodding. “I’m sorry, you said you took down Jang Hanseok’s men all by yourselves?”

-

In the end, it’s not too hard to find Jang Hanseok, even less hard to confine him to his suffering. Choi Myunghee is served as she deserves, and Vincenzo and Chayoung lay low for three months for the discoveries to blow over.

It won’t be enough to cover their trail, they know, but the gold and the Guillotine file are in their hands, and the world could use some order in chaos.

Vincenzo does, eventually, end up as Chayoung’s house-husband. He has her dinner ready every evening she returns from work or her taekwondo class, and his world’s a happier place for it.

In deep evening, when the city picks up life and the city scents sleep, they sometimes go out for dinner and drinks, or game night with their Geumga family, or Chayoung catches a movie with Yeonhwa.

And at late night, when it’s just them against the dying cityscape, Chayoung will cup her husband’s face in her hands and remind him of his place in the world. Vincenzo will be grateful for it until he can handle it, and then some more, for what is love, if not growth?

[neoffle]

friendzone fight-off

pairing: doyoung x reader / friends to lovers au

warnings: mature themes (but no action), swearing, 'cause you’re hot and you’re cold you’re yes then you’re no—

3.2k of my word vomit,, enjoy!

“Sleeping with your best friend isn’t so bad.”

You suddenly can’t breathe and watch as Joy attempt to soothe your back for you, snickering at your blubbering mess. Where was Irene when you needed her? 

Oh yeah. 

She’s too busy hooking up with the hot part-timer Kang Seulgi.

“You don’t understand Sooyoung,” you resorted to using her real name instead of the nicknames you made in middle school. 

“He’s my male best friend.” 

Joy snorts as she sips on her uselessly pretty pink drink. “Yeah, and so?” She pushes her drink aside to lean in closer to you. “Be honest.” She whisper talks. “How is he in bed?”

You throw your head onto your crossed arms and try to block off any of Joy’s attempts in trying to get into the juicy details.

If you were sober enough,

there was no way that you would ever get into his bed… that way. 

Sleepovers are normal for the both of you… but nothing ever went past platonic cuddling and so on. There was always a strict line in between your friendship that you wouldn’t dare cross. 

You know how easy it is to fuck up a relationship, and no way in hell were you going to waste such a good friendship, built on years of experience.

“Don’t torment her too much Sooyoung,” Irene comes with the tray of cakes, catching the both of your attention.

Joy grabs her favourite flavour as soon as the eldest female set the tray down and dug a fork into it. “Then tell her she needs to stop acting as if the world just ended.” She inhales the sugary piece. “Did you get the part-timer’s number yet?”

To this, Irene’s expression darkens but she sits down anyway and sips on her drink. “No. But we’re making progress.”

Joy’s definitely the brunt of the three because she’s off laughing her ass about how it’s been a month since and the so-called ‘goddess Bae Joohyun’ is failing terribly at courtship. 

“Good things take time,” you quoted, most probably somewhere off tumblr. 

“Yeah,” Irene exhales, playing around with her straw. “And like I said, we’re making progress.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the midget step like?” 

You elbowed Joy purposefully at this, giving her a dirty look to stop teasing Irene before the elder dropkicks the younger into the third dimension. 

“She gave me,” Irene’s long locks whip back to grab an object from her bag, pressing it dangerously close to Joy’s face, “this.”

Both you and Joy gave each other understanding glances, smiling at how simple it is to stroke the goddess’ ego once you’ve tamed her enough.

“A cookie,” Joy smiles rather sickly sweet. 

“Nice.”

———

You ended up parting from the duo to go home early, leaving them to do a bit of bar-hopping. It’ll most probably go on until early morning and you dread the hangover once you’re done— so you take a bit of responsibility for yourself and head home, just slightly tipsy.

The glass of wine you had after leaving the cafe, (where the love of Irene’s life awaits), along with the bar food paired perfectly with the night. 

Your little problem ended up back in the cupboard (as it has not been discussed since joy was sober enough— which was when you brought it up at the cafe) and you sigh as you watch people walk by, attempting to sort out your mind before you reach back home.

What the hell were you going to do about the dreaded awkwardness that’s going to surface in between the two of you?

Everything felt like a blur around you and as you enter the apartment complex and head up the elevator, your distressed exhales don’t stop. 

Even as you enter the pin to the apartment and undid your shoes, staring blankly at the carpet, the sighs won’t stop.

And even as you take a seat on the sofa and lay down horizontally,

it didn’t stop.

Your mind is packed full of your best friend. The guy whom you’ve known since like— forever. Sometimes it feels as if he was more than a friend, but not quite a lover in your eyes. 

What were you going to do about Kim Dong—

“(y/n)?” There’s a shuffle from the bedroom, and you halt in your tracks, knowing this voice anywhere.

So you sit up so quick that a headache strikes. Massaging your temples, you watch as the man in question, Kim Dongyoung, aka Doyoung, carefully approaches you from the door frame, dressed in a simple muscle tee and plain, black boxers. 

Your face is probably already red due to the alcohol— but you didn’t need him to know that he just escalated the symptoms. 

And honestly, 

you didn’t need a reminder of two yesterdays ago. 

Doyoung takes a seat next to you— but with a respectful space you don’t usually see because he enjoys squishing you to a corner usually and casually putting his arm around you. 

“Uhm, hi,” you offered, but your eyes are averted and somehow the amount of photos Doyoung has on his walls are fascinating to count.

Your best friend doesn’t quite talk for a few minutes, watching from the sidelines as he sees your eyes shake. He rubs at his nape, knowing that it’ll take time to coax you into engaging in a proper conversation with him. He knows what was wrong and honestly, he thought you’d need more time to come into terms with it than just a plain two days. 

But anything goes for him— albeit that you’re not really sober— judging from how red in the face you are. 

“Were you… drinking?” He starts, hoping that you’ll at least turn to look at him when answering this.

And to his pleasure, you did. 

Peeking over your shoulders, you gave him a timid nod. “Irene was having a hard time dating the part-timer I told you about a few weeks ago and Joy just wants a reason to not stay sober.” It was a habit for you to spill everything to him. It didn’t even pass your mind that you’re still overly cautious of what to say— but the report rolled out of your tongue like butter and you did it faster than your brain could register the comment. 

Doyoung shows you a rather grateful-looking smile, finally relaxing the muscles he’s been tensing since he heard you come through his door. 

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Why are you here?”

The male beside you stares at you with a raised brow— but then realised your semi-drunken state— and to this, he grins further. “I live here you trespasser,” he knocks your forehead lightly with his knuckles, watching as your eyes widen in realisation, a gasp to accompany your surprise.

“Oh, uhm, errr— I’m going!” You shot up, surprising Doyoung in return. 

Just as you were about to gather your beige tote bag, encasing your fingers along the the long straps, a hand reaches up to grab onto you, holding you back.

“It’s late,” Doyoung glances from the carpet and into the depth of your eyes. It feels rather peculiar looking at him from this perspective… it wasn’t quite platonic and you weren’t sure how to face him in the coming morning— at least when the alcohol wears off.

“I’ll take the couch, so go wash up and sleep here.” He says, though there’s a soft stutter in between each breaths. It wasn’t the almighty confident Kim Dongyoung you knew— and if things didn’t happen a few days ago— you were so sure you’d take this opportunity to tease him for a bit. His eyes cast themselves away once again, adjusting his voice a bit. “I won’t go into the room, I promise.”

This was so weird. 

Why are relationship always so complicated?

You sit back down, letting your bag fall onto the floor. “Doyoung,” you pause a bit, attempting to rearrange your thoughts. His grip on your wrist loosens until it dissapears and he bends slightly forward, elbows on top of his thighs. “We’ll… talk when I’m not intoxicated— but how long have we been friends for? I know you won’t do anything to me without consent… so let’s just do this normally.”

He’s very surprised at your revelation— eyes almost bulging out of it’s socket. “(y/n) aren’t you unco—”

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes. “I’m so sick of avoiding you okay.”

“I was sick of being avoided like a plague too you know,” he sounded more like the sassy best friend you know. Doyoung’s up before you when he takes your bag and extends a friendly hand. “And I missed you a lot too.”

It’s only been a mere two days and the both of you felt discouraged being separated. It wasn’t easy going from being two peas in a pod to a single person. 

Everything felt so lonely— especially as the both of you were currently single.

It’s only been a month since you were single— but that’s for another story to tell. 

Doyoung leads you to his bedroom, which you know by heart, considering how you found yourself in his apartment without realising anything…

It says a lot about how much time you spend in the comfort of his home. 

You take the cue to head to his bathroom to take a quick shower and wash off the sunscreen you had on, grabbing a fresh towel in the cupboards as per usual. 

Before you could strip down your clothes, you hear a soft knock on the bathroom door, and you know that your best friend’s back with pyjamas. 

“I got you the stripy long ones you left last time,” a hand reached out through the cracks as you opened the door for him, cackling as he turns his whole shoulders and face the other way, thinking that you might be somewhat exposed.

When he heard you laughing, Doyoung’s brows knitted together in question. “Are you going to drown in the sink? Just how drunk are you?” He figured that you were laughing out of alcohol— but you’re partly sober now and the sight of Doyoung being so courteous wasn’t rare— but it’s been a while since you saw it. 

(Like two days = a while.)

“I’m fine,” you retorted, grabbing the necessities he provided and closing the door to change and to brush your teeth before bed.

You came out feeling much more refreshed and was greeted by the sight of Doyoung finishing with changing his covers. 

“What’s the occasion…?” You look over his shoulder, stunning him. 

“Don’t creep on me like that,” he clutched onto his heart, eyes wide. 

There’s a beat of silence before he continued, “I just felt like it.” But oh boy, you knew something else was there. 

You try to analyse each and every one of his moves previously and matched it to his personality— which you know inside out and under. 

“Let me guess,” the corner of your lips started to hike under your assumptions, “you haven’t gone out of bed much for like two days?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes at this, (a signature of his), and you just smile. 

Bingo. 

“I went to work,” he finished up with dusting the covers one last time. “Obviously.”

“That’s so cute,” you giggle into your hands, and Doyoung’s ears redden at this— although you didn’t quite notice in your  semi-drunk state.

“Hurry up and sleep. Your boss might be nice but Taeyong’s going to scold me for letting you drink during a weekday.”

You climb into the covers after him, relishing the way that your legs glided in smoothly. There was nothing like a new change of bed covers after all. It felt like heaven. 

Like a habit, you throw one arm and leg over Doyoung’s stiffened form, the thought of that night slipping past your mind. Gone like the wind. 

Doyoung, who had his back towards you, gradually turn over under half your weight, raising a stern brow at you. “Are you forgetting something?”

Your eyes are closed at this point, mind slowly drifting into sleep. “What is it?”

“Your conscience,” Doyoung flicks a soft blow at your forehead. He takes a good look at your features, watching as you giggle snort in your sleep. What a weirdo. An adorable weirdo he has for a best friend. 

He tucks the loose strands off your face and behind your ear, heart melting at the way you snuggled into his touch. 

To him, 

you were making it very hard to stay as a friend.

———

In your opinion, mornings and hangovers don’t mix very well. Add drowsiness to the terrible headache and last night’s choice— it’s practically a stew for trouble.

From the moment you opened your eyes, a familiar yet an alarming environment greeted you. In shock, you scrambled up and was immediately hit by the devil of an ache. Your temples throb as you reached over at the bedside table and grabbed the cure and the glass of water next to it. 

There’s distinct sounds coming from outside and you sigh as you grabbed onto your face.

Hey, at least you weren’t naked this time around.

Dreading it, you got out of bed and tracked a slow trudge towards the kitchen, where the backside of your best friend greets you.

On the other hand, Doyoung exhales a large amount of air as he tries to put up the most casual demeanour he could muster at that point in time, noticing you creeping up from the bedroom.

“Morning (y/n),” he calls in a jolly manner, but the strain on his lips told you otherwise. 

“Oh, uh, hi Kim Dongyoung.”

Smooth.

Doyoung’s eyes judges you real hard, despite the smile that’s faltering to stay on. Even so, he gestures you to sit and hands you over a freshly cooked batch of your favourite blueberry pancakes. It has the right amount of honey and butter on top and of course Doyoung would never get it wrong. 

He sits opposite you and coughs into his palm to get your strayed attention.

“Should we talk this out like adults since we have,” he stops to check his watch, “exactly fifteen minutes before you need to get ready and I have to head out.”

You nod solemnly, poking around the pancakes you loved so much. If this was any other day, you would be scarfing down the whole plate like a dog— since Doyoung rarely makes them— claiming that they’re ‘unhealthy’. 

You guess that the plate was a consolation prize of some sort, glancing at Doyoung’s equally nerved features.

“I’m sorry I avoided you,” you opened up first, knowing that it was wrong of you to do it in the first place. 

It’s just— something like this would have never crossed your mind and you feared the aftermath of the whole event. 

“You’re forgiven,” he nods, licking his bottom lip cautiously. “I’m sorry for being irresponsible that night.”

So it was like that? Forgive and forget kind of scenario?

Your lips twist into bitter distaste as you poked around the blueberries on plate. On one hand, a part of you felt so relieved to be ending this forty-eight hour dilemma— but on the other hand, you’re quite disappointed that he’s writing it off like this. It was a hard feeling to digest. 

Doyoung raises a brow at your quiet demeanour. On any normal day, there was no way silence would weave in between the two of you— but recently, its been all there is. 

“(y/n) we’ve only got three minutes left of this conversation before you’re going to avoid me again for another few days.” Doyoung grits out, having enough of this damned silence.

You’re pouting when you glance up at him, as if you were a child being scolded by their mother. 

“What? Seriously, what do you want from me? I’m trying to tie this all up and go back to being the great friends we are.” He hissed, fingers gripping onto the handle of his mug. 

“What if I don’t want to be friends?!” You yelled, standing up from your seat. 

“Oh yeah?” Doyoung mimics your action, squaring his shoulders. “So you’re saying you want to be more?” He scoffs. “Sure, that’s totally reasonable after ghosting me for so long!”

“Shut up. Two days isn’t a long time! It’s a perfect length to rethink about possibly poor life decisions!”

“You!” He points an angry index finger at you. “Are you trying to sell me off as a bad decision! Is that what all of this is? Fuck, you’re so—“

“Don’t swear at me. You’re being a very bad adult Dongyoung.” You mocked, sidestepping out of your seat and standing a feet away from him.

Arguing like its raining cats and dogs with Doyoung was nothing new. You shouldn’t feel so exhilarated by the feeling but— you can’t help but feel the pressure of all this sexual tension in between the two of you. Now you wonder… has it always been there, pushed to a corner— or did you miraculously develop an obsession for him after a one night stand?

The stare-off between the two of you lasted for a good minute, leaving you with sixty seconds left to this doomsday countdown. 

Doyoung’s blatantly burning a hole on your lips, licking his own unconsciously. “So if I kiss you, what happens?”

“We stop being friends of course.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you fix up the crease on the collar of his work shirt. 

“Then,” he’s only mere seconds away from closing the distance between the two of you. “What would we be?”

Fluttering your lashes up at him, you could only smirk at the raise of his brows, unsure if he’s even breathing at this stage. 

“I don’t kno—“ Doyoung crashes his lips against yours, the sense of urgency bringing flashback to the fateful night. He wraps his arms around you, as if anxious that you would push him off again.

Closing your eyes, you savoured the aftertaste of coffee lingers in his mouth, whimpering as you slowly run out of air. Doyoung senses this, parting, wiping at the sides of his mouth using the back of his hands.

“Promise me you won’t run away again?” He brings up his pinkie, gesturing you to return the sentiment. 

Rolling your eyes, you grudgingly seal the deal. “No shit sherlock, why else would I kiss you back? You’re not a charity case.”

He clicks his tongue at that, shaking his head in a disapproving manner. “Don’t swear (y/n), you’re being a terrible adult.” 

“Haha, you’re so funny Dongyoung.” You mocked his tone.

“Oh yeah, you know what else is funny?” Doyoung closes the gap once more, a hand reaching out for behind you. 

You think he’s about to initiate another intimate moment, eyes blinking up at him and lips puckering. 

He chuckles at your actions, lips pressed against your ear. 

“That you’re late for work,” he yanks his bag from behind you, sending you a salute before heading out the door. 

You’re left as a frozen statue, attempting to process his words. 

In a split second, realisation and dread paints your face. You quickly rush to Doyoung’s bedroom, knowing you had a spare change of work clothes in there. 

Despite the saint Taeyong is, he’s unable to tolerate hangovers and tardiness at the same time— it has to be one or another— according to his rocket science. 

You curse Doyoung with all your heart for distracting you again. 

In your mind, a parrot with his voice mocks you. 

You’re being a terrible adult (y/n). Don’t swear (y/n).